The 1960s were a decade of revolution; not least in cinema. Jorge Sanjines’ (as part of the Ukamau collective) The Blood of the Condor – he co-wrote and directed – is one of those rare films: it actually had a direct social impact as it led to the American backed Peace Corps being expelled from Bolivia. It was also a significant contribution to Third Cinema, an attempt to make films about the Third World in a non-western way.
Sanjines’ film was about, and for, the peasant Indians of Bolivia and was designed to be watched, and discussed in, communities without cinemas. Hence Sanjines thought he could afford to have a complex narrative structure, which interpolates flashbacks with the present quest of blood needed to save the village leader, Ignacio. Those who presented the movie could explain what was happening and so avoid any confusion amongst the peasants who were not used to complex film language. Despite this, the peasants weren’t sure about what was happening and Sanjines didn’t repeat such narrative complexity again. He realised that he’d fallen into the trap of imposing an unsuitable form upon the group he was trying to help.
Ignacio is initially presented as a drunkard, wife-beater, angry that she hasn’t produced more children. Hardly the way a western film is likely to present a heroic figure. After the credit sequence, which states the film includes the peasants of Kaata, Ignacio, and a few others, are marched away and shot by men under orders of the local police chief. Paulina, Ignacio’s wife, gets her husband to his brother, Sixto, in the city; however, in order to save him they must find blood or money to pay for a transfusion. The film then intercuts why Igancio was shot with Sixto’s quest for blood and money.
We discover that the Progress Corps, a thinly disguised Peace Corps, are actually sterilizing the Indian women, when performing operations, without permission; an attempt at genocide. When Ignacio finds out he declares that the same will be done to the Americans. Although Ignacio is a fictional character, and it appears the Sanjines was using sterilisation as a metaphor for the destruction of indigenous culture, the Bolivian government, after trying to ban the film under pressure from the Americans, eventually expelled the Corps.
Although Sanjines, and his collective, ‘failed’ formally with their narrative structure, they did succeed, in other formal ways, in communicating in a non western way. For example, the use of the long shot to emphasise the collective aspect of village life rather than the individualism of the close up. Given the Ukamau group’s academic training, it isn’t surprising that they too had been inculcated in the western way of filmmaking. Another way, apart from the subject matter, Blood of the Condor was undoubtedly revolutionary is in its ‘call for action’; as Sanjines stated:
“The work of revolutionary cinema must not limit itself to denouncing, or to the appeal for reflection; it must be a summons for action.” (quoted in Gabriel’s Third Cinema in the Third World: The Aesthetics of Liberation, incidentally this seminal book is available here).
The final shot of the film is of upraised rifles, which are freeze-framed; an undoubted call to arms against the imperialist aggressors. These are not just identified as the Americans, middle class Bolivians too, the descendants of colonialists, are in Sanjines’ sights as they define themselves against the Other of the Indians so they can feel more like the First World westerners. At one point, Sixto is forced to wait at a country club in the hope he will be given blood for his brother; however, the doctor is too full of his own importance to be bothered with Indians.
In 2005 Evo Morales was elected President of Bolivia, the first indigenous person to gain such elevated office in Bolivia. It would be nice to think that films of Third Cinema sowed the seeds for such advancement. However, as the multinational corporations, and hedge funds, extend their tentacles everywhere they can screw some profit, maybe it’s time for a Fourth Cinema. This would take on the values of Third Cinema and use them to hold up a mirror to the whole capitalist world so we can see how economic and ecological disaster is on our doorstep.
PS the whole film is available, subtitled in English, on YouTube. It looks like a videotape TV recording but the quality’s fine.
21st July: the post was updated to correct the statement that the Peace Corps did actually sterilise Indians.
I missed the opening few minutes of this film but as it is a ‘re-imagining’ of the plot of Vertigo I can make a reasonable guess as to how it begins. The Jimmy Stewart role is played by Juan Pablo Correa who is known as ‘Fatso’ to his friends, principally Lore who might be in Hitchcock’s Barbara Bel Geddes role. The trauma suffered by Ramiro involves a car crash and the woman he is asked to investigate is a local rock star who once played with a band called ‘Kocks’ (!). Ramiro is supposedly a journalist so he is contracted to write her biography. Writer-director Elisa Eliash is quoted as saying that she wrote the script quickly as an experiment and that partly explains why the narrative leaps backwards and forwards in time (see Press quotes on the film’s website). This suggests that the film might be difficult to watch but although I certainly wasn’t always sure what was going on, I always found the film engaging. Partly this is because Ramiro is a rather loveable character, but one not without faults. It’s very difficult for the other characters (and the audience) to know when he is telling the ‘truth’ and when he is fantasising. It’s good to see such an overweight character as the lead in a film like this and his physical problems (sweating, overeating/nausea etc.) aren’t avoided so he becomes a human rather than fantasy figure.
The film is set in Providencia which Wikipedia informs me is a city just outside Santiago which is an enclave of the upper middle-class. We don’t see that aspect of the city but we do get to enjoy some of the parks and coffee shops. Even so there is an inexplicable scene in which the water cannon are out on the streets recalling scenes from No (Chile 2011) which was successful last year in the UK. The Kim Novak role goes to María José Siebald as Ana/Valentina whose ‘makeover’ is aided by a blonde wig. As with many other aspects of the film, her interest in archery is an original idea and is developed as a symbolic element of the film’s credits – Valentina attempts to teach Ramiro to fire an arrow at a target but it sails into the distance with no sense of where it might end up.
Aqui estoy, aqui no appears to have been very successful in Chile and has been shown extensively in festivals across Latin America. As far as I can see it had only previously been at Cairo’s festival before its Bradford screening so I’m intrigued as to how the BIFF programmers found it. I’m glad they did. I enjoyed what seems to me to be an original comedy with a commercial bent. I hope it gets more exposure in Europe.
I missed the first few minutes of this film, which was a shame as it provided a gentle introduction to the festival proper. Road movies set in Central America are not unusual but this one reverses the familiar trajectory and instead of heading North to the US, the protagonists go South to Panama from Costa Rica. César is a man past his prime but still working as a PE coach for local children. When he falls ill from heart disease his son ‘Tito’ must travel North from Panama to see him. This is a struggle for Tito who is an albino with the common affliction of poor eyesight. He has always felt a failure in the eyes of his macho father, a Panamanian of African-Caribbean consent.
When he recovers, César determines to drive his son back to Panama where he is due to participate in a regional 10 pin bowling contest. This means driving 1,000 kilometres in his beat-up Lada. Tito tries to persuade him not to try but it’s useless. On the way they pick up a young woman and her mongrel dog. César mocks his son’s inability to maintain a relationship with a woman (he was married and then quickly divorced).
Nothing much happens on the journey – or rather nothing much that is unexpected. I’m wondering about the possible national typing metaphors that the three central characters might represent. César is given a commitment to boxing like many Caribbean-Americans, Yadia is Spanish, possibly Amerindian and albinos are always significant minorities, invoking strong passions. I’m guessing that there is something I’m not picking up on. The story is presented in CinemaScope and it looks good and sounds good with an attractive music soundtrack. The film’s official website gives details on the crew with different creative inputs from Panama, Costa Rica, Uruguay and Ecuador. Director Juan Sebastián Jácome was born in Ecuador and trained in Florida. This feature debut is a strong calling card for further Central American feature production. I noted that the Panamanian producer Luis Pacheco was also involved in production on Los colores de la montaña, one of my favourite films at the !Viva¡ festival in Manchester a few year’s ago.
It’s March and in the North West that means the ¡Viva! festival at Cornerhouse in Manchester. Starting on Friday 7 March and running through to Sunday 23 March, this is the 20th edition of the premier Hispanic film fest in the UK. Spanish cinema is suffering badly in the current recession with a right-wing government that seems to care not a jot for film culture except to increase taxation on its diminishing revenues. There’s no better time to show your support for the industry. Cornerhouse has as always found some gems from Spain and the output from Central and South America is increasing in both quality and quantity so this a festival not to be missed.
The opening film of this year’s festival is Días de vinilo (Days of Vinyl, Argentina/Columbia 2012), “a contemporary comedic tale of friendship and love with a fabulous sixties soundtrack”. Director Gabriel Nesci will be presenting the film at the opening gala screening and taking part in a Q&A on Sunday 9 March. He will be the first of several festival guests and ¡Viva! is famed for its guests and special events. One of these will be a 1 hour intro to Mexican exploitation cinema delivered by Andy Willis of Salford University who is aiming to complement the screening of El Fantástico mundo de Juan Orol (Mexico 2012), a spectacular biopic that covers the barely believable career of the legendary maverick film director. For those who love the bizarre, ¡Viva! offers a new film from the frenzied imagination of Álex de la Iglesia in the form of Las Brujas de Zugarramurdi (Witching and Bitching, Spain/France 2013) which promises an appearance by the wonderful Carmen Maura. Like several other ¡Viva! screenings this will be a UK première.
¡Viva! always offers a ‘classic’ and this year it is Carlos Saura’s début film, Los Golfos (The Delinquents, Spain 1960) with a post-screening discussion led by ¡Viva! regular Carmen Herrero from Manchester Metropolitan University. I’m looking forward to seeing this film and two or three more on a Sunday visit. This year there are films from Cuba, Peru and Venezuela as well as those from Mexico, Argentina, Colombia and Spain mentioned above. Don’t miss out! You can download a full festival programme from the Cornerhouse website.
This film, directed by Sebastián Lelio, features in the Leeds International Film Festival Official Selection. Before I even saw the film friends were telling me that it was an extremely good movie. It fulfilled expectations. And it is graced by a fine central performance by Paulina García which won the prestigious Silver Bear Award at the Berlin Film Festival. Gloria is a middle-aged divorcée. She has some sort of administrative job, a pregnant daughter who is soon to marry her lover from Sweden and a son separated from his wife and caring for their baby child. Gloria is lively and active. We see her both with her family, in social situations and at a number of dances and parties. In the course of the film she begins a relationship with another divorcee, Rudolph. Their relationship is presented explicitly, including one technique I had not seen before.
Gloria is socially active but at the same time she often has an air of detachment. The film opens with her standing and surveying a lively dance floor: after a long pause she joins the dancers. And the film closes with an almost identical sequence, as Gloria surveys a party and then joins the dancing, though she appears to be dancing alone rather than with a partner as in earlier scenes.
This is a generally upbeat film about a positive character. The director is quoted in the Catalogue: “I think that the energy in Gloria’s character is what makes the film vibrant and human. Gloria is like Rocky [Balboa – the Sylvester Stallone boxing champ]: the world strikes at her and beats her down, but she manages to get up once more and carry on forward, holding her head up high.”
This is a neat summary but the comparison with the Hollywood character would seem to be marketing hype. This film offers almost no parallels with that boxing franchise. However, there are two other films that do provide interesting parallels. One is Paulo Sorrentino’s recent art film The Great Beauty (La grande bellezza, 2013). The central character in that film is Jep (Tony Servillo) and he has some characteristic in common with Gloria. Both belong to an older generation: both combine an air of detachment with the ability to engage and join in with abandon. However Jep’s emotional centre is in the past, whilst Gloria’s is clearly in the present. In that sense she is closer to another Italian film character, Giulietta Masina’s marvellous heroine in Le notti di Cabiria (1957). The two women are from different classes, and consequently Gloria has a savoir faire that Cabiria lacks. However they share an ability to meet life’s ups and downs with fortitude and resilience.
In fact, there is a slight touch of the Fellini in Gloria’ style, (as there is to a greater degree is in The Great Beauty). There is an air of the carnivalesque at times in the Chilean film. And frequently the mise en scène presents Gloria in a widescreen shot where the urban environment and landscape are prominent, (another Fellini trope). I was not clear where some of the settings were: presumably a Chilean audience would recognise them. I think we are mainly in Santiago, but there is a visit to Vino del Mar, (once the site of the Festival for New Latin American Cinema).
Lelio is also quoted in the Catalogue: “Chile is a modern and thriving country, but is social contract is very unjust. Gloria’s personal vindication subtly communicates the community’s latent discontent.” There in fact several references to protests, including what appears to be the notable student demonstrations in 2012. And one of the film’s producers is Pablo Larrain who directed the fine but disturbing Tony Manero (2008).
The film has a fairly intricate soundtrack with a range of mainly popular music. At times this seemed to comment on or to re-enforce the characters at that point. I was not able to identify enough of the music used to be sure of all of this in every case. There is one great scene where Gloria’s daughter, with a friend on guitar, sings a flamenco song.
The film has international and UK releases, so there will be opportunities to see this very worthwhile film.
I don’t think I’ve seen a film by the Chilean director Andrés Wood before and I wasn’t familiar with the work of the subject of this film Violeta Parra (1917-67). Wood’s 2004 film Machuca has been on my waiting list for films to watch on DVD for some time so I jumped at the chance to see this new film which was the Chilean entry for the 2013 Foreign Language Oscar.
Violeta turns out to be an unusual form of biopic. Music (or more generally ‘artist’) biopics have tended to replace the 1930s and 1940s fascination with politicians and national heroes. Conventional films of this genre feature familiar aspects of the artist’s life – discovery, first success, fame, struggles with integrity, decline etc. Wood offers something very different, ‘layering’ snatches of Violeta’s career one on top of another, out of chronological order, in such a way that we build up an impression of passionate and proud artist, not prepared to put up with audiences or commissioners who don’t appreciate her work. We keep returning to an interview on television in 1962 in which she responds to a particularly unpleasant interviewer. She came from a poor background and she attempted to keep alive aspects of Chilean folk culture in her music and her painting. She performed in Poland and painted in Paris and she fought the conservative establishment in Chile. She died before the dictatorship of Pinochet attacked many of her fellow artists. No hagiography this, it shows Violeta as a woman with desire, anger and demons whose relationships with her children were not straightforward – the script is based on writings by her son. The film looks good with cinematographer Miguel Ioann Littin Menz finding ways to represent the dusty plains and Andes trails of Chile as well as Paris and other locations.
Violeta Parra was a major figure in Chilean culture, I have discovered. She led performers into a New Chilean Song movement of folk-based socially committed music which spread throughout Latin America and throughout Iberian culture generally from the 1960s. I’ve no idea whether or not Francisca Gavilán’s portrayal is ‘authentic’ but it certainly worked for me and her performance of many of Violeta’s songs was stunning – I was especially taken by the songs delivered in a powerful voice of thudding drum beats which were quite mesmerising. But perhaps the most dramatic song in the film is about the Sparrowhawk and the Hen – a song with metaphorical meaning for Violeta. Cornerhouse Cinema 2 was packed for the screening but I don’t know if there is a distributor prepared to release a title like this in the UK. Unlike the Frida Kahlo biopic Frida (US 2002) there are no star names known in Europe and North America. Violeta se fue a los cielos is showing again in Viva at 20.40 on Saturday evening and it is well worth a visit. I should see it again.