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.

SXSW 2011: THE FUTURE

Sophie (Miranda July) in The Future.

A paw paw blowtorch

By Don Simpson

Poor Paw Paw (creepily voiced by writer-director Miranda July) -- our narrator and...ahem...talking cat -- is dying. With only six months to live, Paw Paw requires constant medical attention. No one wants to adopt Paw Paw...until a cute curlicued couple, Sophie (Miranda July) and Jason (Hamish Linklater), decide that they will do a good deed and bring Paw Paw home with them. After they commit to taking care of Paw Paw, Sophie and Jason are informed by the animal clinic that their love and care will probably help Paw Paw live significantly longer -- a revelation that strikes the two of them like a lightening bolt.

Suddenly, Sophie and Jason perceive their adoption of Paw Paw as the end of their lives while Paw Paw sees it as the highly anticipated renewal of his. It will be another 28 days until Sophie and Jason can officially bring Paw Paw home, so they have time to mentally prepare for this impending change in their lives. Sophie and Jason -- both 35 years old -- decide that they should make the very most of their remaining days of freedom. (“We’re 35 now...by the time the cat dies, we’ll be 40...might as well be 50...after that, spare change.” “Spare change?” “Less than a dollar -- not enough to get anything you want.”)

Sophie quits her job as a dance instructor and promises herself that she will record a new dance routine on You Tube every day for the next 28 days. Jason quits his job as a computer support technician and -- opting to “look for coincidences” and “listen to what people are saying” for hints regarding his destiny -- he becomes a volunteer for an environmental non-profit, Tree by Tree. (Jason describes the current state of the world -- thanks in no small part to global warming -- as a building just as it has been hit by a wrecking ball in a cartoon.) Sophie also releases them from the greatest shackle of them all: their Internet service.

Jason’s new life suits him pretty well, but Sophie is unable to gain any momentum toward her goals. As a couple, their perceived freedoms begin gnawing at their relationship bonds; an insurmountable distance quickly grows between them. This is around the time where two key supporting characters -- Marshall (David Warshofsky) and Joe (Joe Putterlik) -- are catapulted into the picture. Jason finds himself in a position that he must stop time (something he has claimed the ability to do ever since the opening scene) while Sophie partakes in a rebirth of sorts, via a stunningly surreal cocoon-like dance in a yellow t-shirt.

Sophie and Jason begin the film so perfectly matched for each other that they could have been twins. Now they are utter strangers because they embarked in making one serious commitment, the adoption of an ailing pet. Unfortunately, they cannot truly comprehend the dire consequences of breaking their commitment -- not just to themselves, but also to Paw Paw. (Poor Paw Paw...) The fate of their relationship weighs heavily upon Paw Paw’s future. With allusions to the female baby factory -- the female menstrual cycle (28 days) and fertility (35 years old -- often the age associated with a sharp decline in fertility) -- The Future serves as apparent analogies for the certainty of the passage of time and “aging” couples whose seemingly perfect relationships become devastated by the possibility of throwing a baby into the mix. To many people, babies are the ultimate sign of commitment and represent the loss of personal freedom for the parents.

Following up on her near-brilliant directorial debut, Me and You and Everyone We Know, writer-director July takes The Future to some new and fascinating places. The Future, unlike Me and You and Everyone We Know, dives deep into a world that mixes magical realism (the talking cat, Jason’s ability to stop time, etc.) with surrealism. She may have felt somewhat confined to cinematic conventions in Me and You and Everyone We Know, but with The Future July expresses a uniquely personal freedom of expression. As psychologically cerebral as The Future seems, it is the work of unadulterated eye candy as well -- with its luscious color palate, keen fashion eye, and wondrously theatrical scenes of performance art.

July also rehashes situations that are familiar to us from Me and You and Everyone We Know. Both films reveal that July is fascinated by relationships -- between people who “know” each other and between complete strangers -- and creates various scenarios to compare and contrast the levels of kindness, strangeness and romanticism inherent in each pairing. July’s characters are deeply flawed and unpredictable, revealing incredibly wide ranges of emotions and desires. The differences between coincidence and fate are practically indistinguishable. I sometimes wonder if July is working out her theological beliefs concerning the presence of a “higher power” at the rate of 24 frames per second.