Araya

Araya Film Difficulty Ranking: 3

Neruda was asked to write an introduction poem for Araya, but he chose not to, saying ‘you cannot write a poem about a poem.’ He’s not wrong, this Venezuelan epic is a poetic ode to the global working class, from creation to post-industrialized exploitation. Watch Araya to see one of the best films from Venezuela and the anti-capitalist canon.

From: Venezuela, South America
Watch: IMDb, JustWatch
Next: Lucia, Eldorado XXI, Faya Dayi

Araya – The Breakdown

Araya opens with an epic creation sequence. We’re shown the sea, sky, and earth in sequence, just as God created the world in the book of Genesis. Then we’re introduced to sea life and birds, as a brass orchestra and xylophone start playing in the background. The carefully edited introduction crescendos with a vertical camera pan over the top of a pyramid of salt, revealing a community of salteros (salt workers) mining the salt marshes. Every shot draws us in, setting the scene for an epic tale of humanity, represented by these hidden people in Venezuela.

These forgotten people are all workers. They all make their living from the sea, working constantly to sustain themselves from the salt and fish it provides. The director, Margot Benacerraf, emphasizes the struggle to survive by focusing on their movements. The routine actions of each person living off of the sea appear like a well oiled machine, in tune with nature, and each other. The salteros follow each other up the salt mountain to weigh, sell, and deposit their salt; the fishermen bring back their fish for their families to salt. No time is wasted and each movement reinforces their struggle and their community.

Whilst we see the community working tirelessly together, we never fully identify with them. The director deliberately maintains a distance between the audience and the subjects of the film to keep their lives symbolic and poetic, in a similar way to the Soviet films of the USSR (Man with a Movie Camera) and Cuba (Lucia, Soy Cuba). She does this by using a narrator to emphasize their hardships as opposed to interviewing the workers directly. By telling their story through images instead of through their voices, they become representatives of the global working class, and not just exploited Salteros in Venezuela.

This sets up a final scene in which industrialization arrives, overtaking the manual labor carried out by the workers with a greed for profits. As machines take over, the salteros vanish – turning from hidden workers to hidden unemployed. At the same time, nature is replaced with exploited land. It’s a threatening message for workers and all citizens of the world.

Conclusion

Araya is a poetic epic. Through images, it tells the story of mankind from creation to post-industrial exploitation. It’s a art-house warning for workers and citizens of the world and an incredibly important film to add to your anti-capitalist viewing list alongside Soy Cuba and Salt of the Earth.

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.