argentina, 1985 (w&d santiago mitre, w. mariano llinás)

Argentina, 1985 is a renewed testament to the power of cinema. In Argentina and Uruguay, the movie is drawing full houses and provoking an excitement that few films achieve. All this for a serious drama with little in the way of action. It contains a barnstorming performance from Ricardo Darin, Argentina’s most celebrated actor, but this isn’t the type of film that normally challenges box office records. Seen from a non Southern Cone viewpoint, it might be categorised as a political courtroom drama. The reason for its success, on more than just a commercial level, is that it tells the story of how the military leaders of the dictatorship were brought to justice, mainly, the film contends, as a result of the courage and hard work of the lone fiscal, Julio Strassera, played by Darin.

The director and his screenwriter pull out all the emotional stops. There have been many post-dictatorship dramas, from Argentina, Chile, Uruguay and Brazil. Argentina, 1985’s effectiveness has to do with the way it tempers the inevitable emotional impact of the film with a dedicated resistance to any attempt to ramp up the dramatic stakes with artificial thriller tropes. One car explodes, but only one, and it’s a a side note. Strassera is given police protection, but instead of using this to heighten tension, the writers use it for comic effect, punning on the plain clothes policeman’s mighty name. The action remains downbeat and character driven, and in so doing retains a real sense of Buenos Aires and its laconic citizens, the real heroes of this story.

Having said all of which, Argentina, 1985 is self-consciously formulaic. The opening sequence is reminiscent of Taxi Driver, and the film is steeped in feelgood Hollywood cliches: the sassy kid who helps his dad out, the supportive wife, the odd couple pairing between Strassera and his younger naive assistant. There’s something almost anachronistic about all this. It’s clear that the filmmakers are seeking a classical register to tell a story of import. Some of the film’s brightest moments come when Llinás’ discursive storytelling techniques come to the fore, as characters relate dramatically significant moments that they have witnessed rather than letting the audience actually see them. At these moments the film acquires a more playful air, as the more idiosyncratic influence of Llinás competes with the dramatic verve of Mitre.

It would be fascinating to see this film in another part of the world where the emotional pull on the audience would not be quite so explicit as it is here. Would the dynamics of the courtroom scenes have quite such an effect? Would the immediacy of history shine through so compellingly? Would the bold inclusion of Strassera’s closing speech, of such enormous local import, translate? I don’t know the answers to that, but I do know that over here, the film has been a resounding success and deservedly so. 

la cordillera (w&d santiago mitre, w. mariano llinás)

Reaction to Santiago Mitre’s bravura La Cordillera in the faux-Swiss restaurant on San José was mixed. C remained neutral. Javier was underwhelmed, saying he never really engaged. I was quietly blown away. It might be that our respective nationalities had something to do with these reactions.

Mitre’s film is a collage of references. Part of the fun is working your way through them. To begin with, there’s a great deal of Aaron Sorkin. The film sets out its stall as a talkie, political drama. The president of Argentina, played by the likeable Ricardo Darin, is due to attend a regional summit. The day he leaves, with his team in tow, news breaks of a threat from his son-in-law to blackmail him with accusations of corruption. So far, so predictable. Darin appears to be squeaky clean, but he’s also an unknown quantity. (A neat irony, as Darin is one of the best known stars on the continent.) 

The team cross the Andes (the Cordillera of the film’s title) in a private jet, experiencing a teeth clenching level of turbulence at one point. They arrive at a plush, mountainous hotel, near to Santiago, where the summit is taking place. The hotel is reminiscent of Force Majeure - an isolated place where morality is put to the test. Darin settles in and we are introduced to the presidents of Chile, Mexico and Brazil, as the Argentine president gets inveighed into the political shenanigans of his neighbours. It’s worth noting at this point that this is a film which has been financed by Warner Brothers. It’s a big budget enterprise, featuring various superstars of the Latino/ Hispanic world, both in front of and behind the cameras. This is Latin America flexing its cinematic muscle, albeit with (presumably) financial support from Uncle Sam, something the film’s narrative ironically alludes to with the arrival of Christian Slater as a dubious representative of the US government. 

There’s something gloriously unwieldy about all of this: the narrative; the international co-pro; the far-fetched premise. The pacing is languorous and dialogue-heavy, as though the director is resisting commercial expectations. Then, with the arrival of Darin’s disturbed daughter, Marina, the film takes a twist. Whilst the President is quoting Marx to a Spanish journalist, his daughter has a decidedly funny turn and ends up mute in bed. This Hitchcockian swerve towards psycho-drama is consummated with the arrival of a psychoanalyst, a shift in the visual language, and the gradual revelation that everything we have assumed to be self-evident is nothing of the kind. 

La Cordillera is bold to the point of foolhardiness. In Latin America, there’s a tendency to view the Argentines, or at least the Porteños, as somewhat arrogant, or ‘soberbio’. La Cordillera is a decidedly ‘soberbio’ film. It’s arrogant, ambitious, over-reaching. It doesn’t really stack up. The mish-mash of styles and references pushes the boundary of the credible, risks excluding the viewer rather than engaging them. And yet, there’s also something wonderful about this boldness, or arrogance. There’s a refusal to be pigeon-holed within the assumed parameters of Latino (or third world) filmmaking. There’s a refusal to be pigeon-holed, full stop. Perhaps it was easier for me, as a non-native Latino, to suspend disbelief and go with the film’s jagged flow. But go with it I did. In contrast to the slick Relatos Salvajes, this is dangerous filmmaking which teeters on the edge of auto-destruction, but shows enough verve and brilliance to ride the turbulence, soar over the threatening peaks, and leave you wanting more.