04 January 2017

One-Liners: Oh, Gods


IXCANUL (VOLCANO) (B) - Juana and Manuel are a hard-working couple in rural Guatemala, and in order to stay within the good graces of not just God but also those who run the plantation that puts food on their table they offer their daughter Maria to the plantation foreman, Ignacio, in an arranged marriage.

Maria (the luminous newcomer Maria Mercedes Coroy) is not pleased. She loves Pepe (Marvin Coroy) and hopes to join him in his plan to escape a life of menial labor and run off to seek the riches of America. These pipe-dream plans are likely to fizzle in the ominous shadow of the belching volcano that towers over the village.

This debut by writer-director Jayro Bustamante is a luscious celebration of a traditional society, in which dinner guests are thoughtful enough to bring a duck for the hosts. Juana (Maria Telon) dotes on her daughter, bathing her and bedecking her hair like a girl playing with a doll. She and Manuel (Manuel Antun) are simple god-fearing folks who don't think twice about sacrificing their daughter, not to the volcano, but to the mortal gods who control their existence.

Alas, Maria is not virginal. She has lain with Pepe. And she soon glows with child, like her biblical namesake. (The scene where Juana discovers this in the baths is gorgeously shot. Mercedes Coroy is a wonder to watch throughout.) Mother and daughter bond in the wake of this affront to Ignacio and his family. In a movie called "Volcano," something is going to blow. Here, all hell breaks loose when Maria goes into labor, setting off a frantic sprint in the back of a pickup truck to a city hospital.

The shift in tone is jarring, as lingering shots of natural beauty give way to jangly hand-held camerawork conveying the fast-paced horrors of urban life. Through the frustrations of language translations -- from Spanish into their native language -- the family members become victims of the slick modern healthcare machine. It's quite a left hook from Bustamante, who pulls out the rug and makes you realize that you were not watching what you think you were and that you are not just an arm's-length viewer observing a quaint culture. Blame, if you want, this family that puts their faith in God and western culture.

BEYOND THE HILLS (2013 (B-minus) - This dreary slog made in Romania tests the faith and endurance of its characters as well as that of its audience.

Cristian Mungiu (the relentlessly bleak abortion drama "4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days") grinds away for two-and-a-half hours in a remote monastery, where Voichita (Cosmina Stratan) has chosen to devote herself to God and God's main servant, a charming guru known only as Priest (Valeriu Andriuta), who keeps the nuns in line. Voichita is visited by Alina (Cristina Flutur), with whom she grew up in an orphanage, having created an intense bond in the face of abuse. They may just be friends or they might have been lovers -- Alina certainly treats Voichita like the latter, jealous of Voichita's relationship with Priest.

Alina continuously tries in vain to pry her soulmate from the clutches of the Lord and the medieval lifestyle Voichita has given herself to, urging Voichita to join her in seeking work in Germany. Well, if you can't beat them, join them. Alina eventually insists on infiltrating the compound and takes up an ascetic residence. But Alina is troubled, unwilling or unable to let go of the material world and to worship God and Priest.

Is she crazy in love or just crazy? The other nuns would vote for the former. Alina ends up in a hospital at one point, and the surreal world of bureaucratic health care seems as ridiculous as the narrow-minded monastery, and Alina is returned to the bumbling care of the nuns. The hospital scene calls to mind a recent landmark of Romanian cinema, the dark comedy "The Death of Mr. Lazarescu" by Cristi Piui (who is poised to release a three-hour epic "Sieranevada"). Here we get dark, but it's difficult to discern any comedy.

Eventually a desperate Alina commits to a ritual that will show the ultimate sacrifice. It is here that Mungiu takes a turn toward the sadomasochistic. It's as if he, through Alina, is saying, "You want to devote yourself to God? Well buckle your seat belt, because it's a bumpy ride."

In the end, there are no hosannas, no glorious enlightenment or relief from suffering. In fact, putting your faith in the Lord, Mungiu seems to suggest, is folly. Your move, Big Guy.

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