Spanish Cinema Now ’11: José y Pilar

Forget one percenters. José Saramago, the first Portuguese winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, and his considerably younger Spanish wife, Pilar del Río, must represent tenth-of-percenters in their respective countries. They are also avowed class warriors. It is a nice hypocrisy if you can afford and clearly they could, based on the evidence of Miguel Gonçalves Mendes’s hagiographic documentary, José y Pilar (trailer here), Portugal’s official submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which logically enough screens tomorrow during the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s 2011 Spanish Cinema Now.

Saramago passed away in 2010, but when Gonçalves began filming in 2006, he was still quite a spry old-timer. Their friends constantly tell viewers what a storybook romance the two have and indeed some of that comes out when Saramago’s health begins to fail during the film’s second act. However, in the idyllic opening, it appears Saramago really just loves being a public intellectual who does not have to sweat the details of his touring schedule, whereas del Río loves being president of Saramago, Inc. Actually, it is a private foundation that must have saved them a bundle in estate taxes. She also makes a big deal about being called “Presidenta” in its feminine form, which gets to be a tiresome conversation the second or third time around.

Saramago’s admirers may very well enjoy listening to the tart-tongued old devil grousing about the house. However, it probably does not serve his literary legacy particularly well, largely presenting his work as a series of sarcastic aphorisms aimed at the God he rejected. It is also often difficult to reconcile the man of comfort with his Communist ideology. We watch scene after scene of the laureate refusing to inscribe personalizations at his book signings. Whatever happened to “from each according to his abilities?”

There are several witty one-liners sprinkled throughout the film, but Gonçalves and editor Cláudita Rita Oliveira were clearly too over-awed by their subjects, allowing repetitive sequences to pad J y P just beyond the two hour mark. Similarly sentimental reasons also probably explain why Portugal chose the documentary as their Oscar contender, when they could have also selected the late Raúl Ruiz’s elegant masterwork Mysteries of Lisbon instead. Given it was co-produced by the Spanish Pedro Almodóvar and Brazilian Fernando Meirelles, it is also a bit surprising it met the Academy’s stringent national purity qualifications. Evidently, if it is Iberian, it is close enough for Oscar.

Gonçalves certainly had intimate access to the power couple, but he is clearly not particularly interested in engaging viewers who are not already on their side of the mountain. As a result, despite some moments here and there, J y P should not be a high priority for Spanish Cinema Now patrons or Academy voters. It screens tomorrow (12/14) and Friday (12/16) at the Walter Reade Theater as part of the FSLC’s longest running annual film series.

Spanish Cinema Now ’11: Every Song Talks About Me

As the son of Fernando Trueba, the director of Calle 54 and Chico & Rita (both destined to be considered classic odes to Afro-Cuban Jazz) one would naturally have high hopes for Jonás Trueba’s feature directorial debut. You might also expect him to have good taste in music. Indeed, the younger Trueba certainly shows that much in Every Song Talks About Me (trailer here), an almost but not quite musical that screens this Saturday as part of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s long-running annual series, Spanish Cinema Now.

May you never meet a duller self-pitying sad sack than twenty-nothing Ramiro. He has just been dumped by his longtime and first-real girl friend Andrea, for reasons that are obvious if you take a look at his life. A kind of-sort of poet working in his uncle’s bookstore, Ramiro is having trouble getting on with things, which is periodically emphasized by a handful of morose original songs featured heard non-diegetically on the film’s soundtrack. However, Trueba also includes generous samples of Bills Evans from his Claus Ogerman sessions, which of course are the essence of sophistication.

Unfortunately, they are accompanying Ramiro as he tentatively pursues replacement romances and toys with the idea of teaching Spanish in Canada. Essentially, he becomes just as bored by his own subplots as the audience is. However, Trueba completes a Hail Mary pass in Song’s final scene, cranking up The Bad Plus’s cascading “Silence is the Question” (from their debut CD, These Are the Vistas) to create genuine excitement as Ramiro opens up his soul to Andrea. It is a hugely cinematic moment, musically and dramatically, demonstrating the potential power of licensed music when employed shrewdly. There is only of them in the picture though, courtesy of Reid Anderson, Ethan Iverson, and Dave King.

To be fair, Bárabara Lennie is a bright, attractive screen presence as Andrea. It is easy to understand why she would give the mopey Ramiro the heave-ho. Oriol Vila pretty much nails the self-absorbed slacker vibe, but as our lovelorn protagonist, he just hits that same note over and over, up until the final parting shot.

Song is better than dozens of navel-gazing indie films released every month, like for instance the tiresome Answers to Nothing, but there are considerably richer films at this year’s Spanish Cinema Now that should be far higher priorities for viewers. Cinematographer Santiago Racaj evocatively captures both the romantic and hipster sides of Madrid and the licensed jazz soundtrack is pitch-perfect. Unfortunately, the inherent drama and characters are rather shop-worn. For Spanish cinema devotees, it screens this Saturday (12/10) and the following Wednesday (12/14) at the Walter Reade Theater.

Spanish Cinema Now ’11: Ispansi

Stalin’s Russia was never a safe haven. Unfortunately, many exiled Spanish leftists went from the frying pan into fire when they sought refuge in the Soviet Union. The Eastern Front is decidedly inhospitable to them in writer-director-leading man Carlos Iglesias’s Ispansi (trailer here), which screens this Friday during the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s Spanish Cinema Now.

Alvaro is not just a Republican veteran. He was a “political” officer, which implies some heavy things for his proletarian companions. Paula is not one of them. Traveling under an assumed working class identity, the former aristocrat came to the Soviet Union with a group of orphans sent to the socialist paradise for their supposed protection. Among them is the illegitimate son she was forced to give up. Since then she has watched over him as an ostensive volunteer social worker. However, she cannot protect him from the arbitrary dangers of war.

Aside from the children, Paula thinks little of her comrades and even less of Alvaro. He also distrusts her, instinctively sensing her insufficient class consciousness. Of course, the sexual tension passing between them is also hard to miss.

Ispansi (Russian for Spaniards) is not exactly Dr Zhivago, but nothing is. It covers a fair sweep of geography over several decades, while addressing politics with relative nuance. Since under the soon to be former Socialist government any expression of sympathy for the still dead General was effectively prohibited, one would expect the film’s anti-Franco sympathies. Yet, to his credit, Iglesias does not let the Soviets entirely off the hook. In fact, some of Ispansi’s more chilling scenes portray the Soviets’ forced deportation (more or less ethnic cleansing) of the Volga Germans.

Iglesias is not exactly Valentino either, but he has certainly mastered looking like a world-weary everyman. Yet, by not allowing his character much opportunity for substantive reflection, it is hard to know what to make of Alvaro, especially as he faces the disappointing Soviet reality of constant shortages and queuing. By contrast, Esther Regina’s work as Paula is considerably more complex and engaging. Their romantic chemistry together is passable, but never the stuff of legend.

Ironically, the most intriguing and challenging figure in the film is Paula’s Franco-Falangist brother, Jorge. He is a hard, devout man, yet his humanity is manifested in Iñaki Guevara’s surprisingly rich performance.

Indeed, Ispansi works best when exploring the complexities of the brutal Twentieth Century. Though Spaniards were routinely killing Spaniards in Spain, evidently Falangists often set their Republican countrymen free when their National Socialist allies captured them on the battlefield. Such complicated times are inherently dramatic and Iglesias capitalizes on them well enough. A big period production, it has a suitably elegant look for the scenes set in Spain, whereas the Russian sequences are appropriately bleak and wintery. Altogether, it is good chewy historical that never really sets off any ideological alarm bells. Recommended, it screens only once (Friday, 12/9) during this year’s Spanish Cinema Now at the Walter Reade Theater.

Spanish Cinema Now ’11: Extraterrestrial

The aliens came and they saw, so now what? That is the question in the back of the minds of the few Madrid residents who did not flee the city. However, they will be mostly preoccupied with their own issues in Extraterrestrial (trailer here), Nacho Vigalondo’s enormously clever take on the alien invasion blockbuster, which opens this year’s Spanish Cinema Now, the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s longest running film series.

Of all the nights Julia could a strange man, she picks the eve of the alien invasion. Understandably, she and Julio are a bit slow rousing themselves in the morning, which is how they missed the military evacuation. Initially, she is only worried about her possessive boyfriend, Carlos. However, as soon as they spy the huge spinning discs in the sky, she lets smitten Julio stay, settling on a cover story to explain his presence. Before long, they are sharing a wickedly uncomfortable dinner with Carlos the madman (but not necessarily an abusive one) and Ángel, the creepy torch-bearing neighbor.

The inevitable conflicts of this soiree are obvious, regardless of the alien invasion apparently underway. However, the not-as-dumb-as-he-looks Julio takes advantage of the resulting paranoia. Indeed, what transpires is sheer gleeful lunacy, powered by jealousy, resentment, and all possible shades of love, most certainly including lust.

Granted, Extraterrestrial is not as wildly inventive as Vigalondo’s instant classic Timecrimes (stream it now, thank me later), but it is still toys with and subverts genre conventions in a richly idiosyncratic manner. This is hardly your typical sci-fi programmer. Frankly, Julio, Carlos, and a rogue band of UHF broadcasters do far more damage to the city of Madrid than the armada of aliens. Yet, Vigalondo nurses our V and X-Files honed fear and uncertainty, creating suspense out of whole cloth. The entire film is quite a nifty trick, but not without a heart. Indeed, Extraterrestrial is surprisingly bright and upbeat compared to the seriously noir Timecrimes.

Despite the outlandish premise, Michelle Jenner, Julián Villagrán, and Raúl Cimas play their respective sides of the love triangle with absolute conviction. Villagrán is particularly effective as Julio, smoothly pulling off each surprise from Julio, the ostensive everyman. Though more broadly comic than his ferocious star turn in The Last Circus, Carlos Areces also still finds some pathos and madness in poor perennially frustrated Ángel.

As his sophomore feature, Extraterrestrial should firmly establish Vigalondo as an international genre film cult-superstar. It is a truly original way to address some of the oldest themes in recorded storytelling. Highly recommended, it screens this Friday (opening night, 12/9) and the following Thursday (12/15) at the Walter Reade Theater during the 2011 edition of Spanish Cinema Now.