Spain

Biutiful

caitlin — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Alejandro González Iñárritu’s latest film, Biutiful, survives on the quality of its performances but suffers under the morose weight of Iñárritu’s bleak worldview. It is not a surprise that Biutiful is obsessed with the darker side of life—after all, this is from the same director that created Babel and 21 Grams. Yet it remains a surprise that Iñárritu’s direction fails to actually believe in what it’s saying; though the film seeks to illustrate the personal redemption and spiritual acceptance of its protagonist, its uplifting moral is beaten down by Iñárritu’s apparent desire to fill the film with as much awfulness as possible.

Biutiful tells the story of Uxbal, a father of two who makes his living as a middleman organizing work for illegal immigrants in Barcelona. Uxbal is also able to speak to the recently deceased, passing their final messages to those left behind, a task for which he reluctantly accepts payment. The film follows Uxbal as he comes to terms with his impending death, trying to prepare himself, his estranged bipolar wife, and his children for what is to come.

Unfortunately, Iñárritu’s direction seems to work against the narrative thrust of the film; as Uxbal accepts his mortality and attempts to leave behind a positive legacy, the film becomes more focused on the horrors of death. Halfway through the film the viewer has seen Uxbal urinate bloody urine (multiple times), a close-up of a decaying corpse, and an image of Bardem’s wasted figure wearing a diaper in the shower. All of these horrible images undercut Iñárritu’s narrative of redemption and acceptance.

The film sustains itself on the strong performances of its two leads, Javier Bardem and Maricel Álvarez. Javier Bardem provides the perfect mix of darkness and light in his portrayal of Uxbal. His portrayal is earnest, and it is hard to imagine any other actor so skillfully portraying a man decaying physically while strengthening spiritually. His performance is matched only by Maricel Álvarez’s portrayal of his bipolar wife, Marambra. Álvarez, a well-known performer in Argentina, shines in her first film performance. Her portrayal of Marambra is rich and complicated, and not the caricatured representation of bipolarity often portrayed on screen. She does more than hold her own against the raw power of Bardem’s Uxbal. It is unfortunate that such outstanding performances are drowned by Iñárritu’s melancholic direction. It’s perhaps more unfortunate that Iñárritu seems to have drowned his own message under the weight of his telling it.

Written by: Joanna Chlebus, November 29th 2010

Los Abrazos Rotos (Broken Embraces)

admin — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 10:48:00 +0000

Directed by Pedro Almodóvar

Sony Classics

The latest Pedro Almodóvar film is very much what we expect, but it’s also what we don’t expect. One of the many things I love about Almodóvar is that he has normalized some of the most marginalized and oppressed people in our society in his films (i.e., Transgender Latinas, mentally ill communities, and queer communities). I also love that he creates relationships with all the people in his cast and allows them to demonstrate their acting range as he cast them in other projects in completely different roles. I will let you know that Almodóvar is one of my favorite screenwriters and directors (Takashi Miike and Karyn Kusama are also on that list).

As a result, Almodóvar’s “usual suspects” are cast in Los Abrazos Rotos: Penélope Cruz (Volver) as Lena, a sex worker turned secretary who seeks to become an actor; Lluís Homar (La Mala Educación/Bad Education) as Mateo Blanco/Harry Caine, a screenwriter and director; Blanca Portillo (Volver) as Judit García, the agent of screenwriter Mateo/Harry; José Luis Gómez (Goya’s Ghosts) as Ernesto Martel, a wealthy Spanish man who produces Mateo’s latest film; Rubén Ochendiano (Che: Part 2) as Ray X, Ernesto’s gay son whom he ignores; and Tomar Novas (Goya’s Ghosts) as Diego, Judit’s son who helps Mateo/Harry.

The film takes place in two parts: 1994 and 2008. We meet Harry Caine, a well-known Spanish screenwriter and director who is blind in 2008. His agent Judit and her son Diego have been friends for decades and ensure Harry lives the independent life he desires. One day Harry has a visitor, Ray X, who seeks to write a screenplay with him about a son who was ignored by his wealthy father because he was gay and upon his father’s death the son can finally find the healing he seeks. Ray X pitches his story to Harry, but Harry declines. Harry is suspicious that Ray X is the son of recently deceased Ernesto Martel. As Diego inquires about the resistance to work with Ray X, Harry reveals how he knew Ernesto Martel.

We are taken back to 1994 when Harry went by his birth name of Mateo Blanco. We are introduced to Ernesto Martel who is working in his office and his secretary is Lena. Her father is dying of cancer, and Lena’s family needs help. She asks her wealthy employer Ernesto for assistance and he agrees. Ernesto covers her father’s medical bills by sending him to a private doctor and facility for treatment. Upon this assistance, Lena partners with Ernesto. It is through Lena that Ernesto is reunited with his son Ernesto Jr. (Ray X) who has told his father he is gay which increased the distance between them. After two years together, Lena decides to pursue her original goal of becoming an actor. She takes Ernesto Jr., an aspiring filmmaker, with her to an audition for Mateo’s current film. Mateo is immediately struck by Lena and after two auditions hires her for the lead.

Ernesto Sr. is not encouraging or supportive of Lena’s decision to “work” outside the home. He is obsessed with Lena and seeks to keep her followed/watched at all time. In order to do this he produces Mateo’s film, and asks his son to film production of the movie for a documentary and show him the footage each day. Ernesto Sr. discovers that Mateo and Lena begin a love affair and he is not happy. Ernesto Sr. does not allow Lena to leave him and becomes abusive and violent towards her.

Throughout the film we discover how the intimacy between Lena and Mateo lead to their current status (i.e., Mateo taking his pseudonym Harry and losing his sight). It is in this space that Almodóvar gives us some of the most stunning cinematography of his native Spain: black sand beaches, Spanish architecture, and massive forms of art that are sprinkled all over the country. We witness Judit’s relationship with Mateo and how it morphs after his relationship with Lena, and how Judit’s son, Diego, sees the ocean for the first time. I loved that story line, seeing the ocean for the first time, because as someone who was not raised near water, I remember what it was like to come into contact with water for the first time.

I truly appreciated Almodóvar’s way of normalizing sexuality among people with disabilities. The first scene of the film is of Harry flirting with and having sex with a young woman. Almodóvar also demonstrates how people with disabilities can live an independent life as Harry lives alone, travels alone, and uses technology to continue his field of work as a writer. For many people, seeing a computer that speaks to a blind person (in Spanish) may be a very new visual, as this is a daily practice for some blind people that I have not ever witnessed being included in media.

Prior to seeing this film I chose to visit the film website. I read a few of the reviews of the film, which honestly rarely give me what I really want to know about a film. You see, I’d call this a film that is lacking female leads that are not pitiful. I’m not speaking of the performances, as I believe Cruz is amazing in Spanish cinema (and not in that wannabe Spanish cinema way, a la Woody Allen nonsense). Instead, all of the female characters are created in a very weak way as many of them get beaten, abused (emotionally, physically, psychologically), are purchased, scared, must get saved by male characters, or in some way represent stereotypical characteristics we see all too often. Compare these female characters to the all-female cast in Volver and it’s a totally different set of characteristics.

I find it interesting film critics call this "film noir." Is that the nice way of saying international films create similar images of women that we have here in the US? Or maybe that’s the new way to eroticize non-US cinema? Because nobody is calling Seven Pounds, Obsessed, or Sin Nombre “film noir” and the female leads are just as stereotypical, if not more.

Along the lines of the “usual suspects” and stunning cinematography, Almodóvar also keeps with the imagery we are familiar with: bright colors, costumes that make me wish I knew how to sew better, interesting artwork from all over the world, hilarious lines delivered by each character, a strong conclusion to end the film, and an amazing soundtrack. This film, with its obvious flaws that surprised and saddened me, was worth every bit of the money I dished out for my Junior Mints. If it’s not in your area yet, it’s coming soon.

Cross-posted from VivirLatino

Written by: Bianca Laureano, December 3rd 2009

Kinky Gazpacho: Love, Life, and Spain

admin — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 17:00:00 +0000

By Lori L. Tharps

Atria Books

Lori Tharps’ Kinky Gazpacho does what memoirs do best: it brings us the author’s journey through her inner psychological life. The book spans Tharps’ kindergarten “Culture Day” in Milwaukee, Wisconsin through her present life as a freelance writer in Philadelphia. Even as a child Tharps feels “something in Spain is certain to change [her] life,” so when given the opportunity to live in the country through her college’s study abroad program, she takes it.

The book’s subtitle—Love, Life, and Spain—should have also included Blackness, as this is the experiential theme that strings the events discussed in the book together. When she arrives in Spain, Tharps is amazed at the lack of what she terms “political correctness.” She encounters stereotypical images of Africans used to sell products that are supposedly African in origin, like chocolate, or those that are simply dark in color, like soda. In one anecdote, Tharps recounts a group of school children that followed her singing a jingle for a cola she later learned to be visually represented with an African caricature.

Eventually, Tharps loses all political correctness of her own and begins a mission to discover the roots of xenophobia in Spain. She asks Spaniards she meets about the nation’s historical involvement in West African slavery. Despite the overwhelming insistence that Spain took no part in the slave trade, or that only rogue Spaniards were involved, Tharps uncovers a 200 year history of slavery in the country. Her eventual discoveries bring her a sense of peace with her identity as a Black woman in Spain.

While falling out of love with Spain, Tharps falls in love with a Spaniard with whom she begins a romance at the end of her time in the country. The couple must face the challenges of an interracial relationship—such as his grandmother’s refusal to acknowledge her when she visit’s his family’s home and her partner’s shameful admission to having enjoyed dressing up in blackface for festivals as a child—in addition to their physical separation when Tharps returns to the United States at the end of the study abroad program. This reality of this unlikely long-distance relationship is portrayed realistically: the couple breaks up, reunites, tries dating other people, and explores other escape routes created in relationships that privilege rational thought above emotional connection. The couple’s earnest commitment to negotiating their cultural differences through maintaining an ability to laugh at themselves and forgive each other’s flaws allows their relationship to triumph in the end, as the pair eventually gets married.

Tharps is at her best when writing about her emotional experiences. For example, she adroitly expresses her shock at her White high school classmates’ use of racial slurs when describing Black Americans, particularly as it’s done in such a casual, non-threatening manner: _"So," Mrs. Fletcher was saying, "instead of your uniforms you are all supposed to come to school dressed in the clothing of your ancestors. So if your family is German you can wear lederhosen or one of those cute dresses with the white pinafore." This being Milwaukee, the majority of my white classmates claimed German heritage and got it right away…I felt my cheeks burn. If they hadn't been brown, everyone would have noticed that they were red. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone, in case they noticed my discomfort or figured out my shame. My ancestors were slaves! I was the descendant of a group of people kept as chattel, who lived in shacks, worked themselves to death, and, if luck was on their side, fled up north with Harriet Tubman and disappeared. What was I supposed to do? Come to school dressed in rags with a handkerchief tied around my head? And food? Slaves didn't get to eat good food. Maybe my mom could bring in some table scraps for everyone to sample. I could feel my heart beating loudly in my chest and my skin went cold. How was I going to deal with this? And me being the only Black child in my class, my shame was my own. _Her prose falters only when she moves briefly into the realm of critical theory then returns to personal narrative without adequate explanation of how the theory she presents was borne out in her situation.

Kinky Gazpacho was a difficult book for me. I recognized early on that my standpoint was quite distant from Tharps’. I appreciated that she told her story in an intensely personal voice, but my inability to identify with many of her experiences made it challenging to connect with her story.

Cross-posted with Gender Across Borders

Written by: Thomas Murphy, September 26th 2009

Ella Es el Matador (She is the Matador)

admin — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 09:59:00 +0000

By Celeste Carrasco, Gemma Cubero

I’m vegan. I think cruelty to animals is unnecessary and unjust. I don’t eat animals. I don’t wear them. And I don’t kill them for sport. However, Ella Es el Matador isn’t a film about animal rights, and treating it as such does it an enormous injustice. I don’t believe in prioritizing a conversation about cruelty enacted on bulls over one about cruelty enacted on women while discussing a beautiful and melancholy film exploring the world of bullfighting through the eyes of female matadors—so I won't.

Ella Es el Matador is intentionally disturbing, but not in a graphic way. While blood does appear on occasion, what I found weighing more heavily on my mind was sadness. The bullfight is not simply a sport; it is a metaphor for the sexism and machismo which oppresses women who dare to enter this traditionally male domain. Bullfighting is a business run by men, which functions just like any other, and as the female matadors make clear, if the men don’t want you in the spotlight, they have the power to keep you out of it. World Class Matador Enrique Ponce puts it bluntly by saying that women who choose to be matadors should be given praise and respect for taking on the bull, but they are no match for men.

Filmmakers Gemma Cubero and Celeste Carrasco do a nice job allowing the stories of the women in the film to unfold, and though the focus is on two women in particular— seasoned bullfighter Mari Paz Vega and newcomer Eva Florencia—the audience is aware that these two women’s stories are simply two of many. The viewer learns of the history of women in this notorious pastime, how women’s ability to participate was stunted by Spain’s alternating liberal and conservative regimes, which forced them to leave their homeland for a career in the more welcoming scene in Latin America. We hear about the victory gained by feminists who finally won the legal right to equal participation, and the limits of that legislation amidst social inequity.

The artistic quality of the film was moving. Aside from the elaborately decorative “suit of lights” worn by the matadors and the portable altars used for prayer before a fight, the viewer is given a glimpse of Eva’s near tangible love of bulls through her numerous paintings of the creature. We are treated to a moonlight serenade of the beast that calls upon the tradition of years long since gone. We are shown scars of the battles where the matador lost to the bull, an anguish that is more than just physical.

I can’t say Ella Es el Matador has convinced me to turn my back on the squeamishness I feel about this macabre and ethically unsavory sport, but I have a newfound respect for some of its participants—animal and human.

The film debuted September 1st on POV. Check your PBS listings for a chance to watch it.

Cross-posted to Bitch Magazine's On the Map blog

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, September 2nd 2009

Night of Sorrows

admin — Thu, 28 Jun 2007 23:33:00 +0000

By Frances Sherwood

W.W. Norton

If you only knew the basic plot of Frances Sherwood’s Night of Sorrows, you might think it was a novel set in the 21st century. It’s a story about an invasion done in the name of a higher good with an ulterior motive of wealth. And it’s hard to tell who the good guys are because both sides are nowhere close to being saints. But this isn’t a story about America’s invasion of Iraq, Middle East terrorism, oil or the altruistic spread of democracy. Night of Sorrows is about Spain’s invasion of Mexico in the 16th century, the Aztec’s belief in human sacrifice, gold and spreading the word of Jesus. As Night of Sorrows so effectively illustrates – history always seems to repeat.

Sherwood’s historical novel takes the reader on a journey, following the conquistadors Hernan Cortes’ journey from the shores of Mexico to the heart of the Aztec empire, Tenochtitlan. Night of Sorrows is not about judgment. Instead, it’s an examination of human nature for both the Spanish and the Aztecs. It shows the humanity and violence on each side from the Spaniard’s slaughter of the natives to the Aztec’s ritual sacrifice of innocent citizens. Nowhere is this more evident with Cortes, who is at moments kind and nurturing (making love to the story’s narrator, Malintzin, or saving a mother and baby’s life in a difficult pregnancy) and the next vicious and cruel (raping Malintzin and chopping off the hands of his enemies).

Perhaps the most interesting character in Night of Sorrows is Malintzin, Cortes’ famed translator. Born as a princess and sold into slavery by her own mother, she falls in love with Cortes when he treats her as more than a slave. But once Cortes’ feelings turn, Malintzin is able to see more clearly what is happening to her country and tries to fight back.

Night of Sorrows not only offers a map of conquest but also a blueprint for human behavior and impulses. While we can’t say for sure exactly what really happened during the invasion of the New World, we can remember that nothing is ever black and white, and that there’s room for evil in good intentions and vice versa. Perhaps the best lesson Sherwood’s novel offers is that despite what is happening in the world, there is still beauty and good. The trick is knowing to look for it.

Written by: Beverly Jenkins-Crockett, June 28th 2007