Some Boys Run Away, But I Wouldn't Advise It: The Devil's Backbone (2001)

Including a Guillermo del Toro film in a month of horror films is almost a giving, considering that despite his movement through a few different genres, he manages to perfectly entrench himself within the horror film tropes, often using them in wildly inventive and engaging ways both in terms of pulling from a classical understanding of Gothic style horror, while also infusing it with his own understanding of the supernatural as it emerges within Mexican culture.  Indeed, at this point one can even begin considering the particularly auteur elements of del Toro since it is possible to pick up visual and narrative themes between something like Cronos and his much larger, yet equally engaging Pacific Rim.  Furthermore, I had all but convinced myself that del Toro's masterpiece was Pan's Labyrinth one of my earliest emerging cinephile experiences, and quite possibly the work that pushed me into an understanding that film could be something much larger than the traditional three act structure and move a viewer towards a more profound understanding of the themes at work.  I was, as such, surprised when The Devil's Backbone, his 2001 offering began to unfold in front of my eyes, because what I was viewing was not only excellent, creepy and indicative of all things praised aside del Toro's name, but it was miles ahead of the stunning and near perfect Pan's Labyrinth.  In this film, which doubles as a consideration of the Spanish American War through a paranormal metaphor and orphanage setting, becomes a clearly sentimental, albeit in a somewhat unsettling way, film that possesses a view of the world that could only exist through the eyes of somebody who understands the innocence and, at times, ignorance of youth.  Yet, del Toro realizes that his films are not at all intended for a young audience, although I am sure he revels in the thought of them encountering their oneiric, surreal feel, thus fusing his films with a high degree of psycho-sexual tension, doubled in wild ways through the steam punk world he has come to embrace.  This particular composition never allows for viewers to feel a sense of safety, despite it being a visually sumptuous film, often inserting the presence of spectral figures with no warning or non-diagetic cue, to del Toro, the other side of perception is constantly present and to awake to its intrigue and possible threats would be enough to drive a movie comfortably, the fact that there is also a well-developed and engaging storyline is yet another factor speaking to the proficiency of del Toro as a filmmaker.

The Devil's Backbone focuses on the existence of a minimally ran orphanage for boys during the Spanish Civil War, one that exists purely out of the goodwill of its founders Casares (Federico Luppi) and Carmen (Marisa Paredes).  Growing considerably in age, both Casares and Carmen rely on the help of their groundskeeper Jacinto (Eduardo Noriega), as well as his romantic love interest a teacher at the orphanage named Conchita (Irene Visedo).  The boys at the orphanage seem quite content to go about their lives in a rather desultory manner, despite their limited space, always minding the presence of a ghost they purport to exist.  Indeed, when a new child arrives named Carlos (Fernando Tieve) they make sure to bully and haze him into encountering the presence of the ghost named Santi, although they are unaware that the hyper-prescient Carlos noticed the ghost the moment he arrive at the orphanage, marked by its unique possession of a defused bomb sitting in the center of its courtyard.  Despite an initial confrontation with the orphanage bully Jaime (Inigo Garces) Carlos is able to befriend him through proving his trustworthy nature, while also showing a genuine interest in the whereabouts of Santi and precisely what led to his disappearance, or as Carlos and Jaime assume demise.  Meanwhile, it is revealed that Jacinto and Carmen have been in cohorts, the decidedly younger groundskeeper engaging in sexual acts with the disabled Carmen in exchange for the promise of sharing in the large amount of gold stashed away in the orphanage's safe.  This all happens as the Spanish Civil War slowly begins to encroach upon the space of the orphanage, causing paranoia amongst the children, as well as Carmen and Jacinto who see their wealth becoming threatened by the invasion of greedy soldiers.  Furthermore, during a confessional moment on the aprt of Jaime, Carlos discovers that Jacinto is actually the one responsible for the death of Santi, attacking him when he is caught rifling through the safe by Santi who had been spending the evening catching slugs with Jaime.  This leads to an act of vengeance that is jointly executed by the young boys of the orphanage and Santi's spectral presence, but not before the destruction of the orphanage by a vengeful Jacinto.  Yet, considering that Santi proves to be far from the only ghost in the space of the orphanage, the group is able to overpower Jacinto and leave the orphanage to engage in a quest all their own, clearly grown from the experience.

A lot of things could be stated about del Toro movies, doubly so when he clearly situates them within such an event as the Spanish Civil War.  As such, perhaps the most obvious way to consider this film is to look at the way trauma affects a persons bodied identity, especially intriguing within the context of the film being about paranormal presences.  Carlos and the fellow boys at the orphanage reflect a group of children suffering from abandonment, some by their parents choice, while others were drawn to the space when their parents died in the violence of the war.  Not having a means with which to speak to their anxiety and pains of loss, they work actively to reject any sense of oppressive forces or authoritative figures occurring, whether it be through embodying silence in face of authority figures, or acting out violently against one another, whom they deem equal enough to fight, a survival of the fittest mentality kicking in, not because they are animalistic, but because they only understand individualistic survival they faced after loss and abandonment.  Gender embodies itself far more fascinatingly through a figure like Carmen, who herself has become a victim of amputation, although the narrative is far less specific in how this occurred.  What is made clear through her character is the way in which her lack has caused her to feel considerably less worthy as a woman, doubled by her age in relation to Conchita, with whom Jacinto is romantically involved.  Realizing that her power is fading, Carmen asserts power through the incorporation of money and its power, accepting her advancement and bodily privilege must be bought, nevermind that she hides the gold in her already heavy prosthetic leg, the castration element to this metaphor becoming wildly clear.  Ultimately though, the most interesting character is the spectral figure of Santi, whose association with the deformity known as "devil's backbone" causes his already paranormal spatial existence to become a thing of impossibility.  By causing him to be a figure floating through the world, doubled by his blood constantly flowing and rising upward with an airy quality, del Toro infuses Santi, the same sort of wandering nature of the other boys in the orphanage, although where they seek survival and hesitation to bond with others, Santi only wants two things, to rekindle with his friends despite being bodily detached form doings so, while also exacting revenge on the threatening patriarchal figure of Jacinto.  The fact that del Toro adds on scenes of killing and execution happening in the war only make the narrative idea of body, identity and to a degree sacrifice that much more fascinating.

Key Scene:  Carlos' first lengthy encounter with Santi is something fresh and eerie in terms of paranormal horror cinema and del Toro executes it with perfection.

But the Criterion bluray for this film. It is absolutely mesmerizing.

I'd Love For The Alarm To Ring Right Now: [REC] (2007)

For the few people who have been reading my blog since its inception over two years ago will be more than aware of my constant quest to find the perfect found footage films, delving far back to the somewhat unbearable, yet historically relevant Cannibal Holocaust and engaging with more contemporary works like The Bay and Chronicle in hopes of finding more hope for the genre's continued success.  [REC] was one film within this cannon that I had been meaning to undertake and had let percolate on my DVD shelf for nearly as long as I have had this blog up and running.  Suffice it to say, the wait was more than worth it, proving to be one of the most narratively, cinematically an jarringly engaging works within the found footage horror sub-genre I have ever witnessed.  While it will still pale in comparison to the revelation that was The Poughkeepsie Tapes, [REC] begins in the most innocuous of manner, only to end in one of the more dark and disturbing of spaces ever committed to in found footage.  [REC] beyond being a stellar work within the sub-genre, also stands on its own as a work of horror filmmaking at its height, using a variety of traditional tricks for the genre to create an ambiance and general sense of dread from the very opening of the film, always aware that in regards to this particular style of filmmaking, much of the fear and anxiety comes from not only what the camera accidentally captures, but from what it will always fail to catch, particularly when the device used to capture the events begins to fall apart on itself.  Indeed, if, as I and others have suggested, the found footage sub-genre exists as a sort of commentary on the post-modern nature of horror filmmaking  then [REC] is this notion at its most realized, resulting in a slew of sequels as well as the ever present American remake.  The joint direction of Jaume Balageuro and Paco Plaza manages to become both a look at what can scares viewers within the purportedly honest filmmaking style of found footage horror, while also extending the unique lens of this sub-genre to consider very deep issues of social divides, both rooted in physical and philosophical differences, never at one allowing those engaging with the film a moment to catch their breath and regroup themselves emotionally.  If cinema, as Tom Gunning suggests, is a thing of attractions, [REC] considers how this attraction can occur without being a necessarily pleasurable experience.

[REC] begins as many found footage films do, in media res, focusing on journalist Angela Vidal (Manuela Velasco) as she and her unseen cameraman Pablo (Pablo Rosso) capture footage for their informative expose show While You Are Asleep.  It is during this particular night on the job that they are tasked with filming the work of a firefighting crew, Angela hoping that since the job is particularly rife with physical challenge and danger that she will be able to cut together a particularly engaging episode of the show.  Despite meeting interesting people at the job, including the strong-willed and likable Manu (Ferran Terraza) it appears as though the evening will be rather underwhelming, until the station receives a call to aid in the opening of a locked apartment, where the neighbors and owners confessed to hearing screams coming from the room.  Upon arrival, the Angela, Pablo and the firefighters find almost the entire apartment complex awaiting their arrival with looks of concern and confusion upon their faces, begging that the crew immediately resolve the issue.  Upon entering the locked room they discover an older woman disheveled and half dressed jumping about her room and making disturbing shrieks and gargling noises.  Assuming her to be on some sort of drug trip or suffering from high degrees of hysteria they attempt to approach her in help, only to have one firefighter be bitten by the maniacal woman, immediately going into shock after the events.  When another firefighter plummets to his death and other individuals start taking severely and violently ill, the apartment residents and the crew attempt to exit the building only to be stopped by a SWAT team informing them that they are now in a quarantined space, incapable of leaving until a health inspector has entered and can provide the necessary tests and vaccinations.  Yet when this occurs and more outbreaks take the other residents and at one point the health inspector himself, Angela and Pablo begin planning their own escape, only to realize that what was initially believed to be a disease that spreads through saliva might well be the result of a much more sinister force, leading them in a face to face encounter with a truly disturbing entity.

[REC] avoids the pitfall of many a found footage films where a director, who usually doubles as a writer on the film, finds it necessary to make every character involved hyper-aware of the situation, dropping dialogue and narrative hints that suggest a complete understanding of every obstacle and a even more keen understanding of the presence of a camera in the situation.  Balaguero and Plaza do no such thing, realizing that the camera in the space of this film can be both a point of benefit for catching moments of human degradation and occasionally triumph, but often fails to do so with any degree of cinematic pleasure.  At first, I found myself frustrated with the particularly blurry and shaky quality of this found footage film only to realize that in its stylistic endeavors this breaking down of the visual aid is perhaps more accurate than most, never fully painting an accessible picture of the events, only half revealing the narrative elements, because as is the case with films like this the work is supposedly a rediscovery of an item that was never afforded a means to edit itself into cohesion.  Of course, films like The Bay and The Poughkeepsie Tapes change this by making the narrative work within the frame of a documentary style.  Nonetheless, [REC] is wholly an incomplete document and, as such, carries with it a certain degree of eeriness as a result.  I do not mean to say that this lack of full cohesion makes it an incomplete experience, but instead a decidedly more accurate one, causing the narratives of distrust, paranoia and perversion to become believable, so in that by the time viewers are shown the reveal in the closing moments of the film it is both baffling, but not so inconceivable as to drive away those watching from continuing on the thrilling ride.  At times [REC] does become aesthetically profound, whether it be something as simple as a girl, moments away from turning via the disease confronting the camera, or a defeated lingering on a man in a hazmat suit entering the building, [REC] kowtows to the possibilities of the cinematic form to be gripping even in its least technical performances, and almost as a way to play with the audience, the film calls attention to its very narrative in the closing line of the film, only to immediately follow this with a title card and notably non-diegetic music playing over the credits.

Key Scene:  The hazmat suits preparing to enter the building is a moment of tragic serenity in an otherwise non-stop thrill ride of film.

[REC] is readily available to all those interested in viewing the film, which, in my mind, should be everyone.

Have I Changed, Or Has The City Changed?: Memories Of Underdevelopment (1968)

With the viewing of this film earlier this week I can now say definitively that at some point in my life I have seen every film on the TIFF essential 100 list.  This might seem a little silly for those who do not regularly read my blog posts, but this has been an endeavor that was well over two years in the making.  Many of the films on the list were quite easy to come by, but since it is an incredibly diverse and decidedly globalized list some of the works were just near impossible to find, particularly Memories of Underdevelopment, which as you may know is a Cuban film about revolution set in the heart of the sixties.  Fortunately, my attending a rather big name school for graduate studies has afforded me the chance to watch a copy, all be it, on a VHS player, but it is by no means the worst venue for some of the films I had to dig up, I think specifically of Wavelength and Pather Panchali when reflecting on this quest.  It is quite appropriate that I ended with something like Memories of Underdevelopment, because it stands apart from so many on the list (all quite excellent films in their own rights) as something uniquely its own.  A hardened cinephile will quickly recognize the various cinematic traditions exploding on the screen, whether it be flares of cinema verite, or a heavy use of Fellini's humorous absurdism, in fact, one can even pick out a healthy dose of American rock'n'roll influence, despite being a film made in Cuba during the height of its revolution.  What makes Memories of Underdevelopment such a powerful film, however, is that despite its clearly personal commentary on the state of Cuba politically and its inevitable extension to those occupying the spaces of the multiracial, multi-classed island, the film somehow manages to exude a certain degree of awareness about the larger questions of humanity, personal struggle and the ever present concern of aging and existential angst.  Filmmaker, Tomás Gutiérrez Alea blows the lid off of cinematic conventions, by layering cinematic tricks, with masterful metaphors never allowing the narratives decidedly non-linear structure to ever provide any degree of comfort or intimacy to the viewer, yet the message is so personal and impassioned that it is hard not to be fully gripped from the violent opening of the film to its introspective closing moments.

Memories of Underdevelopment has a few narratives interwoven within the particular experiences of Sergio (Sergio Corrieri) a well-to-do Cuban whose travels and living in Paris have clouded his judgement of Cuba both as a country and as global political identity.  Sergio purposefully uses the term underdeveloped to refer the the nature of Cuba as it moves towards the seventies, suggesting it to be indicative of its relationship with countries like the United States, as well as a reflection of the larger social landscape.  Of course, Sergio is quite well off, therefore, he is able to more easily move about Cuban streets and, subsequently, engage with people of various classes.  Yet, as a single bachelor, Sergio spends a considerable portion of his time attempting to hook up and manages to find success with an young girl named Elena (Daisy Granados) whose doe-eyed demeanor is both built up as a point of attraction for Sergio, as well as a sign of weakness which he is happy to exploit.  Of course, his involvement with Elena is far more fleeting and desires nothing more than casual sex, yet, when it is revealed that Elena is indeed a virgin, and expects Sergio to now wed her after their intimate encounter, Sergio moves into a panic, attempting to avoid any degree of commitment.  It is, however, revealed that Elena, aside from still being a teenage, is also suffering from a high degree of mental illness, or at the very least a severe case of depression.  These changes result in Elena's family stepping in to seek reprimands for Sergio's behavior, although the wealth and well-being of Sergio allow for him to escape without as much as a scratch, able to float about Cuba with his condescending gaze fixated on all those lesser than him.  The film shows this rather simple narrative while continually intercutting between popular film and political footage, with a rather obvious yet incredibly poignant message along the way.

The notions of class and privilege cannot be ignored within Memories of Underdevelopment, and certainly should not, considering the political climate in Cuba at the time of the film's release.  Firstly, Sergio is intended to be a loathsome character, his Westernized, views of the world allow him to look at his country with some degree of disgust, suggesting that the people are to some degree underprivileged and, therefore, decidedly less than he is, especially since he has seen the "better," and considerably whiter parts of the world.  It is no irony that the people he seems to condemn the most are of considerably darker complexion than himself and as a result less connected with the Western ideal.  This frame of reference helps explain how he goes about seducing and taking advantage of Elena, who is noticeably darker than himself, her suffering from a mental disorder, only helps to convince of his ability as the closest thing to a "white oppressor" to take advantage of the mentally troubled and, as a result, savage Cuban woman.  It is a narrative that steeps itself within the realm of colonial criticism, which is no small irony, given that Cuba would be dealing with a colonial gaze via America, whose concerns for their production of weapons would lead to high levels of hostility, leading to surveillance and infamous photographs at the Bay of Pigs, completely unbeknownst to the people of Cuba.  Much in the same way, Sergio lives in a high rise condo and uses the lens of an expensive camera to spy upon the people around his building, whose class and racial complexion are othered and exploited, even gazed upon at Sergio's leisure.  It is, in fact, these sequences that seem to sum up the issues of the film beautifully.  The film seems to ask what good can come from change and a desire to alter the landscape of a country that is being passed down and decided by a for so high up as to be literally detached from the ground.  Their understanding of the problems does not speak to the deaths happening on the ground, only the lofty ambitions to be equal to the West, although this idea, as the narrative seems to hint, will never, and can never happen.

Key Scene:  There is a nice repeat montage of some dancing and striptease scenes in the middle of the film that is experimentally sound and metaphorically powerful.

This is a doozy to come buy and does not appear to be receiving an American release in future, as such I strongly recommend watching it but will leave you to your own devices to figure out how to do so.

Play With Babies And You Will End Up Washing Diapers: Y Tu Mamá También (2001)

I have found myself quite aware of Alfonso Cuaron as a director, perhaps most accidentally from an early morning viewing of moments from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, yet this was ages ago and I certainly did not know the directors of films, or really watch a whole lot of films for that matter.  Of course, he is probably most well-known on a global scale for his directing of the dystopic masterpiece Children of Men, a film that as I find myself revisiting it quite often, can say with some sincerity that it is standing the test of time.  Film critics hail Cuaron's offering to the Potter franchise as its best, and it is rather difficult to find people who outright dislike Children of Men, yet as I go on about both of these films, it is Y Tu Mamá También, Cuarons' breakthrough film that proves to be his most well-received and generally loved film.  I am almost certain that I have never heard a bad word spoken in relation to this film, in fact, when people do discuss the film it is with an unprecedented fondness and genuine adoration for the film, noting its innovative use of the camera to capture a story with layers and complexities, one of which is class struggles on a national level.  Others seem to be caught up in Cuaron's clever breaking of the narrative structure by dropping the sound out in order for the narrator to interject explanations that, often times, undermine everything the characters are discussing, much in the same vein as Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon.  As bold a cinematic statement as one can imagine, Y Tu Mamá También starts off with a pace and vision all its own and never once seems to stop and allow the viewer to adjust to its unusual execution.  Sure the narrative's trajectory can be pinpointed rather quickly and it is not the most redemptive or uplifting of films ever realized, but to call Y Tu Mamá También anything short of visionary is to clearly be disconnected from the film on a problematic level.  As the person I viewed the film with suggested, it is certainly the On The Road of Mexican film, but somehow it manages to obtain a degree of hope, amidst a Kerouac style malaise and misogynist ethos.   The men of this film are their own much more redemptive versions of Sal and Dean, coming down from their spirit quest in real and tangible ways, much to the woe of those afforded the pleasure to watch this magnificent piece of cinema.

Y Tu Mamá También places its focus on the unusually intimate relationship of two high school pals the first being Julio (Gael-Garcia Bernal) whose family has ties to leftist political movements and has always been of a slightly lower class and Tenoch (Diego Luna) the son of a high-ranking political officer.  While the two boys' friendship is rooted in school they also have the shared benefit of maturing together, particularly in their respective sexual awakenings.  This element of sexuality, aside from constant pot-smoking seems to be the major connection the two share, making for a rather unusual moment when, at a cousin of Tenoch's wedding, the two fall for an older Spanish woman named Luisa (Maribel Verdú) whose self-involved and condescending husband becomes a point of mocking for the two.  Foolishly attempting to win over Luisa the two suggest that she travel with them to a secret beach locale, which they fictitiously title "Heaven's Mouth," although Luisa is quick to discredit their invite considering her age and their foolishness.  However, when Luisa realizes that her husband has been cheating on her, she takes the boys up on their offer and travels with them to Heaven's Mouth.  It is during this trip that Julio and Tenoch's relationship is question, both for its frantic sexual nature, as well as their respective lies about sleeping with one another's girlfriends.  The tension is only heightened when Tenoch actually has sex with Luisa during their stay in a village after their car breaks down.  This jealousy fuels Julio to discredit Tenoch's sexual prowess, however, when Luisa gladly has sex with Julio the dynamics change, and the tension arises between the two young men, leading to a tequila-fueled threesome between the travelling companions, upon arrival to a beach that by pure coincidence is known to the locals as Heaven's Mouth.  This awkward sexual encounter proves to be the breaking point and Julio and Tenoch return home while Luisa stays and decides to explore the coves of the area. The closing scene of the film shows Julio and Tenoch engaging in a meeting for coffee, where their forced distance and awkwardness manifests itself fully, and as the narration suggests this cup of coffee would prove to be their final encounter.

I mention the tensions of sexuality in this film, it was a factor I was made aware of well before ever seeing the film, however, to be told about this did not prepare me for the way in which it would erupt off the screen.  I have talked before about the homosocial bond in film and have certainly focused on gay cinema at least once, however, the world in which Y Tu Mamá También exists manages to bring the social issues of this sexual identity to its absolute boiling point.  In contrast to the equally excellent Pedro Almodovar, Alfonso Cuaron relies on the reality of moments, as opposed to a simulacrum of reality that is highly stylized to deal with the issues of repressed homosexual desires bursting at the seems.  Tenoch and Julio are clearly infatuated with one another and their respective sexualities, both physically and mentally, we are shown images of them starring at one another's penis for extended amounts of times, considering the attractiveness of each of their male organs.  Similarly, they engage in competitive masturbation, for a lack of better, words laying parallel to one another as they outwardly express their sexual fantasies, even being so in synch as to seemingly reach orgasm simultaneously.  It is not until they are forced to acknowledge one another existing in a heterosexual state that things become problematic, something Luisa call to their attention when she says that they are no longer allowed to have sex with her, but are more than welcome to do so with one another.  One could also consider their confessions  of sleeping with their respective girlfriends as a way of affirming their own desire to engage in intercourse with one another even if in the most indirect of manners.  This makes the eventual three way sexual encounter problematic, because it has a layer of their repressed homosexuality emerging, but Luisa must tragically work as a sacrificial in-between to assure its consummation.  Whatever the result then becomes, it is certain that it greatly damage the relationship between Tenoch and Julio.  Perhaps they are indeed straight and their desires were misguided, or the existence of Luisa only betrayed their ability to unleash their repressed desires, it is impossible to say because Cuaron purposefully leaves it vague, and it seems to be the ideal choice, because after all is not sexuality the most malleable and indecisive of things.

Key Scene:  Leaves, pools and sexual awakenings.  If you have seen the film you will know what I am talking about, if not, you will understand upon viewing.

This is a must own film.  The dilemma, however, is that Criterion has apparently had this film in their "to be released" canon for nearly three years now.  I am hoping that this is the year it happens, as such I suggest holding off a purchase and renting in the meanwhile.

The Dead Don't Dream: Tristana (1970)

As it stands, Luis Buñuel is now my favorite director, not to be confused with my favorite film, which will likely always be Do The Right Thing, however, unlike Lee, I find myself entirely engaged with every work offered by the late Spanish filmmaker, even if in some instances it is in a frustrating and problematic manner.  Buñuel, one of the premier figures in the surrealist movement, went on to make a ton of movies during his controversial career, being forced to move between countries to avoid arrest, death and what proved to be an inevitable excommunication from the Catholic Church, which after a quick internet search proves to be a rather difficult task to assure.  Buñuel for all his problematic images of fetishization and sexuality as it relates to authoritative, particularly religious, oppression, has emerged to exist on the same level of controversy with the likes of Jean-Luc Godard and the late Pier Paulo Passolini, yet where the former went entirely political, while the latter went absolutely shock value, Buñuel exists in a perfect and beautiful medium between both, a focal point which afforded him the ability to be both scathingly critical of his countries fascist ties, while also playfully considering the ways in which his film's characters undermined or rejected such authoritative figureheads.  Of course, I could go on for days praising Buñuel for his entrenchment within the surrealist notion of constant revolution, however, his inclusion in the last days of my month of women in film blog posts is not for his concern with authority as it relates to politics or religious oppression, but for his unusual and often negative consideration of women within his films.  I do not mean this to entirely dismiss Buñuel as a director, because I am rather aware of the ways in which he uses the feminine and fetishizing of the female body as a point of reference, with which to further study displacement of failure and frustration, yet he does exploit the women in his films, all be it, playfully and ironically, nonetheless, it is to be noted and critiqued, and Tristana is certainly a magnificent point of reference for such discussions.


Tristana, as the film suggests, follows the title character of Tristana (Catherine Deneuve) an orphan whose recent loss of her husband has placed her into a state of constant mourning, much to the concern and curiosity of her adoptive father Don Lope (Fernando Rey) who sees the young Tristana not only has his very real daughter, but, simultaneously, as a burgeoning sexual figure with whom he can place his own desires and hopes for sexual gratification.  Confused, and, frankly, a bit disgusted by Don Lope's advances, Tristana affirms her own desires to be an independent woman and attempts to seek a self and identity outside of Don Lope's gaze, something that initially leads to her meeting with a young, charming painter named Horacio (Franco Nero) who takes an instant liking to the ethereal Tristana and eventually proposes marriage to her, to which Tristana clearly wishes to say yes.  Unfortunately, the presence of Don Lope is impossible to ignore and eventually agrees to mary Don Lope, ostensibly becoming his adoptive daughter and legal wife.  Along the way Tristana falls ill with a disease the results in the loss of her leg, much to the delight of Don Lope who seems to find her handicap bizarrely arousing, and despite her continued attempts to remind Don Lope that she would rather be with some one else, Horacio, in particular, although at one point in the narrative it is clear she will branch out with others if it means avoiding Don Lope.  However, the power and authority of Don Lope proves to grand to conquer and Tristana submits to his elderly authority, however, when he falls ill and is bed-ridden Tristan quickly seizes the opportunity to open windows in the house, thus allowing for cold air to take over the space, only heightening Don Lope's sickness which assumedly leads to his death.  In no moment of lost irony, the dream heavy film closes with a montage of memories, considering and undermining the entire filmic narrative and its assumed reality.

I mention Buñuel is an interesting director to consider when one discussed women in film, particularly since they seem to always possess a problematic role within his works, whether it be their treacherous and influential sexuality in his early surrealist works, or their religious purity as a point of intense desire, as occurs minimally in something like Diary of a Chambermaid, but blows to incomprehensible means in Viridiana.  Even in his other work starring Deneueve, Belle de Jour from a few years earlier, it appears as though he is not quite willing to give a female a space of absolute control or rejection of the patriarchy, although the very means with which the brothel operates and allows its women to navigate spaces, undoubtedly undermines this notion.  Tristana is not completely void of gendered criticism, the most blatant being Tristana's seeming objectification on the part of Horacio and Don Lupe who seem to use her as an object in their own game of strategy to outwit one another, Horacio using his youthful vigor to his advantage, while Don Lupe clearly relies on years of experience and its mental advantages. Tristana simply seems to set aside contently and await for a victor to emerge.  Furthermore, when Tristan becomes an amputee it certainly seems to suggest a degree of fetishization in her otherness, although another reading could see it as a brilliant visual metaphor for the fear of castration or the female lack, as both relate to psychoanalytic theory, particularly in the context of film.  However, these problems seem particularly irrelevant when I reflect on this killing of the patriarchy within the context of the film, Tristana actively makes a choice to destroy her oppressor, even if it is through a slow disease based methodology, culturally speaking, the traditional means of murder for women, often emerging in the form of poison.  While Tristana has its problems, it is certainly the only film in Buñuel's oeuvre, for which I can recall, that does not end in the destruction of a female, but, instead; the complete opposite occurs.

Key Scene:  The bell ringing nightmare is surrealist intensity at is most realized and is perhaps the obvious Buñuelian moment in the film

A new film distributor known as Cohen Films has come to my attention for this bluray, and while their clear stealing of an image and style from Criterion is a bit bothersome, this Tristana transfer is fantastic and certainly worth owning.

The First Boy That Sees You Will Want To Marry You: Like Water For Chocolate (1992)

As part of a presentation I am working on I am reconsidering a set of Korean films for their commentary on eating disorders as a means to subvert gender norms and body politics within a contemporary discourse and while I know it is unlikely I am planning being asked about other ways in which food plays into a global narrative of gender and body politics, as such I am attempting to tackle a considerable amount of other films from global cinema which do deal heavily with food as a theme.  The first stop, as should be no surprise, is with the mesmerizing, sultry and sensational Mexican masterpiece Like Water For Chocolate, which has become an art house staple and cinematic treasure within the two decades following its initial release.  Mexican film certainly stands on its own two feet when it comes to an identity and culture, yet one would be really blind if they were to deny Like Water For Chocolate as a clear subscriber to two elements of traditional Spanish cinema, first being the heavy centering within the melodramatic tradition, perhaps the most important stylistic choice in Spanish film for the past century, as well as a clear consideration of magical realism which certainly occupies the space of the film, although it is certainly not as overbearing or present as other films from the country and certainly not on the level of some of the works drawing from Marquez or Lorca.  I popped in a considerably older version of the DVD which is not the greatest of quality and clearly one of the lesser transfers of the film, however, it is easy to pick up on the cinematic magic of the film and its exceptional style.  A film heavily influenced by sexuality and burgeoning desire, one quickly become intoxicated with the early twentieth century world actor-turned-director Alfonso Arau offers viewers.  Of course, one would be foolish to simply label Like Water For Chocolate as a pretty looking film with equally pretty people living within its its spaces, because its very direct gender commentaries and considerations of the spheres occupied by those genders is clearly at the forefront of the film.  It is no surprise that this film seems to grow a larger appreciation as years pass, because it is leaps ahead of its contemporary Belle Epoque a film I enjoyed, but am in no way enamored with, something I can certainly say about Like Water For Chocolate.

Like Water For Chocolate focuses primarily on Tita (Lumi Cavazos) a ethereal young woman who has been burdened with the unfortunate task of watching her mother, considering that she is the youngest daughter and tradition requires that she do so.  Yet, as the narrator of the film, one of Tita's sisters granddaughters, explains she was born with such striking features that the first man to lay eyes on her would undoubtedly fall for her, and this proves to be the case when she meets Pedro (Marco Leonardi).  Yet, Tita's mother Elena (Regina Torne) expressly forbids Tita from getting married, reminding Pedro that she is to take care of her until she passes, suggesting that the young man marries her other daughter Rosaura (Yareli Arizmendi) instead, something that Pedro agrees to do, realizing that it will still afford him an opportunity to see the woman he loves and eventually create a life with her.  Of course, as any good narrative proves, even the best laid plans come with obstacles, despite Pedro doing his best to put off intercourse with Rosaura it eventually happens and a child is born as a result, although, poor health on the part of Rosaura leads to Tita becoming the primary caretaker for the young man, much to Pedro's elation.  All the while, Tita comes to the realization that something about the cooking skills she as acquired from her late grandmother allow her to control the physical reactions of the world around her, using them, in fact, to ruin the festivities fo Rosaura and Pedro's wedding, as well as causing Rosaura to  become overweight and unsightly, completely destroying her desirability to her husband, who already has eyes for Tita.  All the while, Elena condemns Tita's every action and even when she dies her spirit returns to curse the young woman, resulting in fires literally occurring every time Tita and Pedro engage in physical intimacy. In the end, the passion of the two lovers proves to intense and Tita sacrifices them both to a fire, in order, to preserve the sanctity of everyone else in her lineage, although her history is clearly passed down through her cookbook, as the films closing moments suggest.

It is the lineage through food that sets the discussion up concerning femininity within the context of Like Water For Chocolate.  A film full of female interactions, it is both progressive and backwards moving in its execution.  Clearly the film embraces the power of matriarchal rule, creating a clear distinction between the power of Elena and pretty much every figure within the film.  Even Tita's sister Gertrudis (Claudette Maille) manages to take control of a small militia and become a rather uncommon female solider.  However, it is not easy to over look the oppressive acts occurring on the part of Gertrudis to her soldiers and much more blatantly in the relationship between Elena and Tita.  In fact, if one were to draw upon a feminist identity within the film it would seemingly be within the hands of Tita who is oppressed for a majority of the narrative and simply desires to engage in and express her own condemned and disapproved form of love, yet her jealousy and divisive engagements with other members of her family, who are invariably of the same sex means that these actions are to be questioned and to a considerable degree exist within the same oppressive realm of her mother.  Furthermore, little mention is given to the identities of the families various servants, including the main maid who is only used as a almost mammy figure after the loss of the families grandmother.  It is interesting that the feminine bonds disappear after the disappearance of the grandmother, because I would certainly argue that she proves to be the most egalitarian and progressive character in the entire film, despite fitting the description, on paper, of a person who would cling to conservative values.  The time period of this film reminds viewers that women's issues were prescient and to engage in conniving acts of back-stabbing is a decidedly internalized version of patriarchal oppression.  I know I ramble and make some rather unusual connections, it is not to undermine the very pro-feminine nature of Like Water For Chocolate, as it does end suggesting that descendants will undertake a new idea of femininity detached from distrust and jealously, yet the narrative is so heavily invested in these elements that it cannot, and clearly should not, be ignored.

Key Scene:  A scene involving quail and rose petal in its drawn out and grander execution is perfected magical realism if I have ever encountered it and boy does it scream cinematic brilliance.

Buy a copy of this film (no bluray as of yet), it is a must own and a definitive film from the Spanish speaking realm of global cinema.

All This Just So Daddy's Little Girl Can Score A Dime Bag: Casa De Mi Padre (2012)

When I see Will Ferrell's name attached to anything, I, like most people, assume at the very least that his performance will prove funny, even if the rest of the movie falters and never really manages to find its grounding, this was certainly the case with Old School and a ton of other comedies involving the well-established funny man.  However, I remember seeing passing trailers and hints at the absurdity that was to be an almost all Spanish language film in which Ferrell, a decidedly not Spanish actor would play the lead.  The absolute brilliance of such a film, both conceptually and risky could not be ignored, yet it seems as though the movie came and went with little or no noise whatsoever, probably due entirely to the fact that anybody who were to attend this film would be subjected to reading subtitles, a veritable death sentence to assuring sales, particularly in regards to American comedy.  Yet, Ferrell, as well as the remainder of his cast, many of which are well-established Spanish speaking actors, provide for a thoroughly hilarious film that is as post-modern as they come and almost appears to be in the vein of a Tarantino film, although in the case of this film, it does not have the underlying hipness and relies solely on absurdity...to some degree satirizing the overly aggressive stylized nature of both action films and old school spaghetti westerns.  The film, Casa de mi Padre, directed by long time Saturday Night Live writer Matt Piedmont, provides a complete undermining of what viewers have come to accept as visually consumable comedic film, while also reinforcing some of the traditional tropes and absurdities. Where I found Casa de mi Padre to be somewhat out of the ordinary was within its rather serious considerations of what it was satirizing and the methods by which it was doing so, specifically in its use of humor to consider the troubles of a transnational border trade and the manner with which language barriers affect its success, as well as how failures to communicate challenge its suppression.  Undoubtedly, much of this films assured production must have laid in the hands of one Will Ferrell and its passionate execution, should be, to some degree, credited to its main actor.

Casa de mi Padre focuses on the initially simpleton lifestyle of ranchero Armando Alvarez (Will Ferrell) who desires to make the best of his families land and longs to find companionship with a woman who shares his feelings.  While his father Miguel Ernesto (Pedro Armendariz Jr) seems to dismiss his every action and thought as stupid, due heavily to blaming Armando for his wife's death, Armando nonetheless takes life with strides and lives by his promise to keep his name honorable.  However, with the return of the family's prodigal son Raul (Diego Luna) and his fiance Sonia (Genesis Rodriguez) things in the world of Armando Alvarez quickly become altered, due to a combination of his own burgeoning feelings for the extremely attractive Sonia, as well as a realization that his brother is tied into the drug trade across The United States and is quickly becoming enemies with Onza (Gael Garcia Bernal).  To make matters much worse, Armando and his family become the point of attack by government officials who see them as central figures in the trafficking of drugs, this operation is led by a hyper-patriotic "American" speaking officer named Greg Parker (Nick Offerman).  While Armando pleads with his brother to extract himself from the life of drugs and violence it is not until a violent shootout on the day of Raul and Sonia's wedding which results in Miguel's death that any serious thought is taken on ending the tragic lifestyle, which of course means that they must take down Onza a task which results in a huge shootout and the death of Raul.  This death while, unfortunate, affords Armando the means to create a relationship with Sonia, one that allows him to exact revenge on his mother's attempted racist and take down corrupt American drug agents.  Also at some some point in time a Bengal Tiger plays into the plot, but that is just one of the many extra elements to a heavily packed non-traditional comedy.

So if this is a comedy can one really take anything it is saying about the American-Mexican drug trade with any level of seriousness, perhaps not, yet the level of detail placed on considering the rhetoric of those involved as well as the misunderstandings of the lesser persons involved in such a world cannot be overlooked.  Agent Greg Parker beautifully represents the trouble of illogically conservative individuals blaming Mexico for their drug problems, as opposed to considering the social breakdown in America leading to young children desiring to get high, it is a classic example of wrongfully placed blame, in this case by Americans onto Mexicans for their inability to end drug use.  Similalry, we are provided a dueling vision of The United States via brothers Armando and Raul, one seeing it as a glorious place of golden paved streets and endless dreams, while the other deems it a filthy place full of terrible persons that act like children, of course, neither is completely right or wrong in their claims, yet they both fail to consider how their own country has its share of problems, many of which are eerily similar.  This is where language seems to emerge as a point of criticism, the assumptions shared by both groups seem to be based on their inability to explain certain ideas or notions, outside of their cultural context and it is not until Armando shares a conversation with another agent at the end of the film that both sides realize that much of their disdain and contempt for the other side is grounded in stereotypes and lies promoted by higher forces.  There is also a considerable amount of the narrative focused on honor and sacrifice, and a suggestion that both values are necessary to assure safety and civility in one of the most tenuous yet seemingly crossable borders in the world.

Key Scene:  There is a moment where Will Ferrell literally shows his ass multiple times and it proves to be a laugh out loud moment during a generally funny film.

This is yet another reward from the Watch Instantly category as I attempt to wrap up some of the missed films of the year.  It is great and certainly worth checking out and I am ashamed it did not receive more hype upon release.

My Film World: Blood Cinema

I am trying a different approach to Monday posts.  Instead of delivering a film review, I am going to offer something in regards to film that is not specifically a movie.  This could be, but is not limited, to literature, music or other blogs.  It is a way for me to continue my study of film outside of simply viewing movies.  I hope that what I mention helps you to expand your film palette into something more than the casual viewing.  I also hope that it will help to convey how cinematically inclined our world can be.

For the inaugural post I am recommending Marsha Kinder's Blood Cinema: The Reconstruction of National Identity. It is a rather detailed study of Spanish Cinema as it relates to their films from early filmmaking through the fall of Franco.  It is, in my opinion, precisely how one should approach film criticism.  It is conscious of the society, artistic expressions of the respective eras, and the ever-changing role the movies played to audiences throughout the 20th century.  Furthermore, it is a very complex, yet approachable, reference book on all film things regarding Spain, including a chapter devoted solely to one of my favorite directors Luis Bunuel.  It sheds light on some rather obscure films, as well as dispelling misnomers about some rather famous ones.  I enjoyed reading Kinder's research and would highly recommend it to anyone curious about the rather unique world of Spanish Cinema.

It is available on Amazon for a decent price used and well worth picking up.  More information about Marsha Kinder is available at her USC faculty webpage.

                          (Cria Cuervos is only one of the many excellent films discussed in Blood Cinema)



                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

The Jealousy of Fascism and Four Sisters: Belle Epoque (1992)

When the Academy Awards choose their winner for Best Foreign Film based on two criteria.  The film has to be unbearably depressing, or relentlessly upbeat and feel-good.  Thankfully, for my sanity during this particular viewing, the 1992 Spanish film Belle Epoque falls into the latter.  It is a film about lust, love and friendship that spans generations, gender and class.  It is also an extremely idealistic film in its portrayals of a war torn Spain that manages to exist harmoniously despite divisive political and religious beliefs.  As I noted in a previous review on All About My Mother, melodrama is a staple of Spanish movies.  It relies on all the elements of the genre, including over acting, emotion inducing music and visual textures that seem at times surreal.  Despite being a rather conventional film, Belle Epoque is humorous, enjoyable, and a great study on the frivolous leanings of young love.

The film begins with a young man named Fernando (Jorge Sanz) avoiding detection after desertion from the Franco Army.  After a close brush with local law enforcement Fernado meets the elderly Manolo (Fernando Gomez) who is belligerently against the war and while literally impotent, sees Fernando as a vision his younger self.  After a night of drinking and talking, Fernando departs from Manolo.  Upon walking to his train for Madrid, Fernando views Manolo's gorgeous daughters arriving.  Infatuated with the four daughters Fernando purposefully misses his train and asks to stay with Manolo.  What occurs next is awkward sexual relationships with three of the four daughters, one who is bisexual, another who is widowed and one who has an off-and-on relationship with the local momma's boy.  The only girl Fernando overlooks is the youngest, and arguably most attractive, of the daughters Luz, played by a young and wide-eyed Penelope Cruz.  Amidst religious divides, underground rebellion and unscheduled visits from world famous flamenco singers, Fernando and Luz end up together at the alter.  In a sweet, yet bitter, closing scene Manolo watches the couple ride off to Madrid realizing he is yet again alone and left merely to exist in his old age.

The film deals with love liberally.  The types of relationships displayed in the film are as broad as they are complex.  Obviously the film deals heavily with sexual love as it relates to Fernando, the sisters and even clergymen.  It depicts physical love, however, as a lower form used primarily for gratification, as opposed to stability or comfort.  The film invests greatly, as it should, in notions of emotional love.  Each of the sisters comes to respect Fernando and love him for his good nature and excellent cooking skills.  They are able to forgive both themselves and him for their sexual encounters, realizing that the fleeting intimacy is far inferior to lifelong bonds of friendship.  Given this, it is easy to understand why Fernando and Luz end up together, she is the only one of the sisters to project this notion of love from the films onset.  While less obvious, the film does play on non-biological familial love.  This is evident in the relationship between Manolo and Fernando, one that Manolo claims to be purely friendship.  However, it is obvious that Manolo seeks to be a father figure to Fernando, particularly in regards to teaching him the world of politics.  In fact, Manolo and Fernando's first night as friends is spent together in Manolo's room, a completely platonic moment that still serves as a reminder of the frail barrier between the emotional and physical realms of relationships.  Belle Epoque posits a fluidity of relationships that can be as simple as loving ones mother, or allowing your wife to knowingly make you a cuckold.

Belle Epoque is a sweet movie and one well worth watching.  I would not go out of my way to purchase it personally, but a rental from Netflix is highly suggested.

Freudian Slips, Hysteria and Cross-Dressing Incest: Unconscious (2004)

I have done a rather large amount of research in Spanish cinema, or at least enough to know that post-Franco cinema Spanish cinema is preoccupied with sexuality, the more perverse the better.  This is blatant in the final works of Luis Bunuel and most every work of Pedro Almodovar.  However, even lesser known Spanish filmmakers fill their movies with sexual innuendos, homosexuality and rampant perversity.  Joaquin Oristrell's Unconscious is perhaps one of the more cinematically sound examples.  It is a comedy, thriller, romance, period piece all mangled together to create a film very reminiscent of the work of Jean-Pierre Jeunet.  The film, while complicated, never becomes burdensome and actually warmly welcomes its viewers to partake in a murder mystery without becoming preoccupied with its complexities.

Unconscious takes place in early 20th century Spain, which, like the rest of Europe, was enamored with all things psychoanalytical, particularly in regards to human sexuality.  The film focuses on Alma (Leonar Watling) and her brother-in-law/love interest Salvador (Luis Tosar).  The duo, against Salvador's wishes, sets out to uncover the reason for the abrupt disappearance of Alma's husband Leon (Alex Brendemuhl).  What unfolds is a bizarre, sporadic and, dare I say, hysterical dive into all things sexually deviant.  While searching for Leon the Alma and Salvador witness acts of sadomasochism, homosexuality, and unknowing incest.  It comes to the attention of the duo that it is Leon's accidental act of incest upon Alma that led to his disappearance.  This break from society that allowed him to plot a murder of the great Sigmund Freud of who he blaims for bringing the "taboo" act into Leon's consciousness.  I will spare further details as it would likely ruin the films great flow and enjoyability, but the absurdity extends far beyond the previous sentences of explanation.

The film tackles issues of gender rather blatantly, particularly in regards to the notion of hysteria.  Alma is through much of the film pregnant, making her react brashly and without concern for others.  Salvador, and other characters, note her "hysterical" nature...a term that is used to denote the psychosis as distinctly female.  Ironically, Alma is the least feminine in a metaphorical and literal sense.  Salvador is often incapable of making quick decisions, fails to act logically and allows Alma to wield phallic objects in his place.  More so, her husband Leon cross-dresses and fantasizes of being a female, obviously blowing the entire notion of heteronormativity out the window.  It is a film that shows not only the pompous, nonsensical nature of psychoanalysis, but its inherent patriarchal structure as well.  It takes notions of feminine equality out of the unconscious and into the viewers' reality.

I have to thank my girlfriend for picking this film out from Netflix.  It was certainly a fun and gorgeous film to watch and I highly recommend renting it, but purchasing the film might only be necessary to fans of Spanish cinema.

I Can Lie Very Well, and I'm Used to Improvising: All About My Mother (1999)

I am a huge fan of Pedro Almódovar.  I particularly enjoy his newer works and their critical focus on contemporary Spanish familial relations.  However, I only began watching his works in the recent years and have yet to make it through much of his older work, All About My Mother being one such film.  All About My Mother is, in many critics' eyes, his masterwork.  From the onset of the movie it is apparent why such opinions exist, the film is perfectly executed and provides the viewer with great acting, breathtaking visuals and more than a fair amount of laughs, not to mention one of the most somber death scenes I have seen in quite some time.  It also reflects all of the elements that cement Almódovar's auteur status: a cast full of sexually ambiguous characters, a vibrant and diverse color pallet and references to both Spanish and world culture.

The film follows the experiences and interactions of Manuela who is searching for her recently deceased son's father Lola...who happens to be a transvestite.  Along the way Manuela meets another transvestite Agrado (known for being agreeable), Sister Rosa (a nun who was also impregnated by Lola, played by Penelope Cruz) and Huma Rojo (an aging actress who as is befitting of her name always wears red).  Along the way Manuela learns to come to grips with her own sexual confusion and also the untimely death of her son.  In the films closing moments she reconciles with Lola, takes on Rosa's baby named Esteban, in honor of Manuela's own lost child and even has an opportunity to rekindle her previous dreams as an actress.

The beauty of this film comes not only in its vibrancy and its open-mindedness, but in that it is complete subversion of traditional melodrama.  Framing itself directly in relation to All About Eve, the film sets up every trope in the melodrama tradition only to break it down shortly after.  Almódovar inserts heavy string music into scenes of raunchy sexual debauchery and even plays on the visual elements of melodrama, taking the image of a train tunnel to not be a metaphor for Manuela's own dark past, but as a return to the vaginal role of mother, given her matriarchal nature to the childish people in her own life.  In fact, at no point does a male character provide a source of guidance.  Rosa's father is senile and easily confused and as mentioned earlier Esteban's father is now a woman, failing to assert his masculinity prior to his/her son's death.  The film is ultimately about motherhood, an idea that is reiterated in Almódovar's closing statement of thanks to all people like his own mother.  It is a far cry from a film about patriarchy, because in the world Almodóvar has created the notion simply does not exist.

If you are unfamiliar with Almódovar, I would recommend visiting Volver first, and then one of his earlier works such as Tie Me Up, Time Me Down or What Have I Done to Deserve This?  If you are versed in these films, but have yet to give this one a shot I cannot urge you more to watch it immediately.