For the umpteenth time in recent years I find myself rejuvenated after watching a film from Latin America, although 'de eso no se habla' has little clear references of being Argentine, as perhaps 'y tu mama tambien' displays its Mexican-ness, and 'cidade de deus' is clearly located in Brazil. Indeed, were it not for the musical Argentine accents, and the use of the 'vos' form in the second person exclusive to Argentina, Paraguay and Uruguay, one would struggle to locate the quiet provincial village San Jose de los Aldanes on a map of the Spanish speaking world. Unlike the more recent 'Nueve Reinas', which bursts at the seams with Buenos Aires slang - 'voludo,' pelotudo,' etc - this subtle emotional picture questions Argentine society from the peripheries, also making several allegorical references to influential global film-makers.
The film hinges on the dual between the Doctor and Ludovico, a well travelled man now retired in this quiet society. The wound the latter receives places him in a hospital ward, where he is visited by Leonor and her precocious daughter, the midget Charlotte. The dual scene is symbolic, as it recalls a tradition in Argentine society that displays manhood, and is common in the works of Jorge Luis Borges, also recalling the cowboy-esque tradition of the 'barbaric', uncivilized gaucho figure. It seems to be this moment in which Ludovico makes his decision to ask for the hand of Charlotte in marriage, a decision that seems crazy. Why would a man, already confirmed by the upper-class ladies of the village to be able to have any women he wants, and idolised by the working women in the local brothel, choose this deformed fifteen year-old sheltered from society by her protective mother over all the other possible ladies? Madness surely. However, as the women leave his hospital room, the camera focuses on them, before panning back to the bed where Ludovico had received his visitors. It is empty, and the blowing curtains betray the open window, his escape. This allusion to One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest instantly reveals it not to be Ludovico who is crazy, but the society that may condemn him for his marriage to the musically gifted Charlotte, as Kesey's society condemned the 'mute' Indian Chief. (The reference is a motif in the film's narrative, as Ludovico accuses the Doctor of being a cuckoo before the dual takes place.)
Indeed, this marriage becomes the axis on which the film pivots, turning the society around towards modernisation through Charlotte's influence. Firstly she civilises the errant Ludovico, ending his regular trips to the brothel, and the marriage coincides with the death of the town mayor, Saturnino, who cannot speak properly and symbolises the backwards of society and the fact that no-one seems to understand what comes from the mouth of those in society's positions of power. He seems in charge of this world, and seems to live in the brothel. His death promotes Ludovico to mayor, and the civilising influence of Charlotte leads to progress and modernity.
This echoes the message presented by David Lynch in the 'Elephant Man'. Society must learn form those who are different. Charlotte, at first a sheltered freak comparable to the gnomes her mother buries at the film's start, is an object of beauty and regeneration, from whom we can learn and use their inner strength and morality for a model we can only try to replica. The allusions to Lynch are cemented by the arrival of a circus, and the focusing upon the face of the Elephant, juxtaposed with shots of the Lion. This reveals the Elephant, the freak-like character - Charlotte - to be the King of the society, a role model and a leader. However, unlike the caged Lion, Charlotte is free to leave, and join the circus. Unlike Lynch's film, which begins with the 'freak' John Merrick in a circus and uses his death as an escape for a cruel society which held no position for a man like him, the circus frees Charlotte from a society that doesn't deserve her. When the caged bird is released, she chooses to sing her song, then fly away and leave behind those who had imprisoned her in the first place. Without her, Ludovico and her beautiful mother are nothing, and the society can crumble into the corrupt decay it was in before her marriage broke the spell.
The message is clear. Instead of condemning those who are different, they must be treated as human beings who have qualities like or superior to ourselves. This understanding harmonises society and creates a better place for everyone. This is especially resonant in Argentina, where physical beauty is regarded as the barometer of social status in many people's eyes. Furthermore, the fact that Charlotte is a fifteen year old girl, reveals the director Bemberg's message that the hope for the future does not lie in corrupt old men like Saturnino (are you watching Carlos Menem?!), but in the other, the young female, the artist (it is her playing of Schumann that is the film's emotional high point). Female artists, such as the director herself, are the hope for a better future. It becomes a film that places hope in the nation's youth, when the narrative voice is revealed to be Mohame, a young boy. Argentines must try to understand those who are different, and not put people like Charlotte in circuses so they can stand and point and laugh at them. This message is at once local and universal, and becomes an example of great art in the process.
This was the first, but definately not the last Bemberg film, I've seen. I hope the others are as poignant, as clever, and as enjoyable as 'de eso no se habla'.
The film hinges on the dual between the Doctor and Ludovico, a well travelled man now retired in this quiet society. The wound the latter receives places him in a hospital ward, where he is visited by Leonor and her precocious daughter, the midget Charlotte. The dual scene is symbolic, as it recalls a tradition in Argentine society that displays manhood, and is common in the works of Jorge Luis Borges, also recalling the cowboy-esque tradition of the 'barbaric', uncivilized gaucho figure. It seems to be this moment in which Ludovico makes his decision to ask for the hand of Charlotte in marriage, a decision that seems crazy. Why would a man, already confirmed by the upper-class ladies of the village to be able to have any women he wants, and idolised by the working women in the local brothel, choose this deformed fifteen year-old sheltered from society by her protective mother over all the other possible ladies? Madness surely. However, as the women leave his hospital room, the camera focuses on them, before panning back to the bed where Ludovico had received his visitors. It is empty, and the blowing curtains betray the open window, his escape. This allusion to One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest instantly reveals it not to be Ludovico who is crazy, but the society that may condemn him for his marriage to the musically gifted Charlotte, as Kesey's society condemned the 'mute' Indian Chief. (The reference is a motif in the film's narrative, as Ludovico accuses the Doctor of being a cuckoo before the dual takes place.)
Indeed, this marriage becomes the axis on which the film pivots, turning the society around towards modernisation through Charlotte's influence. Firstly she civilises the errant Ludovico, ending his regular trips to the brothel, and the marriage coincides with the death of the town mayor, Saturnino, who cannot speak properly and symbolises the backwards of society and the fact that no-one seems to understand what comes from the mouth of those in society's positions of power. He seems in charge of this world, and seems to live in the brothel. His death promotes Ludovico to mayor, and the civilising influence of Charlotte leads to progress and modernity.
This echoes the message presented by David Lynch in the 'Elephant Man'. Society must learn form those who are different. Charlotte, at first a sheltered freak comparable to the gnomes her mother buries at the film's start, is an object of beauty and regeneration, from whom we can learn and use their inner strength and morality for a model we can only try to replica. The allusions to Lynch are cemented by the arrival of a circus, and the focusing upon the face of the Elephant, juxtaposed with shots of the Lion. This reveals the Elephant, the freak-like character - Charlotte - to be the King of the society, a role model and a leader. However, unlike the caged Lion, Charlotte is free to leave, and join the circus. Unlike Lynch's film, which begins with the 'freak' John Merrick in a circus and uses his death as an escape for a cruel society which held no position for a man like him, the circus frees Charlotte from a society that doesn't deserve her. When the caged bird is released, she chooses to sing her song, then fly away and leave behind those who had imprisoned her in the first place. Without her, Ludovico and her beautiful mother are nothing, and the society can crumble into the corrupt decay it was in before her marriage broke the spell.
The message is clear. Instead of condemning those who are different, they must be treated as human beings who have qualities like or superior to ourselves. This understanding harmonises society and creates a better place for everyone. This is especially resonant in Argentina, where physical beauty is regarded as the barometer of social status in many people's eyes. Furthermore, the fact that Charlotte is a fifteen year old girl, reveals the director Bemberg's message that the hope for the future does not lie in corrupt old men like Saturnino (are you watching Carlos Menem?!), but in the other, the young female, the artist (it is her playing of Schumann that is the film's emotional high point). Female artists, such as the director herself, are the hope for a better future. It becomes a film that places hope in the nation's youth, when the narrative voice is revealed to be Mohame, a young boy. Argentines must try to understand those who are different, and not put people like Charlotte in circuses so they can stand and point and laugh at them. This message is at once local and universal, and becomes an example of great art in the process.
This was the first, but definately not the last Bemberg film, I've seen. I hope the others are as poignant, as clever, and as enjoyable as 'de eso no se habla'.