FILM REVIEW: POST TENEBRAS LUX



Natalia (Nathalia Acevedo) in Post Tenebras Lux.

 Enter the void

By Don Simpson

If there is one reason to watch Carlos Reygadas’ Post Tenebras Lux, it is the opening sequence. Guaranteed to emblazon itself on your mind — this is as unforgettable as cinematic images get — this one sequence reveals so much about Reygadas’ film. Assuming that these images actually belong to Juan (Adolfo Jiménez Castro), not his daughter Rut (Rut Reygadas), then this is the first example of Juan’s cripplingly pervasive guilt. As the safe and familiar rapidly evolve into potential aggressors, this idyllic childish dream dissolves into a horrible nightmare. Not only does Juan feel totally inept as a parent, due to his inability to provide safety and security for Rut, but it also suggests that Juan might be at the root of what frightens her.

The opening sequence establishes the heavily manipulated perspective of the film. The camera’s eye alternates from a first-person perspective to observational vantage points (alluding to the multiplicity of perspectives and realities throughout the film). The framing is purposefully boxed in, with an ever-present tunnel vision focus on the center of the screen (a suggestion that this film has a very specific focus and a purposeful manipulation of perception). Then, as the fisheye lens blurs and distorts the boundaries of the 1.375:1 frame, the surreal duplicity of any objects on the periphery of the screen gives the allusion that we are observing these images through beveled glass. In other words, we are all just Peeping Toms complacently watching as someone else atones for his horrible sins.

Juan is a man with violent tendencies; by his own admittance, he hurts the one’s he loves the most. Juan has relocated with his wife Natalia (Nathalia Acevedo) and their two kids, Rut and Eleazar (Eleazar Reygadas), to a remote region of Mexico. He might believe that his violent tendencies will be considered more “normal” in an economically devastated community that is riddled by violent and neglectful patriarchs, and plagued by alcoholism, thievery, murder and suicide.

Although Juan is a native Mexican, the surrounding population has a much darker skin tone than he does. Assuming that the footage of a rugby match at an English boys’ school refers to Juan’s past, it probably signifies his European education and life of privilege. Though his “white guilt” leads him to believe otherwise, Juan’s wealth, history and skin tone have constructed an impenetrable wall between him and the people native to the region. Juan can try to ingratiate himself all he wants, but in their eyes he will always be a rich gringo with a fancy new house.

Juan seems haunted by a Catholic guilt for being an overtly sexual creature. Feeling as though Natalia doesn’t give him enough sex, Juan confesses that his overindulgence of internet porn for masturbatory purposes is pushing the limits of perversion. In one sequence (which may or may not be a dream), Juan watches Natalia have sex with strangers in a sauna room titled the Duchamp Room (referencing Duchamp’s work “The Bride Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors, Even”). A red demon with prominently dangling genitals and arrow-tipped tail makes two appearances — presented to us as Eleazar’s nightmares, this image is most likely derived from Juan’s fears that his own son perceives him to be a devilish sexual predator.

Juan is coming to terms with a guilty conscience that is literally killing him from the inside. As perceived realities, memories and dreams collide in Post Tenebras Lux, the free-flowing stream of seemingly unrelated scenes begin to congeal into what might just be Juan’s final act of penance.

FILM REVIEW: SAVAGES

O (Blake Lively) and Lobo (Benicio Del Toro) in Savages.

Throwing Stone

By Don Simpson

In what is being heralded by some as a “return to form,” writer-director Oliver Stone relies all-too-heavily upon the voiceover narration of O (Blake Lively) -- who teases us with hints that she might just be communicating with us from the afterlife -- to set up her three-way relationship with entrepreneurial marijuana cultivators, Ben (Aaron Johnson) and Chon (Taylor Kitsch). You see, Ben and Chon share O, sometimes at the same time (adding fuel to the right-wing's perception of marijuana as an immoral drug), and as long as the two guys are capable of providing O with orgasms-a-plenty and a credit card (for binge shopping at the mall, of course) she will stick around.

As if attempting to take a page from John Woo's playbook, Ben and Chon have an intense brotherly bond, but they have very little in common. Chon is an ex-Navy SEAL who has been forever traumatized by harrowing tours of Afghanistan and Iraq (while having sex with O, he has "wargasms"). In other words, he is the irrational brawn of the duo. Ben is a peaceful Buddhist who donates much of his time and money to help save the world. In other words, he is the rational brains of the duo.

Ben and Chon have cultivated a strand of Afghan marijuana that clocks in at an unfathomable 33% THC and their primo product puts their exclusively high-class indie start-up on the radar of a gargantuan Mexican drug cartel (the Walmart of the drug world). The cartel's leader, Elena (Salma Hayek), wants to bring Ben and Chon's highly profitable business into her fold, but Ben and Chon naively snub their noses at Elena's offer (Chon tersely exclaims, "You want us to eat your shit and call it caviar?!"). The problem is, no one ever says no to Elena and gets away with it! Thus, Elena's dastardly-yet-cartoonish henchman Lobo (Benicio Del Toro) kidnaps O, and all the while he twirls his mustache. Luckily for Ben and Chon, they have an elite squad of ex-Navy SEALs and topnotch IT team at their disposal, which they assemble to plan a scheme to get O back. Somewhere in the middle of the whole mess is a corrupt DEA agent, Dennis (John Travolta).

As much as I wanted Savages to be a return to form for Stone, the film is way too riddled with amateurish mistakes and uneven direction to be compared to the films of his heyday -- which, in my humble opinion, came to a grinding halt in 1997 with U-Turn. Yes, I get that Savagesis intended to be a trashy, fun, pulp-y, genre flick -- the problem is that we all know what Stone is (or was) capable of. I might have been willing to cut Stone a little slack if not for the clunky voiceover narration in the film's opening minutes and the horrendous closing act. Really, the only reason to watch Savages is for John Travolta and Benicio Del Toro's masterfully comedic supporting performances (especially during the one scene in which they face-off) -- though I am still quite unclear as to whether they are intentionally being funny.

Speaking of muddled intent, what is Stone really trying to say about marijuana and the war on drugs? Other than a couple heavy-handed attempts to drag medical marijuana into the equation, the perception of marijuana in Savages seems to be incredibly negative. Our perpetually stoned antiheroes -- Ben, Chon and O (who visualize themselves as a modern Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid) -- have reaped millions from the marijuana business, but have lost sight on reality because of their over-reliance upon their own highly potent product. Stone seems to be telling us that marijuana turns people into stupid capitalists who are addicted to materialism.

As for the war on drugs? Well, Stone simply relishes in its ridiculousness. The running joke is that each party views the other parties as savages; but if they all just worked together, there would probably be no need for violence. I guess I expected a little more from Stone, especially given the rare opportunity of featuring a female cartel leader. But, Stone turns Elena into a woman who is just as irrational and brutal as any male cartel leaders we have seen on celluloid. The only difference is that she has a weakness -- her motherly instinct to want to see her daughter (Sandra Echeverría).

LAFF 2012: REPORTERO



Sergio Haro in Reportero.

News to US

By Ed Rampell

In a day and age of print newspapers besieged by factors such as the emergence of the World Wide Web one weekly print newspaper is currently expanding its circulation. What is the secret to the success of Tijuana-based and U.S.-printed Zeta? According to Bernardo Ruiz, director of a new documentary focusing on this publishing phenomenon, Mexico’s high literacy rate and low Internet connectivity rate are important explanations for the success of this Tijuana weekly paper. But the most significant reason for its increase in readership is Zeta’s uncompromising content.

This success, alas, comes at a steep cost: While print papers may not be an endangered species in Mexico, honest reporters who boldly go where angels fear to tread, telling the facts about Mexico’s narco-war, gangs, corrupt policemen and politicians, are on that beleaguered nation’s endangered species list. The high price of this publishing triumph is the assassination of fearless journalists who put truth above survival, as Zeta’s hard hitting investigative reporting exposes the narco-traffickers currently corrupting and at war with Mexican society. There a byline can be tantamount to signing one’s own death warrant --even if the paper has resorted to using collective bylines “signed” by the entire editorial staff, instead of by an individual journo. (Although it’s more expensive, the paper is published at a plant in California then transshipped back across the border in order to maintain the paper’s editorial integrity.)

Reportero focuses on reporter/photojournalist Sergio Haro and the harrowing drug war he and Zeta’s other dedicated staffers set out to expose. While its subject matter is compelling, Reportero’s conventional nonfiction storytelling and slow pace somehow manages to render part of this 71-minute documentary dull. The contents could make for a great feature film; Oliver Stone’s upcoming Savages is set against the dramatic backdrop of Mexico’s amazingly violent drug wars. Nevertheless, for filmgoers interested in both narco-trafficking and freedom of the press, Reportero is required viewing.

And here’s three cheers for the brave Zeta-tistas in their courageous crusade to expose Mexico’s drug gangs and bought off police and politicos. Bravo, companeros! 


Reportero screens at the Los Angeles Film Festival: tonight, 7:50 p.m., Regal Cinemas.

  

 

  

  

 



FILM REVIEW: MISS BALA

Laura (Stephanie Sigman) in Miss Bala.

A girl in trouble can be a permanent thing

By Ed Rampell

Stylish cinematography, deft direction and edgy storylines characterize the New Mexican Cinema spearheaded by creative forces such as actors Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna, who, appropriately, share producing credits for this wave’s latest release north of the border, Miss Bala, Mexico’s official Oscar entry.

Mexico’s drug wars – which have reportedly claimed up to 50,000 lives in the past few years -- are providing grist for movie mills, from this crime noir directed and co-written by Gerardo Naranja to Oliver Stone’s upcoming Savages. In Miss Bala Laura Guerreo (stunning Sonora-born Stephanie Sigman) is a typical 23-year-old senorita in Tijuana who has nothing to do with crime and decides to enter the Miss Baja beauty pageant. This leads to her unintentionally becoming ensnared in extremely violent gang warfare that pits the ironically named La Estrella (“The Star”) gangsters against the DEA, the Federales and more, with the hapless, helpless Laura caught in the crossfire.

During her ordeal, which includes bombings, trafficking, kidnapping and gunplay galore, the terrified Laura is often curiously passive. At times it seems as if this innocent bystander doesn’t act on opportunities to escape, take the money and run, resist rape, etc. Maybe Laura fears that resistance is futile and means certain death? Perhaps Laura and her inner paralysis symbolizes the law abiding Mexican masses who are caught up in this criminal tidal wave, overwhelmed and unsure as to what to do and how to react?

Throughout the trials and tribulations they visit upon her, rather amazingly, gang chief Lino Valdez (Noe Hernandez) and his fellow gangbangers protect the embattled Laura. They also override the rejection of her beauty contest application, paving the way for the lovely Laura to compete. Why? There’s a method to their madness, which in the interests of avoiding plot spoilers your mum’s-the-word reviewer won’t reveal here. However, suffice it to say that the title of the film, Miss Bala -- which translates into English as “Miss Bullet” -- seems to ironically comment on the Miss Baja beauty pageant, and perhaps on the state of beleaguered Mexico’s tourism industry. (Although I must say that I visited the Riviera Maya near Cancun last year and saw no signs of the drug wars in that part of the country.)

In addition to Sigman's bewildered, perplexed, put-upon performance and sensuous presence as a senorita in peril, what I enjoyed most about Miss Bala is its scintillating cinematography. Mátyás Erdély’s camera frequently moves, evoking what is the essence of motion pictures, moving pictures, movies: Movement at 24 frames per second. However, this director of photography’s camerawork is never frenetic, nor is Miss Bala’s violence mindlessly gratuitous, unlike the cinematography and violence in, say, The Adventures of Tintin. I suspect that Steven Spielberg completely pummeled all of the charm out of Herge’s comic strip, just as he vandalized James M. Barrie’s Peter Pan with another overblown, pointless production in 1991. For a fraction of Mr. Spielberg’s budget, Senor Naranja has created a far superior action flick minus 3D imagery, which captures a moment in time when much of a nation is at war with itself, fuelled by drugs and their buyers in El Norte.

Miss Bala is one of the best, most exciting crime pictures I’ve seen since last year’s Congo-set Viva Riva! Mexico’s cinema has become so hot that even Will Ferrell is getting into the act, starring in the forthcoming genre spoof Casa de mi Padre -- with, but of course, the protean Bernal and Luna. The Mexican cinema has come a long way since Wallace Beery starred as Pancho in the 1934 Hollywood-made, Mexico-shot Viva Villa! which recently played on a double bill at the New Beverly Cinema with the Paul Muni, Bette Davis 1939 classic Juarez, and were presented by Hispanic film historian Luis Reyes. Viva Mexico’s film revolution!

  

  

FILM REVIEW: LEAP YEAR

Laura (Monica del Carmen) and Arturo (Gustavo Sánchez Parra) in Leap Year.

Belle die blur

By Don Simpson

Not to be confused with the Anand Tucker’s overtly saccharine Leap Year (2010), starring Amy Adams and Matthew Goode, Michael Rowe’s Mexican import focuses on the bleak life of Laura (Monica del Carmen). 

Except for the opening scene, in which Laura goes grocery shopping, the camera does not leave her Mexico City apartment. Laura, a freelance journalist, only leaves her apartment to stock up on food and find new men to lure back to her lair. We gaze upon Laura as she puts away groceries, cooks dinner, talks on the phone, masturbates, has sex with a random guy, talks on the phone some more, types on her laptop, watches television, has more sex with other random guys...rinse and repeat. The monotony of Laura’s life is strangely lulling yet utterly depressing.

One fateful night Laura brings Arturo (Gustavo Sánchez Parra) back to her apartment. Arturo takes her from behind, slaps her ass, and Laura takes it all in stride. Arturo comes back another night for more, this time he slaps her across the face then nearly strangles her. Arturo comes again and again, each time the sex becomes more and more violent; and Laura continues to accept Arturo’s increasingly sadomasochistic behavior as if a form of penance for sins she has committed in the past. For both Laura and Arturo, sex is a recreational activity, not an emotional connection. Despite Arturo’s perceived dominance during their sexual trysts, Laura always maintains full control (golden showers and all). Arturo may not realize it, but he is merely a puppet submitting to Laura’s will.

Rowe -- an Australian-born writer who has been living in Mexico for 16 years -- has formulated a heartbreaking account of hopelessness, self-isolation, and sexual aggression. The winner of the Camera d’Or prize at Cannes 2010, Leap Year is a subtle and subdued character study about an intelligent and doughy young woman whose calendar suggests that something wicked this way comes. The hashed-out days on Laura’s calendar are quickly approaching February 29th, a day that is menacingly designated in blood red.

LAFF 2011: THE NIGHT WATCHMAN

Martin in a scene from The Night Watchman.

Gates of hell

By John Esther

The latest documentary by Natalia Almada (To the Other Side; El General), few films or documentaries laboriously and quietly examine the life of the working poor as well as The Night Watchman (El Velador).

Set in the infamous Cualican cemetery called "El Jardin" ("The Garden"), the night watchman, Martin, and others construct crass gravesites and mausoleums for the victims -- or soldiers ("capos"), depending on how one looks at it -- murdered as a result of the highly profitable narcotic trafficking in the northern Mexico area. Day by day, under the sun, gravediggers, bricklayers, cleaning women, food vendors, etc., do their low-paying jobs as the rich are put to rest. Without visible exception, the ones doing the work have already existed longer than the recently deceased. 

Rather than explore the more visibly sensationalized aspects of drug trafficking, the documentary maintains its focus on the aftermath of violence. Almada never investigates the live and death of the victims or their families beyond the tributes (pictures, personal belongings, etc.) the latter have made at the burial plot. (However, there is one chilling scene where a mother wails over her son's death off-camera as we watch workers continue creating future burial sites.) Instead Almada focuses on the mind-numbing days and nights of Martin and the workers as they earn their meek wages caring por los nuevos ricos muerto, whose extermination brings the trabajadores a little steady income. To put it more bluntly than the documentary does: in this rare incidence, murder is good business for the working poor.

Although there were only about 40 people attending the Sunday night screening at the Los Angeles Film Festival, despite its method of deconstructing some of the destruction and construction due to violence, I only noticed one person leaving this unusually poetic documentary before it was over.