Unconditional Boredom in Carlos Reygadas’ Silent Light (2007) December 2, 2008
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Mexican, Spanish Filmfest.add a comment
Mexican Title: Luz Silenciosa
Written and directed by Carlos Reygadas
Cast: Cornelio Wall, Maria Pankratz, Miriam Toews
This is your typical walkout film, its peculiar heaviness on the surface is reminiscent of Martin’s Now Showing, whose credit will be more attributed to experience than to its cinematic values, or conversely, as personal observation remains the most reliable source of argument, its torturous notoriety is enough to give someone an idea of the other side of cinema, that entertainment is relative, pain is a reward of art, and bemusement is the supreme modern criterion of Western appreciation. That I had forty winks and slept on writing this until now may be intentional on Reygadas’ part, a stroboscopic trick he sets up between the film’s bookends, from sunrise to sunset, what could be more representative of mankind’s vulnerability than its inferiority to time. Imagine an aged traveler who goes back to his homeland, he knows the way home but, in an unfounded quirk of chance, decides to walk a different path, owe it to experience for his tendency to digress, and after a week he has reached his destination, his house that commiserates with his tired mind and body, experience has told him that he is still a competent man, after all he has found home paving a path of his own, time is both god and evil, and now what can magnify his success even more than the idea of making it, despite everything, time throwing all the lonely traveler’s inhibitions away, like Silent Light, which makes more sense to me as an overly prolonged short film than a complete feature, and without sounding too pragmatic since we are well aware that it will lead to that, the saintly yet casual resurrection, it feels tiring, far from rewarding in the end, to discover that we have been led to a longer way than we expected, that we can get there without the nerves in our muscles closing up.
It slackens from the scrupulous attention given to its shots; it seems to be more obsessed with daydreaming than confronting the divinity of its subject. If it has meant to pay homage to Dreyer then I may have received the wrong message, other than the pain of waiting for the scene to finish and get over it, what keeps me on straining my eyelids is the quenching thought of getting more sleep at home now that it had me drooping for more than two hours, I am less sober as if I just downed a vodka, but again it can always be intentional, my medulla oblongata playing tricks on me, my feelings betraying me, sending yawn signals when I should be paying more attention. That is why among past, present, and future, I am more inclined to favor the present – - the past and the future can deceive me – - but the present can never escape its dishonesty, only when it turns into the past I shall lose my power over it.
There is this dialogue in F. Sionil José’s Sherds between a disciple and a master, when Guia accidentally breaks her teacher’s celadon bowl and apologizes to him, then discovers, in his assured way of suggesting to her not to worry profusely, that it is a fake antique piece. She asks how he can be sure that a particular plate is genuine. He answers, by way of sharing a timeless joke, that before there was this collector who had purchased a very costly porcelain plate and he wanted to know whether it was genuine or not so he consulted an expert, an old man who said to him, “It is really very difficult to tell. You just have to trust your instincts and the man from whom you got it.” The collector refused to hold his defenses back. The connoisseur wittingly retorted, “Drop it. The sound will tell you whether it is genuine or not. . .” That death is an assurance, the ultimate test of everything, is an existential burden only reserved to humans; elephants and kangaroos never bother themselves in knowing. Silent Light belongs to the cinema of the brain-dead, the comatose, the paralyzed, the vegetative state, whatever you call it, but it also puts forth the notion that there is dearth in death, dying is an incomplete regency, putting more emphasis on the lucid difference between blank and empty, our final discernment in life, shown to us in intolerable spiritual pomposity.
Nowhere to go in Guillermo Del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) September 3, 2007
Posted by Richard Bolisay in Mexican.add a comment
Originally published in Digital Buryong on April 28, 2007
Original Title: El laberinto del fauno
Director: Guillermo del Toro
Cast: Ivana Baquero, Doug Jones, Sergi Lopez, Maribel Verdu
What sets Pan’s Labyrinth apart from its contemporaries, primarily those films made last year, is Guillermo del Toro’s conviction to his idea, without compromising his audience. He’s been around in the business for quite a long time, with two successful Hollywood films (Hellboy, Blade II) under his belt and a Civil War epic (The Devil’s Backbone) produced by the campy Pedro Almodovar. Incidentally, he was asked to direct The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, a film similar to Pan’s Labyrinth theme, but he turned down the offer to focus on the latter. Phew. That’s conviction.
When a writer or director comes up with an idea, he would understandably be indulgent in his work. The world of his baby — yeah, that’s what he call his masterwork — is all he thinks about everytime. He is wildly devoted to see his work viewed by millions of people (and receiving awards, of course). In this highly inspired tale however, del Toro manages to steer away from excessive indulgence to produce a film worthy of its accolades. Pan’s Labyrinth is beautiful, though it might (and it would) bore your 10-year old Spongebob-addict nephew when you bring him with you expecting a Sukob flick.
Set in post Civil War Spain after Franco’s dictatorship, its production values are highly commendable. The editing is seamless. The transition between scenes works so well I thought I’m seeing Russian Ark. The imagery appeals to anyone’s childhood apprehensions, although generally its photography looks limited.
The setting may look grand in scale but actually, it isn’t. The parallelism of Ofelia’s imagination to Captain Vidal’s attempt to liquidate Republican rebels serves as an effective backbone to its richly imagined story, a cup of war realism and mythological characters at the same time. It works effectively proving the power of imagination against evil. I find the early part of the narrative boring, which is excusable, since this is how historical plot goes. Do you expect to get thrilled about gunshots and blood and touches of fascism in real life? In flicks, of course. But this film is deadly serious. It redeems itself after a while, with Ofelia’s journey to fulfill her mission, armed with a belief that she was indeed the lost princess of the underworld resurrected. She follows what the faun tells her to do to rejoin her family. Wonderful memories of childhood experiences fill my head; actually, a deep sense of nostalgia.
How beautiful it is to be a child! Playing with fairies, running away from monsters and evil spirits, getting trapped in a house where everything moves incessantly, and engaging in a ghost hunt are part of every kid’s innocent fantasies. There is a feeling that every day is a challenge to uncover this superficiality overflowing from their gifted minds. Damn, that bat I saw when I’m on my sixth grade scares me up to now!
Pan’s Labyrinth reminds us that innocence is a virtue we lost once we step into the real world, as they refer to it as such. If I may interject a very personal note, my real world began when I got circumcised. As much as I would want to elaborate, there’s simply not much to say.
The actors are fine, not the type to topple a Meryl Streep or knot Dakota Fanning’s guts, but I assume del Toro wants it that way. The subtlety of Ofelia, Captain Vidal, and Mercedes works well with the film’s humble intentions.
Mercedes (Maribel Verdu) is given a significant amount of attention; you can already guess from the first fifteen minutes that she is a spy. Verdu, the cancer-stricken woman lustily desired by Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna in Y Tu Mama Tambien, may be a bit distracting in some parts (being cast against her stereotype roles) but all throughout I realized she did very well, even graceful. Her face embodies a history of sadness with gestures so firmly observed, I almost forgot her steaminess in Cuaron’s film.
It is safe to say that Pan’s Labyrinth is not any kid’s typical fairy tale story, whose “and they lived happily ever after” encourages wrongful hopes toward views of life. After all, Walt Disney can be seen more as an evil perpetrator than a saintly uncle. The film achieves realism without losing the imagination’s unyielding ability to bear this world of infamy. Brilliantly conceived, Pan’s Labyrinth alludes to Victor Erice’s opus Spirit of the Beehive, and to say an opus is an understatement. Well that’s more than enough.
A devoted cinephile cannot discount the bursting energy, quite recently, of Mexican filmmakers in the mainstream industry. In fact, 2006 saw an influx of three of their widely acclaimed works in Hollywood, Children of Men (Cuaron), Babel (Iñarritu), and Pan’s Labyrinth. All received nods from this year’s overrated Oscars. If I may insert a personal note: I regard Amores Perros as an enduring classic from the first time my palms got sweaty inside the UP Film Center. My friend Gayle and I were speechless and stoned like a monument; we only started to talk and share our sentiments after 10 minutes. Not to mention bewilderment.
One word to desribe these Mexicans: really (enunciated nasally) spicy. They make me feel like craving for a plate of sisig. With egg, of course.
Ofelia dies in the end but she manages to return to her kingdom. Not a bad closure but I felt a liitle disappointed. (I wished it was longer and presented Ofelia’s journey like it’s really a difficult labyrinth to escape from. Well that’s my indulgence typing those words. On a sidenote, the labyrinth scene reminded me of the snowy, thrilling maze chase in Stanley Kubrick’s controversial adaptation of The Shining.)
Any idea what separates a great film from a mediocre?
Imagination that sends you to outer space or under world; astonished, you ask yourself, “Shall I go back?” No time to think, you just continue flying. * * * *
