Executive Order

Executive Order starts in the court room as Antonio, a young black lawyer fights a case for reparations for Afro-Brazilians. Meanwhile, a number of Brazilian news reporters live stream footage of an old black lady entering the department of state to collect the very first reparations payment in the country. However, just as you think this is going to be a utopia from the positive start, the government officials turn the old lady away, kicking off a downward cycle of police presence and prejudice against Afro-Brazilians.

The cases of blatant and behind-closed-doors racism that the director presents don’t feel too surprising. The scenes – such as the one featuring the racist man in the bar – feel carbon copies of similar scenes documenting racist events from Hollywood movies. Neither is the descent of the country into a dystopian fascist state that forcibly deports all people with African blood back to Africa as we’ve already seen bleak dystopias on screen in The Handmaid’s Tale. However, the surprising part is that it’s mostly presented in a pretty upbeat manner. The music, colorful pictures, and light banter between the main characters matches the light tone of a Spike Lee neighborhood film. It gives the film a gospel-ish feel – that despite all the terrible things going on, there’s still hope for the Afro-Brazilian characters. Maybe it would have been too hard to see this film without the upbeat tone considering the current state of Brazilian politics. So instead of being a gritty, depressing film, Executive Order is a palatable Hollywood-style dystopian drama that allows space for a few laughs at the absurdity of the white supremacist state.

Whilst it could have been more ‘radical’ and a bit less obvious, it’s good to see a light hearted drama that anyone can watch and enjoy tackle rarely mentioned topics like reparations on the big screen.


Head to our LALIFF 2021 Hub for more reviews from the 20th edition of LALIFF.

Medusa

Medusa is another genre-bending movie set in contemporary Brazil (see Bacurau, Good Manners, Executive Order, or Divine Love) that corresponds with the rise in the far right and radical Christianity in Brazil. The focus of this film is on how the patriarchy is upheld by radical Christian women

In modern day Brazil, a woman watches a sexy music video of a woman dancing on her way home on the night bus. When she gets off, she’s tailed by a gang of masked women. She tries to escape, but can’t. They gang up on her, beat her up, and force her to swear fealty to Jesus and to become a good Christian woman.

The attackers are Mariana and her female friends from the local evangelical church. Their horror-genre influenced masks are obviously intimidating. However, behind the mask they’re even more sinister. Instead of carrying faces that show years of trauma and fear they carry pristine smiles and clean pastel clothes. They look like a group of preppy high-school girls and not like your typical group of thugs. Their smiles and matching identity give them a cold collective assuredness that their violence is right and justified, when it isn’t. It also highlights a lack of individuality stemming from the strict codes of their social bubble – no one wants to stand out for fear of being identified with the other, so they all try to one-up each other in their devotional acts in order to maintain their social position. They’ve already started beating up people in the street, so what are they capable of next?

The design of the film makes it clear Mariana is brainwashed by her bubble of existence. The church she attends with her friends is flavored with hypnotizing 80’s music and dystopian neon lights and features coordinated song and dance routines that make them look robotic. Plus the microphone holding, slick talking, smartly dressed preacher gives off hints of snake oil salesmen before we see his ‘miracles.’ The whole radical Christian experience is designed to indoctrinate Mariana and her friends. Plus as a reward, they get friends like them, and corresponding male counterparts in the beefy ‘Watchmen’ group that attends their same church.

Problem is they can’t control everything in their own lives. They’re still victims to the patriarchy that plays them – both represented in the male religious pastor they fervently follow and the male ‘Watchmen’ they’re expected to date and marry. They can either continue to live for the radical Christian patriarchy and stay in their bubble, or break free by expanding their bubble until it pops.


Head to our AFI Fest 2021 Hub for more reviews and short films from AFI Fest 2021.

El Gran Movimiento

El Gran Movimiento Film Difficulty Ranking: 4

Take another immersive trip with Elder in Bolivia in El Gran Movimiento. This time, instead of being consumed by the darkness of the mines like in Dark Skull, you’ll feel the oppressive urban environment of La Paz. The concrete and mechanical sounds are inescapable, and whilst there are plenty of people, everyone seems lonely. Even with the dance scenes and zany visions, El Gran Movimiento depicts a very bleak picture of the city.

From: Bolivia, South America
Watch: Trailer, IMDb
Next: Dark Skull, Los Conductos, Mysterious Object at Noon

El Gran Movimiento Breakdown

If you’ve seen Dark Skull, you’ll notice that El Gran Movimiento is its sequel. It features the return of Elder, Dark Skull‘s main character, who has walked 7 days to the city in search of work now that the Huanuni mine has closed. With nothing on offer in the city, he’s resumed his pre-miner life as a drifter; roaming the streets with hard liquor and some ‘friends.’ But now he’s older and he’s developed a hideous cough. His prospects in the city look incredibly bleak.

The style of the two films are also very similar. Both focus on unnatural environments (the mines and the city respectively) and frame them as incredibly hostile. In Dark Skull, Kiro Russo uses multiple shots of noisy mining machinery to create the film’s harsh environment. In El Gran Movimiento, Russo starts the film with a long montage of shots that slow-zoom in on city buildings and linger on city machinery (such as the motors of a cable car). These shots are accompanied by loud and unnatural mechanic sounds, traffic jams, and construction. Like the industrious shots of the mines, this opening emphasizes the hostile unnaturalness of the city.

It’s not until around the 10 minute mark that we first see life. However, the first scene with people doesn’t make the city appear any more friendly. It features protestors from the Huanuni mines clashing with tear gas-throwing police, in what is a living manifestation of the city’s hostility.

Elder’s plight in the city isn’t any better. As soon as he arrives he develops a cough that gets worse every day he stays there. Doctor’s can’t identify the illness, which make its origins unclear. Whilst it would make sense that it’s a symptom from his life as a miner, his symptoms only start to show after he arrives in the city. It makes it seem like it could be a metaphorical reaction to the hostile urban environment; or maybe even to the remnants of Spain’s Colonial rule. Either way, the other feature character, Max, a hermit that thrives in the picturesque natural environments on the fringes of the city, backs up the theory that the city is not a place for life.

The only respite for Elder comes in a few offbeat dance scenes and Max’s indigenous medicine. Each method hints at a different way of dealing with life in the city: 1) to simply get on with it and embrace the bleakness, or 2) to seek an anti-colonialist/capitalist return to the land’s roots and culture.

Overall, El Gran Movimiento is another bleakly brilliant construction of Bolivian life. Russo shows that even above ground, Bolivia’s man-made environments are not just destroying indigenous Bolivian culture, but also literally sucking the life out of the population. It’s a subtle anti-capitalist call for a return to nature and spirituality.

What to Watch Next

Dark Skull is a must watch if you enjoyed El Gran Movimiento and you haven’t already seen it. Many of the themes from this film were kick-started there from the bleak man-made environments to the Elder’s deteriorating health.

Or for another sub 90-minute South American art-house film with anti-capitalist vibes and a wandering lead character, try Colombia’s Los Conductos.

Lastly, you could also try the mystical films of Apichatpong Weerasethakul, starting with the eclectic storytelling of Mysterious Object at Noon.

Trenque Lauquen

If you’re ready to sit down for a few hours to indulge yourself in some cosy, trivial Argentine mysteries, meet the latest film from El Pampero Cine, Trenque Lauquen.

Trenque Lauquen comes from Laura Citarella, one of the members of El Pampero Cine, a group of filmmakers which also includes Mariano Llinas (La Flor, Extraordinary Stories), Agustin Mendilaharzu, and Alejo Moguilansky. Each of the members of the collective usually pop up in the credits of each other films under different roles, making each of the collective’s films feel like a team effort. They each also use the same actors, so if you’ve seen another of their films before, you’re likely to see a familiar face in this one.

Trenque Lauquen, like it’s El Pampero Cine predecessors, isn’t a light commitment. It’s just over 4 hours long, split roughly equally into two sections which are both tied together by Laura’s character. The entire film takes place in Trenque Lauquen, a city on the far west border of Buenos Aires province near La Pampa. It looks like a pretty unremarkable city, with nothing to really distinguish it from anywhere else in Argentina. However the blandness is all part of the film’s construct. As with the majority of films from the El Pampero Cine collective, Trenque Lauquen uses the mundane as a foundation for it’s engrossing mysteries.

Put best by Magu Fernandez Richeri for La Lista:

El Pampero’s films are, at their core, fairly simple. There aren’t any extraordinary premises, but they also work as tiny odysseys. Characters embark on fantastical adventures where the mundane is re-signified as something strange, new, and magical. The strangeness with which Pampero approaches the world is inherently transformational. Any and all minutiae represents a good excuse for them to tell a story as if we as the audience were kids listening in rapt attention, trying to keep us from seeing the world in its drab normality, allowing us to perceive things differently and hatch crazy schemes.

Trenque Lauquen, like La Flor and Extraordinary Stories, feels like indulgent storytelling. It’s as if the filmmakers of El Pampero Cine have been challenging each other to come up with new quirky mysteries to keep audiences interested for longer periods of time. They haven’t seemed to hit their limits yet as each of their last few films have kept audiences interested just to see where the mysteries lead us. Each of their films is like following a maze or river cruise full of pleasant surprises. Plus the pacing and characters are conducive to our immersion in the mystery; they’re both always patient and never rushed. They create the relaxed environment to let the mystery lead us along. Serious things happen in these films, but because of the tone, it never feels real-world serious. This is why these films are indulgent storytelling – they’re there to simply entertain and nothing more, and they do this better than anyone else in the industry.


Head to our AFI Fest 2022 Hub for more reviews from AFI Fest 2022.

The Dog Who Wouldn't Be Quiet

Dogs are everywhere. Before the pandemic, ownership seemed to be rising. Everyone either had a dog or knew someone who did, whether it was a neighbor or a colleague who brought their dog into work. Now, with everyone stuck at home, they’ve become even more popular as companions for those living alone and friends for kids. They’re also still the small talk champions (perhaps even more so than babies). Nothing else can get a stranger talking to you better. It’s within this context that The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be Quiet kicks off.

Sebastian’s troubles start when he bumps into a neighbor in the courtyard outside his house, who starts complaining about the noises his dog makes. In what’s quite a funny scene, in an awkward way, Sebastian stands there, under his umbrella in the rain, nodding along to his neighbors monologue. Other neighbors turn up and add to his neighbors complaints and crowding the small courtyard. Right after that scene, Sebastian has a similarly awkward chat with his boss at work. They also don’t want his dog around, and like his neighbors, awkwardly avoid telling him directly.

Solving his troubles at home and work in one, Sebastian moves to the country for a happy life with his dog. But, things don’t end there, as the chain of events started by his less than silent dog keeps progressing. Amongst other things, we’re taken through Sebastian’s different jobs, a clandestine cooperative, and a sudden pandemic. It’s an oddball journey. However, despite how strange the events are to us, Sebastian goes along with them as if they’re completely normal. It’s like he’s resigned himself to the path his dog has placed him on.

His stoic face throughout all these surprises is what makes this film so quietly funny. In a way his role isn’t too dissimilar from the great silent movie comics like Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin. Whilst he doesn’t perform any stunts like them, the comedy of the film is created around his non-reaction to the things happening around him. Like Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin, Sebastian is the comedic fall guy for the movie. His misfortune and his acceptance of it exists for everyone to laugh at.

So, if you’re looking for another quietly funny Argentinian satire along the lines of Martin Rejtman (see The Magic Gloves) check out The Day the Dog Wouldn’t be Quiet.