brittleake

La teta asustada is not, quite understandably, everyone's cup of tea. It is a slow, pensive, drawn-out film that almost feels like an ominous daydream. There is much that goes unsaid, and if you are not familiar with the Sendero Luminoso insurgency in Peru and the enormous amount of political violence perpetrated by both rebel and government forces, the underlying forces driving the film will not make that much sense. This is particularly the case with the rather disturbing opening scene and the graphic account of the rape of the protagonist's (Fausta) mother. There are also dynamics of class, gender, language, and race at work in this film, and the interplay between them is best understood with some prior knowledge of Peru, or Latin America more generally. The opening scene and the revelation that Fausta has placed a potato in her vagina to protect her from rape would be enough to turn many people off from the beginning of the film, and for good reason. Yet this film, to its credit, in my view, refuses to be anything other than what it is – an exploration of the legacy of trauma and fear of the Sendero Luminoso insurgency and the violence that came along with it. I enjoyed this film, but I appreciate films that are slow, melancholy, and leave plenty of time for pondering. It is not necessarily a feel-good movie, but felt more like a gloomy, ambiguous French film. It had more sad moments than happy ones, although that is only fitting of a film with such a dark topic at its heart. Yet there was something bizarrely hopeful about the film, and regardless of how bad Fausta's situation may have seemed, she showed admirable courage, and a faint light does appear at the end of the tunnel.

This is a remake of Jane Chambers' Last Summer at Bluefish Cove, one of the first mainstream lesbian theatrical productions. However, this film takes away some of the plot elements that made the play so strong (coming out, career, etc.) and simply goes for a plot centred on closure and healing for the two protagonists of this film, Liz, one of a group of lesbian friends enjoying a weekend at their beachside hideaway, but with a dark secret (she has terminal cancer), and Eva, whose car breaks down nearby, forcing her to stay with Liz's group of friends (she is, of course, unaware that she is the only heterosexual in the whole place). One of Liz's friends dares her to try to sleep with Eva during the weekend, which forms the basis for everything to come. However, this is when everything starts going off the rails. Eva starts out as a newbie in the group to the care-taker and lover of Liz in the blink of an eye, a transformation that does not seem realistic in the slightest. It also botches its handling of the cancer plot line, which could add a lot to the film. Its veering back-and-forth from serious elements of the film – Eva's recently deceased son, and Liz's cancer – to the lighthearted aspects, like the incessant scheming of the friends to prevent Eva from leaving. The film suffers because of its maladroit handling of its plot, and in my opinion, it never recovers from it. This is not to say that the film does not have positive aspects. The film provides a feast for the eyes. The physical environment of the film is postcard-worthy, and the cast is composed of attractive women, which makes the implausible and frustrating plot a little more tolerable. But I don't think I'd watch this film again if given the opportunity.

One of the reasons I appreciate this film is that it doesn't trivialise an under-discussed issue, intersexuality, that lends itself well to stereotypes and simplifications. Instead of painting with a broad brush, the creators of XXY simply decided to tell a story of one person, and gave that story the care and treatment it deserved. It is a real balancing act to handle such a sensitive issue, but I feel that XXY succeeded in a way few other films could have. One of the most intriguing parts of the film in my view, however, has to be the budding romance between the protagonist, Alex, and Alvaro, the son of a surgeon who is friends with Alex's parents, that leaves them both confused. Both of them do not conform, in differing ways, to heteronormative standards of sex and sexuality, face rejection from those around them, and are unsure of their place in the world. Their relationship and the dynamics surrounding it make for a fascinating storyline that left me thinking for hours after I finished the film. The interplay of all elements at work here – shame, fear, but also self-discovery and an internal awakening – made me enjoy the film, even if it could be slow at times. The best adjective I can think of to describe this film is brooding. It is dark, (sometimes painfully) slow, and pensive. I can barely think of a film that made me ask so many questions while I was watching it, but I think the best question comes from the protagonist, Alex. When told by her parents that they would support her regardless of which choice she made regarding her gender, she responds "and what if I didn't have to choose anything?" It would be an understatement to say the film became rather slow at times, but overall I would highly recommend this film.

Ixcanul is a cinematic chef-d'oeuvre that sheds light on the plight of many indigenous Guatemalans who suffer from almost unfathomable levels of economic, social, and political exploitation. The film has many heart-breaking moments where the powerlessness of the film's protagonists comes through in a way that feels deeply real and authentic. One of the most interesting aspects of this films is that it is the first feature film created in Kaqchikel, one of the many indigenous Mayan languages of Guatemala. The actors are all native speakers of Kaqchikel, and the filmmakers overcame significant difficulties to assemble the cast that they did. The fact that the actors are so inexperienced makes the film all the more incredible because it did not at moment seem faked, at least for me. I would also like to address some of the criticism that has been levelled at the film and the filmmakers. The problem of orthography, that the title uses a c instead of a k, following modern (instead of colonial) spelling conventions, seems like minutiae compared to all of the positive work the film does in raising awareness of many of the problems indigenous Guatemalans face on a routine basis. Many also say the film only reinforces stereotypes about indigenous peoples in Guatemala and in the Americas more broadly. In that for many people this film will be their first exposure to contemporary Mayans, there is a risk of Ixcanul becoming a single story that defines an entire people. But it is the choice of the spectator to determine whether or not he/she will extrapolate stereotypes about an entire people from the portrayal of one family in one village at one specific point in time. However, if you look beyond these somewhat valid criticisms, you will see a cinematic masterpiece that will make you look at the world in a different way.

La Otra Conquista is the story of the great traumatism that has defined, influenced, and shaped everything that has happened in Mexico since then – the Spanish conquest and ensuing colonisation of Mexico that radically altered and transformed the entire country, leaving the indigenous survivors disoriented and powerless. I'll start with the negative aspects of the film. In my own opinion, the acting certainly left something to desire, and the special effects were practically risible, although I don't really begrudge the film too much on that point. This film was not made to be the splashiest movie to have ever been shown in theatres. It was a film made with an infinitesimally small budget, but you don't need a large budget to communicate a powerful message – and that is something to keep in mind while watching La Otra Conquista. La Otra Conquista beautifully explores the trauma of the arrival of the Spanish and how it turned the Aztec's world entirely upside down, leaving them directionless orphans wondering where everything had gone wrong and how they could pick up the pieces and keep going. The film's protagonist's story reflects that of his people – the trauma, pain, loss, and suffering after the arrival of the Spanish, and the slow recovery and rebuilding process afterwards. While he adapts himself to a new Europeanised world and mourns what he has lost, he doesn't become the mini-European that the Spanish would like him to be. His unique approach to his new religion – Christianity, shows not only how he and people like him adopted Christianity all while modifying it to make it more analogous to their previous religion, much to the horror of the puritanical Spanish. It also shows how Christianity became a powerful source of perseverance in the face of adversity and loss – a role that it continues to play even now – for many in Latin America whose world had been irrevocably shaken by the arrival of Europeans.

On The Roof is a moving and touching short film that packs a lot into the short eleven minutes that it lasts. The filmmakers took a relatively simple and banal event - boys in the throes of puberty sneaking to a rooftop to take a peak at a beautiful naked woman sunbathing - and transformed it into a powerful commentary on homophobia, bullying, and peer pressure.

I particularly enjoyed watching the rapid transformation of Adrián (Nil Cardoner) from someone who mostly follows the lead of Lucas (Roger Príncep) and his minions to his hilarious subversion of Lucas that results in him being expelled from that friend group. He tried first to surreptitiously watch the naked man on the other roof while the others watched, and seemed keen to avoid the aspersions cast upon him by Marcos, trying to throw the accusations of homosexuality back on him. When Lucas takes advantage of the situation to try to force Marcos to take a picture of the woman even as he breaks down, all while threatening to reveal Adrián's sexuality, something snaps within Adrián and he decides to directly take on Lucas. He saves Marcos by volunteering to take the picture, but instead of taking a picture of the woman, he hands the camera back to Lucas with a photo of the man instead, infuriating him and causing Adrián's expulsion from the group (his departure is met by a litany of homophobic slurs).

The film manages to show poignant and sadly apropos examples of bullying, coercion, and intimidation among adolescent boys, which all too often revolves around the harassment of those who aren't as "masculine" (whatever that means) as others. I felt myself cheering for Adrián on the inside at the end of the film, although his total isolation at the end of the film (embodied by him riding sullenly off on his bike by himself) is a logical but still mildly saddening end to the film.