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 his 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.
The Platonic Blow in Nacho Velilla’s Fuera de Carta (2008) October 15, 2008
Posted by Richard Bolisay in European Films, Queer, Spanish Filmfest.2 comments
English Title: Chef’s Special
Directed by Nacho Velilla
Cast: Javier Cámara, Lola Dueñas, Benjamin Vicuña
It can never go on without having that one thing, one thing that makes it irresistible, one thing that can win over its audience’s interest, one reason for its eternal existence. The mainstream easily gets away with foolery because of its dimwitted charm. But at least Fuera de Carta knows how to dislodge the niceties and stop circling around the point forever. Any proud citizen of the world who rotted his brain in front of the TV screen almost every day of his life will by no means be clueless with the path where it leads to. It is impossible not to compare it with local flicks, the musical numbers, the exaggeration, the sempiternal quest for love, love, love, love, love without meaning, love that captures all the meaning, the love despite/because of being queer angle, the acceptance, the gnarled details that comes along with it. Can you imagine Piolo Pascual as Horacio or Claudine Barretto in a supporting role or homosexuals kissing on screen for fun? Would Star Cinema and MTRCB allow that? Or are we still boobies in their eyes? Oh no wonder they always see us as degenerates – - it takes one to know one – - passing off anything stupid and giving Encantos an X-rating. Don’t even start with the Cinema Evaluation Board, tax rebates, MMFF, or Butch Francisco. Tolerating their insensibilities is somewhat noble, if not a sign of a neurological problem. An audience award means the audience likes it, loves it more or less to take time to write and vote for it – - nothing less than enjoyment and everything more than the thrill of seeing their fantasies manifested in the screen bigger than their egos or their balls.
*Película Pelikula: 7th Spanish Film Festival, October 1 – 12, Greenbelt 3 Cinema 1
El Orfanato Squares The Circle (Juan Antonio Bayona, 2007) October 13, 2008
Posted by Richard Bolisay in European Films, Spanish Filmfest.add a comment
English Title: The Orphanage
Directed by Juan Antonio Bayona
Cast: Belen Rueda, Geraldine Chaplin, Fernando Cayo
The contestant who outsings everyone in the competition, hits the high notes, whistles drowning falsettos, does convoluted curls, showstopping numbers, eardropping finales – - the make or break revelation, the display of unbearable pretense – - who would not miss her? Of course not to downplay those who fit the mold, but do they sound as good as their turbulent presence? Does the idea of entertainment stop on the present and stay there for long? Or future references hold reservations? The big-voiced talent in this fest is actually a successor of a big-voiced talent too; the torch has been passed, only it’s not well-lit. Or it ran out of gas. The gimmick is comprised of shots that range from stylized to overdone images that communicate in random motion of incoherence. They have the language but they don’t know how to use it. The mutes are far better. The story is good enough to convince Del Toro that it may be a baptism of fire for Bayona but the latter’s supreme eagerness and technical focus dismiss the potential of Sanchez’s script. Slamming doors, screaming expletives, burgeoning darkness, resurrected pasts, mystical disappearance, fresh footprints, mazes, puzzles, riddles, board games, cunning reflections, exorcism – - god, that entire Geraldine Chaplin sequence can stand as a short and fare better than the whole thing – - I believe I step in the wrong train. The horror trip ends by the time I board in. A Murakami déjà vu? Ten inches away, you notice the elements dedicated to anticipate the thrill, the art direction, Laura’s eyebags and split-ends, the music that limps. Ten meters away, you notice the unevenness, the dead spaces, the comatose exchange of lines, the lack of spunk. In case you ask which part I appreciate the most, I tell you, without baking an eyelash: the opening credits. Wallpapers had never been filmed this good. The walls I painted in hommage to Bertolucci and Storaro were washed away in just a spit. Bayona loses grip from there, splattering unnecessary brains and copouts, even borrowing shots from Blair Witch Project, and decides to engage us in mere smokes and mirrors. The splinters are infinitesimal, no blood, no wounds.
*Película Pelikula: 7th Spanish Film Festival, October 1 – 12, Greenbelt 3 Cinema 1
White and Gray in Francisco Vargas’ El Violin (2005) October 11, 2008
Posted by Richard Bolisay in European Films, Spanish Filmfest.2 comments
Written and directed by Francisco Vargas
Cast: Angel Tavira, Gerardo Taracena, Dagoberto Gama
The apparent selling point of films with musical references in their titles also risks their predictability. That emphasis on the motif involuntarily conditions the viewer to challenge his expectations on whether or not this motif can support the film in delivering its point by using it as an all-embracing representative. It works – - but it limits too; sometimes it even drowns the entire film with unnecessary scoring and uneven handling of the material, eagerly relying on audio-visual spectacle to drive the story home, manholes and shortcuts included. Some impressive pieces, however, tend to go beyond their facade and break into an incredibly serious fate by examining the shaky values of their characters, as seen in Haneke’s Piano Teacher and Polanski’s Pianist. Isabelle Huppert and Adrien Brody stand out against their backdrops, especially in Brody’s case where the war participates in the story as much as he does, and elevate the discourse into a wider mold of intercultural argument, albeit the universality of its message, which world cinema always try to provide – - a symposium for collective and critical understanding, despite the differences. The motif does not eat the story but rather gives it a substantial whole, both dynamic and manipulative.
Vargas’ debut film succeeds in doing that. El Violin weaves a familiar web of armed resistance against military troops, striking for its mere resemblance to our own woes down south, which makes you wonder if the only common factor among Spanish-colonized countries is moving towards communism. A family of musicians, Don Plutarco’s son and grandson wander the streets not only to fend themselves but also to carry out plans in helping the guerillas intensify their armory. His son holds an important post in the rebel group; when his wife and daughter got killed, he has more than enough reasons to continue the fight, but the inadequacy of their firearms and ammunitions foresees their defeat. Don Plutarco’s earned friendship with a commanding officer through his violin promises a plot twist, and rightfully so, what happens illuminates the brutal credit sequence – - a clever use of sound and interspersed shots of a man being tortured and a woman getting raped. It ends with a pinch of scruple on the lives of the three of them – - the grandfather, the son, and the grandson, both by blind chance and maimed futures – - a streak of unbearable incubus, something that can never be erased by light and darkness. It wallows in the so-called humanity of the oppressed and not only examines the vapid makeshifts of violence but also bloats the logic of absurdity. The music is far from majestic; it only serves its mundane purpose. Vargas discolors truth in order to give room for emotions that are barely given importance in cinema. Somehow it makes me wonder why Dumont hasn’t learned these things yet.
*Película Pelikula: 7th Spanish Film Festival, October 1 – 12, Greenbelt 3 Cinema 1
Revenge of the Sylph in Juan Carlos Falcón’s La Caja (2006) October 8, 2008
Posted by Richard Bolisay in European Films, Spanish Filmfest.add a comment
English Title: The Wooden Box
Written and directed by Juan Carlos Falcón
Cast: Angela Molina, Antonio San Juan, Elvira Minguez, Vladimir Cruz
La Caja delivers a triumph of the offscreen. A man dies. His wife has no place to lay him before the funeral next morning because the stairs is too narrow for the corpse to pass. The neighbor agrees – - with such pronounced reluctance – - and lets the body be placed on her bed before the coffin arrives in the afternoon. Unknown to the widow, her husband’s death is everything that the townspeople are hoping for. They have renewed their prayers to settle uneven scores and get back the best they could, especially now that revenge is hell sweeter when your opponent is not an inch moving in his place. A pestle in his ass thrust in rewarding sadism, a cut tongue for squealing the ends of sanity of a young child, the tongue gobbled with enthusiasm by the pet cat, a shower of shit on his face while everyone is asleep, and a mop to clean it away in such force that I assume his face turned into a lunar spot. Another neighbor wants to take advantage of his savings through his clueless widow. Even the priest who officiates the procession has his share of butchering traits to boast, smoking, gambling, shortcut blessings. The wife, in the end, finds solace in another man’s arms, kissing not under the mistletoe but over his sloppy, slipshod grave – - certainly the most peaceful place a dishonored man like him could ever be in.
Falcon knows how to massively slaughter the dead in all the smallest alleys of his life. As the story slowly peels to reveal dark pasts between the neighbors and the dead, it dawns on us the orgasmic relief of getting even on their part, in the grisliest way possible, because it will put all their inhibitions away from memory. In a way it’s also a relief for us – - Falcon’s pulse for dialogue, the actors’ perfect timing, the distinct incredulity of the events, not to mention the seamless editing and photography contribute to put the circus in awesome disarray. The film becomes a sinful experience. Cinema harbors not only that idea of escape but also of humanizing evil by showing it guiltlessly, that crime does pay in countless ways, that karma can extend its rays even in the farthest end of light. Under such spell of modern evil, I must say this is irreverence at its wicked best.
*Película Pelikula: 7th Spanish Film Festival, October 1 – 12, Greenbelt 3 Cinema 1
