TRAILER: Cinema Release: Chico & Rita

Film: Chico & Rita

NEWS: Cinema Release: Chico & Rita

Cuba, 1948. Chico is a young piano player with big dreams. Rita is a beautiful singer with an extraordinary voice. Music and romantic desire unites them, but their journey – in the tradition of the Latin ballad, the bolero – brings heartache and torment.

From Havana to New York, Paris, Hollywood and Las Vegas, two passionate individuals battle impossible odds to unite in music and love.

Film: Chico & Rita
Release date: 19th November 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 94 mins
Director: Fernando Trueba, Javier Mariscal, Tono Errando
Starring: Limara Meneses, Emar Xor Oña, Mario Guerra, Estrella Morente
Genre: Animation
Studio: CinemaNX
Format: Cinema
Country: Spain/UK

REVIEW: DVD Release: All About My Mother

Film: All About My Mother
Release date: 28th February 2000
Certificate: 15
Running time: 97 mins
Director: Pedro Almodóvar
Starring: Cecilia Roth, Marisa Paredes, Candela Peña, Antonia San Juan, Penélope Cruz
Genre: Drama
Studio: Pathe
Format: DVD
Country: Spain/France

Winner of the 1999 Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, All About My Mother is considered to be Spanish director Pedro Almodovar’s best work. It is a celebration of all that is taboo, an inversion of ‘normality’ handled with his usual compassion for all those who tread the borders of acceptable society. During the ‘90s, he was one of Spain’s best-known filmmakers and he remains one of their most loved. He is also credited with introducing international audiences to such household names as Antonio Banderas and Penelope Cruz.

The film opens with Manuela, a single mother who works full time as a Transplant Coordinator to support her son, Esteban. She has left her own dreams of becoming an actress behind to feed his artistic aspiration of becoming a writer. Their relationship is close and nourishing; they share the same interests and like the same films. As parent child relationships go, it is almost perfect.

While watching the movie All About Eve one quiet evening, Esteban starts penning what he jokes will be his future Pulitzer Prize winner, All About My Mother, and here, in his omission, lies hidden the only darkness in their happy world - the lack of a father.

On his seventeenth birthday, Manuela finally decides that her son is old enough to hear the truth, and as they wait in the rain after a showing of Streetcar Named Desire, she tells him as much. Placated, he runs out to get an autograph from the shows star, Huma Roja, but, in his rush, he fails to notice a car speeding towards him. Fate has its way, and steals Esteban away from his mother when he is still little more than a child. The only way that Manuela can think to carry on with her life is to search for the boy’s father and tell him that he had a son, and that his son is dead.

Manuela travels from Madrid to Barcelona and begins the complicated process of tracking down her ex-husband Lola, a drug using transsexual prostitute…


All About My Mother is its own intertext, and the intermingling of art and life is a common theme throughout. The film appears self-consciously aware that there are no new stories to tell, only new ways in which to express them. If it were not for Almodovar’s unusual choice of characters, the plot alone may have appeared re-hashed. That is not to say that the characters were chosen for this reason alone, nor that they appear token or stereotypical, instead their existence is normalised by the well-worn circumstances in which they find themselves.

This is reflected in the film’s cinematography. During Manuela’s first night in Barcelona, she takes a taxi to ‘The Field’ to look for Lola. This innocently named place is a patch of scrubland on the outskirts of town where prostitutes tout for trade. As they drive off, unsuccessful, two women are seen crouched down to the left of the car playing pat-a-cake - it is as fantastically mundane as it is explicit.

The lighting is also used notably, and to great effect, in expressing character. Whenever Huma, the actress from Streetcar, is present, the scene takes on a theatrical look, lit as if it were a stage; often menacing and mysterious, moving towards lighter spectrums as her character becomes more fulfilled.

Life is seen as a series of premonitions. All the major action in the film is foretold; before Esteban dies and Manuela has to donate his organs, he has already been to the hospital she works in to watch her role-play the event as part of staff training. Again, when she plays the part of Stella in Streetcar, having befriended Huma, she knows the lines because she originally learnt them when she played the part in an amateur production, during which she met Lola for the first time.

And it is relationships that are central to this film, especially those between women, or people who have chosen to live their lives as women. When Manuela reaches Barcelona, she discovers Agrado, a woman born a man who has kept her male genitalia as it helps her find work as a prostitute. She is Manuela’s umbilical cord to the past, yet together they help each other move towards the future.

All About My Mother still stands out as unusually accepting in its portrayal of diverse sexualities, and is refreshingly real compared to its overtly emotional Hollywood counterparts. It is a film that applauds people’s unique circumstances and life choices. The only things that are truly frowned upon are judgement and conformity, and although heavy drug use and prostitution should in no way be encouraged, in many ways it would not be the worst piece of art for life to imitate.


Almodovar has successfully created a drama of misfits without reducing his characters to clichés. What comes across most clearly is the joy of being different, if you can accept yourself and revel in your individuality then you can make, and even become, beautiful art. EM

REVIEW: DVD Release: Spinnin'

Film: Spinnin'
Release date: 15th November 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 110 mins
Director: Eusebio Pastrana
Starring: Alejandro Torus, Olav Fernandez, Arantxa Valdiva, Carolina Toucedato, Guadalupe Perez Lancho
Genre: Drama
Studio: Bounty
Format: DVD
Country: Spain

AIDS; suicide; homosexuality; heterosexuality; family tension; friendship; religion; love - Spinnin’ covers it all in an astoundingly courageous debut from Spanish director Eusebio Pastrana. Scooping first place for Best Feature Film at The Barcelona International Gay & Lesbian Film Festival, and coming in second at 2008’s San Diego Latino Film Festival, Pastrana’s first venture into feature film has clearly made an impact. No wonder.

Pastrana’s script knowingly beats the critics at their own job. Viewers are immediately introduced to the passionate Garate and Omar who plunge into satirical character analysis with rapid and revealing dialogue. Then, they fall in love.

The couple’s gay relationship expands into a four-way affiliation with an equally adoring lesbian couple. They share their home with each other and their friends, where secrets have no place and feelings are discussed freely. A spanner is thrown into this beautifully oiled machine, though, when one of each of the couples realises that there is one thing missing: a child…


This does not bear as much resemblance to a soap opera as may be expected. Pleasingly, there is no shouting or fighting - at least not between our protagonists. Although there are plenty of tears, endearingly they are met with affection, not friction. The characters’ faith in each other often surpasses the viewers, so deep is their understanding of one another. Despite their unconventional approach to life - or perhaps because of it - this is a family completely bonded by tenderness and love.

Hope and optimism permeates the film. “Wounds keep you alive,” viewers are constantly reminded. “Life is sad, but a good fight makes life interesting.” None of the characters fall into the trap of self-pity, but they address their problems communicatively and set the rest of us an example that we can only wish we were strong enough to imitate.

Garate spreads this warmth to unsuspecting friends he encounters on the street. A 13-year-old girl, caught in the midst of a custodial battle following the loss of her mother, finds reassurance in his empathy, inspired by his own mother’s death. The homeless are befriended with light-hearted games on the pavement. A workmate, betrayed by his pregnant wife, finds an outlet by opening up to his colleague. Garate’s own Christian father takes a spiritual dilemma to the counsel of his son; a dilemma founded on the fears that Garate and his family have built their paradise on. But the most significant friendship that Garate secures is that of Raquel. She is desperate for a lover and longs for human contact. Her own disastrous story is gradually uncovered and she proves pivotal to the family’s situation.

This story of convention versus deviation is a true portrait of human nature. Pastrana and his cast calmly address the three defining milestones that influence humanity: love, life and death. Rather than drawing attention to each controversy raised, the filmmaker works them into the script with a maturity that many new directors lack. Whereas they might rush headlong into a medley of clumsy statements contrived to raise eyebrows, the topics featured in Spinnin’ develop organically, barely noticeable in the flow of dialogue. Carried along by a naturalistic cast, it is only upon reflection that the number of potential points of outrage are realised: the speculation that God is gay, for example, or obligingly providing drug money for an HIV victim.

This patchwork of themes is perhaps what leads to what might be the film’s one fault: the number of personalities presented to the viewer. So many ideas are explored that Pastrana has created a complicated web of characters that may leave audiences falling behind the script. Nevertheless, by the end of the film, viewers will be left with a satisfying sense of closure on the story, but not on the themes. For this reason, Spinnin’ will stay with you for a very long time.

Without a scrap of angst or cheese, Pastrana dedicates Spinnin’ to the L-word. He examines love and reveals it in all its guises. Love between the sexes and amongst them; love across ages and class; parental love and amorous lust; love between friends and love within couples; the guilt that love generates, but also the support it offers. Ultimately, Spinnin’ is a love story, but not a romantic film. It’s a tale about a group of friends, but it’s not a teenage buddy movie.


Pastrana’s debut is a complex film – complex in terms of characters and themes. But it takes the viewer on a seamless journey, pursuing human nature. Unhurried, Pastrana leisurely and inoffensively tackles the stuff of contentious chat shows and gritty documentaries without the aggression and without the sentimentality. RS 

SPECIAL FEATURE: DVD Review: Room In Rome

Film: Room In Rome
Release date: 18th October 2010
Certificate: 18
Running time: 103 mins
Director: Julio Medem
Starring: Elena Anaya, Natasha Yarovenko, Enrico Lo Verso, Najwa Nimri
Genre: Drama/Erotica
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD
Country: Spain

This is an English-Language release.

Perhaps best known for Lovers Of The Arctic Circle (1998) and Sex And Lucia (2001), Basque director Julio Medem clearly has an abiding interest in love and sex. His latest film, Room In Rome, continues the theme, only this time he has chosen to focus on a lesbian one-night stand that takes place in a hotel room in Rome.

Room In Rome opens with Alba (Elena Anaya) and Natasha (Natasha Yarovenko) on a deserted street outside a hotel in Rome late at night, as seen from the balcony of Alba’s room. It is clear there is a strong, if slightly awkward attraction between the two women, and Alba persuades an initially hesitant Natasha to join her up in her room - even though they have only just met that evening, and Natasha makes it clear that she’s never been with a woman before.

Once in the room, they shed their clothes quickly – they remain off for most of the film - but then Alba falls asleep and Natasha decides to leave, only to return again shortly afterwards when she realises that she has left her mobile phone in Alba’s room.

What follows is prime art house erotica, coupled with Alba and Natasha sharing stories about their lives - some of them true and others fabricated or with details of their lives swapped around. We learn that Alba recently lost one of her children, and is an eco-aware Spanish engineer who is in a relationship with a Basque woman, and that Natasha, a professional Russian tennis player, is engaged to a man who was previously in a relationship with her sister.

Eventually, after much physical and emotional drama in the bedroom and the bathroom, Alba and Natasha discuss what it might be like to remain together, before parting ways…


Though it has been described as a remake of Chilean director Matias Bize’s 2005 film En La Cama, Room In Rome obviously has a very different dynamic in that it is about two women, rather than a man and a woman. However unusual this may be, there are several aspects of the film that are disappointingly predictable.

As characters, Alba and Natasha simply aren’t that believable, and never really come to life. It probably has a lot to do with the dialogue (mostly spoken in English, but with brief smatterings of Spanish, Russian, Italian and Basque), which often sounds stilted and lazily written - both characters often come across as little more than art house lesbian fantasy caricatures. In short, Medem, who also wrote the screenplay, has taken one impishly beautiful Spaniard with a complicated past, one strikingly beautiful blonde Russian with a complicated past and thrown them together in a lavish hotel room complete with soft lighting and old art.

The sex is not particularly convincing either, mainly since Medem seems to have focused almost exclusively on making it look picturesque. There is very little sense of intensity or passion, just one carefully choreographed, artfully lit set-piece after another.

Worse still, there is one laughably pretentious scene in the bathroom that tips Room In Rome over the edge into unintentional farce: a scene in which an arrow pierces Alba’s heart while she and Natasha are writhing around in the bath together. Cue much blood in the bath water, a dementedly giggling cherub dancing on the ceiling and…oh, wait, it was just an overblown flight of the imagination, a jolt of symbolic drivel. And the bit about the cherub dancing on the ceiling isn’t true, strictly speaking, though earlier in the film there are shots of painted cherubs aiming arrows from the bedroom ceiling.

It’s not all bad, though, and Jocelyn Pook’s beautiful soundtrack helps to prevent Room In Rome from lapsing into utter tedium. Similarly, Russian Red’s hauntingly simple song ‘Loving Strangers’, though overused, adds a sense of poignancy.

As far as the performances of Elena Anaya and Natasha Yarovenko are concerned, both fare reasonably well considering the ponderous dialogue they had to work with, but whatever chemistry there is between the two is hampered by an overwhelming sense that it was contrived by a male would-be auteur who is more interested in surfaces than substance.


There’s no doubt that Room In Rome will attain a certain cultish appeal as a result of its meticulously styled lesbian carnal activity, but its dramatic qualities are mediocre, at best, and its unlikely to add anything to Julio Medem’s reputation as an ambitious filmmaker. JG

SPECIAL FEATURE: DVD Review: Blue Eyes Of The Broken Doll

Film: Blue Eyes Of The Broken Doll
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Carlos Aured
Starring: Paul Naschy, Diana Lorys, Eduardo Calvo, Eva León, Inés Morales
Genre: Horror/Mystery/Thriller
Country: Spain

Region 1 release.

The elements that become conventions that become clichés that comprise a genre – we often reduce a film to these fundaments, and file. Guns and horses = western. Reptilian titans gnawing on Tokyo = kaiju. Arnold Schwarzenegger mowing down hordes of haplessly moustached baddies in Commando = comedy. Well... In the case of the giallo, iconography, narrative and formal verve are distilled into a potent, frequently befuddling murder maze. An Italian thoroughbred, the form typically unfolds in a domestic, urban milieu; grubby Milanese alleyways, moonlit palazzos, glinting cathedrals of modernism. Here, then, is a kitsch anomaly that bucks this norm. Whilst aesthetically it seems to be talkin’ Italian, Blue Eyes Of The Broken Doll is an entirely Spanish production. Can the stalk-and-slash mythos survive retranslation? Or has director Carlos Aured committed the most heinous crime of all – genre murder: with intent to bore?

Our tale begins as drifter Gilles (horror polymath Paul Naschy – also co-author of the screenplay) fails to thumb a ride out of barren, purgatorial Spanish plains. One despairing montage later, and his luck changes - for the worse.

Dropped in a minor town, the itinerant stranger is rebuffed by glacially indifferent locals and decides to move on. But fate intervenes in the form of an enigmatic benefactor, Claude, who delivers him to her ancestral mansion, and promptly contracts him as its caretaker.

Beneath this grand façade bubbles a cocktail of neuroses; for this is the unhappiest of families: a warped trinity of three sisters. Claude, maimed in a vague ‘accident’, wields a prosthetic hand; a deformity she considers abhorrent. Sex-kitten sibling Nicole is isolated and stifled, and hits on men with perverse abandon. Eldest sister Yvette is wheelchair bound, paralysed by psycho-somatic trauma. Into this dysfunctional haven swaggers our hero apparent – a man, it transpires, with his own soul-gnawing burden. And when a black-gloved assassin begins to slay beautiful blondes – before ritualistically extracting their eyeballs – he’s quickly dropped into the frame as prime suspect. Of course, in patented giallo style, all is not quite as it seems.

So whodunnit? And why? The clue’s in the title; but it’ll take you ninety-odd minutes of chills and sanguine spills to unravel the psychotic conundrum. Thankfully, it’s an entertaining jaunt…


Initially, the film plays like a campy re-imagining of Don Siegel’s The Beguiled. Muscular Gilles (often stripped to the waist) is the singular male at the house, and quickly becomes embroiled in a tug of lust between Nicole and Claude. Reaching the twenty-minute mark, a kinky couplet of sex scenes begins to evaporate the aura of intrigue. You’ll likely reach for the DVD case at this instant, to verify that this isn’t actually “Confessions Of A Spanish Caretaker”. But persevere. This sizzling sub-plot only occupies the first third of the movie and, amidst covert trysts and cow-milking interludes, introduces us to the malaise of the cast.

Aured underscores the fleshy melodrama with a subtle undercurrent of menace, incorporating haunted house clichés to sustain the eerie ambiance. As night falls, ominous smudges of cloud envelop the house in gloom, and deafening thunder-cracks voice the muted loathing of its occupants. In accordance with murder mystery convention, each character is exposed as damaged or duplicitous, and harbours an esoteric mystery - is suspiciously evasive about their past/uses a double identity/experiences shoestring expressionist nightmares.

Added to this cauldron of despair is an unhealthy dollop of classic Freudian angst, expounded by a bearded shrink who diagnoses the girls as mentally “sick.” The miasma of decay is palpable. Thus, when the corpses begin to stack up, we’re acutely aware of the underlying corruption that rots away at the habitants of the house; each appears a feasible suspect. It’s the task of the (characteristically ineffectual) town cop to hunt him down – but not before a succession of set-piece slayings have satiated the audience.

Impeccably stylish executions are an integral part of the genre, and these are realised with some skill here. Scenic locations are atmospherically lit on night-time shoots; transformed into angular vistas of light choked and dissected by vectors of shadow. Skittish victims are nimbly trailed by the prowling camera, as an ominous soundtrack primes us for an imminent coup de main.

Composer Juan Carlos Calderón’s mischievous score is a splendid accompaniment to this exploito-aesthetic - efficiently careering twixt muzak (seductively undulating bass, teasing flute) and sombre discord. Like a sick mash-up of Herb Alpert and Goblin, his themes commence as jaunty lounge ditties, only to morph into malign, mellotron accented dirges that echo the progressive rock so vital to Italian film hits like Suspiria. Another unsettling trick – perhaps borrowed from Argento’s Profondo Rosso – is the subversion of a nursery-time melody, which becomes synonymous with the killer. French standard Frère Jaques provides this deathly lullaby, unsettlingly juxtaposing childhood innocence with murderous degeneration.

Colour is dexterously woven into these sadistic tableaux. Red is subtly employed as a foreboding motif; wine, pig’s blood and a scarlet mac are all associated with victims before their demise. Gore is sparingly rationed, but brutally served - lacing the fromage with effective shocks. A grisly throat slitting and flamboyant rake murder (blood spurting across the frame) are grand guignol intervals which thrillingly punctuate the procedural bumbling of the authorities, proving Aured a canny orchestrator of horror theatrics.


Pioneered by gore auteurs Mario Bava and Dario Argento, the giallo is often considered a uniquely Italian confection, but this able Spanish effort proves that the genre is sufficiently robust to withstand relocation. Pulpy, crowd pleasing fare, the film offers a cornucopia of trashy pleasures. Failing to supersede the malign artistry of its antecedents, Blue Eyes Of The Broken Doll is nonetheless too well constructed to callously dismiss. Best served with a generous garnish of irony, this accomplished pastiche should prove a treat for giallo fans, and those keen to explore the seamier side of Spanish genre cinema. DJO

REVIEW: DVD Release: Dagon

Film: Dagon
Release date: 2nd February 2004
Certificate: 18
Running time: 94 mins
Director: Stuart Gordon
Starring: Ezra Godden, Francisco Rabal, Raquel Meroño, Macarena Gómez, Brendan Price
Genre: Fantasy/Horror/Mystery/Thriller
Studio: Prism Leisure
Format: DVD
Country: Spain

Even at its peak, Dagon was the sort of movie one could only get in bargain bins. There is little risk when buying a DVD for £1 that it won’t provide at least that amount’s worth of entertainment. It is one of a rare breed of horror film that really goes for it; cashing in on shock value and mixing it up with big themes and ideas, despite being made on an impossibly tight budget. Dagon is hard to ignore, because not only is it from the makers of the acclaimed Reanimator series, and based on a cult H.P. Lovecraft story, but, most importantly, it’s about evil fish-men.

The Story follows Paul and Barbara, a recently wealthy couple who have gone sailing to Spain with some friends in their yacht. After a freak storm causes them to hit a rock, they are forced to seek help in a nearby village.

The couple are separated and Paul finds himself running for his life from the mysterious fish-men that inhabit the village. As his flight for survival takes him from one terror to another, he unravels the secret of the Cult of Dagon…


The most notable thing about Dagon is that it whizzes by with a really kinetic pace to it. After a short introduction, we panic through the film with Paul, scrambling to get to the next scene and, at times, left quite short for breath.

Despite being a primarily action based film, there is still a coherent and involving story. From the film’s inception, there is a strong foregrounding of dreams and nightmares. This is both expressed through visuals and dialogue. The central theme of Dagon is the idea that dreams and nightmares are one and the same, a vision of our deepest primal desires. The things we truly desire can be something we fear on the surface. This is explored throughout, and echoes of the short stories that the film is based on.

Dagon is a very loose adaptation of both Dagon and The Call of Cthulu by H.P. Lovecraft. The details of the plot have changed, although the themes and atmosphere are still intact. The works of Lovecraft are notoriously difficult to adapt to film, however Stuart Gordon and Brian Yuzna are brave enough to try time and time again, playing with Yuzna’s own concept of a plastic reality. As with Reanimator and Necronomicon, Dagon is littered with Lovecraft references, such as Paul’s ‘Miskatonic University’ sweater (the university from Reanimator and many other Lovecraft stories).

The main role of Paul is played by Ezra Godden, who has also appeared in numerous TV shows, and recently lent his voice to the computer game Dragon Ages: Origins. His performance in Dagon could be said to be a little wobbly. Nevertheless, overall he conveys a believable character in an impossible situation, and draws the viewer to root for his survival. Paul is a relatively everyday man, with little in the way of heroics and easily overwhelmed. We see him frequently retreat within his own mind, leaving the viewer faced with a trembling shell, adding gravity to the moments where poor effects would otherwise make us laugh.

The supporting cast also play a valuable role. Raquel Morono’s performance as Barbara contributes to Paul’s character by highlighting just how passive and spineless he is with her Hispanic fire. The late Francisco Rabal, to whom the film is dedicated, plays a drunken tramp. His awkward incoherence, and the way he wanders aimlessly between Spanish and broken English presents us with an impeccably accurate portrayal of a chronic alcoholic hobo.

The scenery of the village conjures an outstanding atmosphere of unseen peril. Once the rain begins to pour down, every surface becomes ominously dark and reflective. Shadows constantly flicker and move. The entire village transforms from the sundrenched drenched idyll in to a large scale haunted house, but the horrors in this haunted house are real.

The fish-men make for great monstrous villains, sometimes appearing like an aquatic zombie horde there are so many of them. More than zombies, the fish-men are a diverse bunch of monsters that come in many forms. Some are mostly human, others are mostly fish. Some talk, some walk and some are muscle-bound titans. They talk in their own crazy language, which sounds like dolphins shouting abuse at each other with its eerie clicks and squeaks. The makeup and effects used for the fish-men are really effective at instilling both fear and disgust, far surpassing anything you might have seen in old Dr Who episodes.

Since it’s a true diehard horror film, there are numerous gory set pieces, and there are a lot of special effects in play throughout Dagon. These special effects achieve mixed success, with much of it laughable, and some of it truly impressive. For the most part, Dagon features gore that is done with prosthetics and fake blood; however, there are some creature effects that have been added by some embarrassing CGI. The pinnacle of the gore involves a man’s skin being peeled from his face whilst he is still alive and screaming, so do be prepared if you are squeamish!


Dagon really is a film that puts the ‘bargain’ in ‘bargain bin’, but it will give you more than a pound’s worth of fun. It may not change your life, and it does have some failings, but it certainly has an interesting story, and thrills that will not be easy to forget. DOB

REVIEW: DVD Release: The Haunting

Film: The Haunting
Release date: 25th October 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 120 mins
Director: Elio Quiroga
Starring: Ana Torrent, Francisco Boira, Hector Colome, Rocio Munoz, Francisco Casares
Genre: Horror/Mystery
Studio: Scanbox
Format: DVD
Country: Spain

Elio Quiroga’s The Haunting, also known as No-Do and as The Beckoning, represents another drop in the torrent of Spanish supernatural horror that’s burst through the riverbank of international cinema awareness. Arriving on the heels of higher profile releases such as fellow haunted house romp The Orphanage (2007), straight up Spanish shocker [Rec] (2007) and this year’s similarly styled Hierro, does The Haunting have what it takes to make an impact in a rapidly overcrowded market?

When paediatrician Francesca (Ana Torrent) starts to suffer from postpartum depression after the birth of her new son, her friend and hospital psychiatrist Jean (Rocío Muñoz) recommends a change of scenery. Francesca and her husband Pedro (Francisco Boira) are shown around a spacious country house that was formerly a school owned by the priesthood. They fall in love with it and move in straight away.

After experiencing nightmarish visions of ghostly apparitions, Francesca starts to get more and more obsessed with the safety of her baby, prompting further concern from her husband and Jean as she seemingly slips deeper and deeper into madness.

Meanwhile, Miguel (Héctor Colomé) a psychiatrist priest, discharges a patient whose spent the last fifty years in a catholic institution as he tries to come to terms with the secrets of No-Do; a religious experiment that occurred in Francesca and Pedro’s home decades ago…


If the storyline of The Haunting sounds familiar to you, that’s because it pretty much follows almost every standard plot point synonymous with its genre: a young family move into a big empty house (usually out in the sticks) where, unbeknownst to them, evil things occurred many years ago but still resonate in the form of noises, ghosts and so on. Due to a past personal trauma, one of the family – almost always the wife – has the unexplained ability to see and interact with said spectres, and feels some form of duty to put the spirits to rest. Naturally, no-one believes her except for some old hermit or religious type, ostracised from everyone due to crackpot supernatural theories of cults and evil goings on. The ensuing investigation is fleshed out with some obligatory searching around dark spaces with a flashlight and a research montage involving old newspaper articles where the hellish past of the property is slowly revealed. Unfortunately, The Haunting is the kind of film where you can guess the outcome and the intervening twists and turns simply by watching the trailer.

The cast do what they can with Quiroga’s formulaic script, but performances all round never really catch light. Torrent’s psychological journey from depressed mother to haunted and borderline insane person is not very compelling, and pales in comparison to many other similarly structured performances. Her conversations with her 10-year-daughter Rosa while Pedro’s out of the house feel very contrived. From their first scene together, it’s painfully obvious that Rosa isn’t alive and only Francesca can see her. To the film’s credit, this isn’t kept a secret for too long, but it’s uneventful nonetheless and ultimately annoying, as Francesca frantically searches the house for someone that everyone – including herself – knows does not exist.

Francisco Boira’s Pedro is severely underwritten, and is limited to the role of concerned husband. Héctor Colomé’s Priest Miguel offers more intrigue, but is again repressed by a rather flat and unimaginative script – finding a huge piece of the No-Do puzzle by easily letting himself into a special room within the catholic inner-sanctum, even though this is deemed forbidden with penalty of excommunication. The evidence itself – a reel of old film footage – is neither destroyed nor particularly well hidden as you might expect; the filmmakers choosing to leave it lying around on a dusty shelf for anyone with access to the room to see.

Camerawork is slick but not especially creative. The film adds some inventive touches by using seemingly old newsreels and other weathered footage to provide pieces of the puzzle, as well as flashbacks that try to maintain a similar aesthetic by incorporating faux print damage. Sometimes, these flecks and scratches appear over shots of the main storyline to segway into the flashback, which looks a little amateurish and kills any attempts of immersion. The ghost effects are equally suspect; crude now-you-see-them-now-you-don’t computer generated zephyrs that do little more than float about and pull scary faces - not to mention showing up the limitations of the film’s budget.

The film does little in terms of generating tension of scares, coming to a hilt when Francesca wanders around the house by herself with a torch; a tour which naturally takes her to the building’s darkest recesses, such as the basement, where the evil things happened.

The Haunting, then, is a film that hinges on creating a thick and creepy atmosphere as opposed to using shock tactics. Unfortunately said atmosphere, whilst present, is rather stale overly familiar. The musical score does little to elevate this, and the occasional presence of blatant filler shots – presumably used to stitch together the remnants of what was originally a much longer cut – cries made-for-TV, as do the clichéd fireworks of the film’s ending.


The Haunting is what it is: just another haunted house flick, and is totally forgettable as a result. It’s predictable, unoriginal, bland and a chore to watch. Although it’s commendable that writer/director Elio Quiroga is more interested in classic horror design than copious gore, this enthusiasm simply does not translate to the screen, rendering The Haunting a stuffy and tedious saga that offers nothing that hasn’t been seen or done before. MP

REVIEW: DVD Release: The Milk Of Sorrow

Film: The Milk Of Sorrow
Release date: 4th October 2010
Certificate: E
Running time: 94 mins
Director: Claudia Llosa
Starring: Magaly Solier, Susi Sánchez, Efraín Solís, Bárbara Lazón, Marino Ballon
Genre: Drama
Studio: Dogwoof
Format: DVD
Country: Spain/Peru

Following an Oscar nomination for Best Foreign Picture, The Milk Of Sorrow brought director Claudia Loser to the attention of world audiences. Here, that film is packaged with her directorial debut, Madeinusa. Both films are concerned with the emotional journey of characters played by her muse Magaly Solier, and offer meditations on sex, violence and death in Peruvian society.

The Milk Of Sorrow
The Milk Of Sorrow is a film steeped in sex and death. Opening with a deathbed lullaby about rape, the narrative goes on to describe the turbulent family life of Fausta as her nosebleed and fainting begin a tale of mourning, marriage and the intrusion of Peru’s tumultuous history on its present.

With her uncle insisting that Fausta bury her mother prior to her cousin Aida’s wedding, the film explores the grieving daughter’s experience of reconciling the loss of her mother, and her final links to Peru’s past, with the joy and optimism of her family’s future…


The Milk Of Sorrow opens with a black screen, over which can be heard the faint, cracked voice of a lullaby being softly sung. Melodic yet brutal, the song unflinchingly describes the brutal rape of a pregnant woman who was forced to eat her own husband’s penis. That woman is Perpetua (Bárbara Lazón) and the child she was carrying is Fausta (Magaly Solier), the film’s main protagonist. It’s an extremely touching scene: the gentle melody juxtaposed against the horrific lyrics is jarring, and still more so as the singer is revealed to be an extraordinarily frail old lady. Having given up her song, Perpetua passes away.

The titular ‘the milk of sorrow’ is an affliction which Fausta has ‘inherited’ from her mother. As she suffers from a nosebleed and faints, her uncle suggests that the trauma of her mother’s ordeal was transmitted to her via breast milk. Searching for a more plausible explanation, Fausta’s doctor suggests that the cause of her ongoing medical problems is more likely to be a potato which she inserted into herself as a barrier to unwanted sexual advances. Either way, it seems that the reason for her ailments lies in misguided or archaic beliefs. With a background such as hers, it’s little wonder that Fausta is a nervous and timid character.

Fausta is given the opportunity to shed some of her inhibitions and build her self confidence when it becomes her task to transport her mother’s body from her home in Lima to her native village. Needing cash to make this happen, she takes a job working as a maid for a wealthy musician. The contrast between the calm and wealth of her employer’s home and Fausta’s busy, bustling life are immediately apparent – especially given the tracking shot which follows Fausta through a heaving marketplace on her way to her new job. The stillness and quiet are underscored by lingering shots of a silent Fausta awaiting instruction in an empty hall.

Having met her new employer, Aida (Susi Sánchez), Fausta cuts away a small piece of the potato which she keeps inside herself. Although perhaps a tad clumsy, this eccentrically symbolic act marks the beginning of Fausta’s journey to self-discovery. Resisting the temptation to rush the process, progress is hesitant and halting with false dawns and setbacks marking the way.

The most notable of these setbacks occurs following an agreement between Fausta and Aida. After one of her necklaces breaks, Aida promises to give her maid one of the loose pearls every time she sings for her. With her mother’s funeral to pay for, Fausta agrees, despite feeling embarrassed by the arrangement. It’s an underplayed scene: Magaly Solier’s performance is rarely anything other than subdued. As the two characters pick the pearls up from the bathroom floor, they come closer to each other in the middle of the frame. It’s a beautifully choreographed moment – even the manner in which the characters retrieve the spilt pearls speaks volumes about them. When Fausta eventually realises that Aida’s motives aren’t purely to hear her sing, another blow is struck against her awakening self.

The performance of Solier is absolutely central to the movie. She’s a beautiful and engaging presence. Her features are delicate, but there is steely determination in her eyes. Often filmed in close-up, she reflects rather than acts – often without words. Yet every dent to her pride registers – sometimes almost imperceptibly – on her face. It’s a portrayal suffused in melancholy which manages to anchor the emotion of the film without dragging it down.

The Milk Of Sorrow is framed magnificently and looks wonderful. At its heart is an enigmatic acting performance, and it has a lot to say about recent Peruvian history and the role of women in its society. Its not hard to see why it received an Oscar nomination – the story of a girl with a difficult background making good is very ‘Hollywood’ – but its just as easy to see why it did not win. It’s a difficult film to love – some of its metaphors are clunky, and its imagery a little too obvious. But despite this, it’s thought provoking and well worthy of attention.


Madeinusa
Claudia Llosa’s directorial debut is a beguiling mixture of Peruvian and religious tradition and traditional Western. Even the main protagonist’s name – and the title itself - is a twist on the expression ‘made in the USA’. But the issues addressed by the film are far more serious than the pun-based title might suggest.

In the remote village of Mayacunya, life has been largely unchanged for years. Here, Madeinusa (Magaly Solier) and her sister Chale (Yiliana Chong) share the home of their father, the town mayor. Madeinusa is clearly his favourite: his sexual advances towards her are rebuffed early in the piece. Coupled with the jealousy of her sister and the pain of her mother’s abandonment, Madeinusa has little comfort but for a box of possessions her mother left behind. But as the Holy Time draws closer, a stranger from the city arrives. How will he affect a community unused to strangers and a family which is at the point of falling apart?

The opening scenes see immediate parallels drawn between Madeinusa, the village girl of an Incan descent and Salvador (Carlos J de la Torre), a ‘gringo’ geologist from Lima. Her world is one of domesticity, rat-poisoning, gentle song and removing lice from her sister’s hair. Salvador, meanwhile, listens patiently to the inane ramblings of his driver, whilst growing increasingly exasperated at a situation which sees a flooded road halt his progress. His outsider status is established from the outset – his clothes and manner are markedly different, and his cynical smile underlines this.

The sense of intrusion continues as Madeinusa’s father, Cayo (Juan Ubaldo Huamán) returns home drunk and clambers into bed between his two daughters. Whilst Chale pretends to sleep, he begins to grope Madeinusa. Played with an almost weary resignation, it’s a strangely unsettling experience watching the young daughter reasoning with her father that he cannot sleep with her – yet. As Cayo’s face looms large on the screen, recognition flickers in his eyes and he falls asleep – to the relief of all parties.

That Madeinusa was able to deter her father was due to the impending Holy Time celebrations. With the town gearing up for the festivities with music, colourful decorations and alcohol it becomes apparent to a western audience that something potentially unsavoury is afoot: comparisons with The Wickerman would not be far from the mark. In a celebration which clearly takes its lead from Easter, the Holy Time focuses on the period between Jesus’s death and resurrection. The villagers believe that in this time sins are invisible to the Lord and, as a result, anything goes – even sleeping with your own children.

The film refuses to cast judgement or take the side of either the interloper from the city or the village locals. As such, the villagers are shown neither to be innocent or cruel – this refusal to point fingers allows the audience to make up its own mind on an ambiguity, which would almost certainly have been eradicated in a more mainstream picture. Despite this, there is a reluctance to allow Salvador to witness the celebrations and he’s locked in Cayo’s house out of the way.

When Salvador and Madeinusa’s paths inevitably cross, there is an immediate attraction. With the gaze of God averted, this leads to a sexual encounter which is anything but romantic. It’s little more than a quick knee trembler and doesn’t serve the plot particularly well. To believe that an urbane city dweller would fall so quickly for a village girl on the basis of this particular shared experience is something of a stretch. Having lost her virginity earlier in the day, the inevitable happens and Cayo also sleeps with his daughter – aware that Salvador has done so first.

The tension is ramped up from this point in, with Salvador clearly in some peril. Whilst Cayo begins to include him in the celebrations, it is with a sense of menace – not least in a scene where the menfolk of the village gather in a room and use scissors to remove each other’s ties. As the men methodically cut through each other’s neckwear, the scene grows increasingly dangerous for Salvador: he’s not wearing a tie. A cleverly constructed moment of terror flashes across his face as he realises his turn has come – and at the hands of Cayo.

As the plot unwinds, it becomes more obvious that tragedy will ensue, although the way events unravel might prove surprising. There’s also a deliberate ambiguity regarding the timing of events and whether the sins committed in the denouement were witnessed by God or whether they will be forgotten.

Director Llosa has created an intriguing film which poses more questions than it answers. The central performances are uniformly excellent and the scenes are framed sumptuously – particularly as the mask-clad villagers drink and dance. But the heart of the film relies on a believable relationship forming between Salvador and Madeinusa – sadly, that relationship is not quite believable enough. Although given the movie’s sting in the tail, maybe it is?


South American cinema has rightly been lauded in recent years, with films from Argentina, Brazil and Mexico earning richly deserved praise. The Milk Of Sorrow and Madeinusa offer a chance for audiences to explore the continent further, offering new insights into Peruvian culture and history, as well as the chance to see the development of blossoming director Claudia Llosa and ingénue Magaly Solier. Although occasionally clumsy, the impression given is that Llosa may be capable of polishing these rough edges off and creating a cinematic diamond. RW

REVIEW: DVD Release: Jamon Jamon

Film: Jamon Jamon
Release date: 27th December 2000
Certificate: 18
Running time: 90 mins
Director: Bigas Luna
Starring: Penelope Cruz, Javier Bardem, Anna Galiena, Stefania Sandrelli, Juan Diego
Genre: Comedy/Drama/Romance
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Spain

Amidst the barren landscape of rural Spain, the silhouette of a bull sways in the breeze. Echoes of vintage motorcycle engines and tinny radios fill the air, while bull-fighting and steamy passion seem a hallucination. One third of Bigas Luna’s Iberian Trilogy, Jamón Jamón indulges audiences in a passionate tale of love and lust blended with an abstract and farcical portrayal of masculinity against a contemporary Spanish background. The film juggles the themes of the stereotypical Spanish machismo, the motif of food (ham, omelettes and, oddly enough, garlic) and sexual magnetism, thus resulting in a film that is invigorating, comic, and tragic.

The film follows the lives of the seemingly star-crossed lovers Silvia (Penelope Cruz) and Jose Luis (Jordi Molla), who have plans to marry. However, Silvia’s mother Carmen (played by Anna Galiena) is the local prostitute, while Jose is heir to a fortune, the business of selling ‘Samson’ underwear.

With this connection fuelling her dislike of Silvia, Jose's malicious mother Conchita (Stefania Sandrelli) makes it her mission to end their relationship. To add insult to injury, Carmen had a previous relation with Conchita’s husband and Jose’s father Manuel (Juan Diego).

Sly and manipulative, Conchita goes behind their backs and employs the assistance of a young and fiercely attractive Javier Bardem, whose early appearance in this film portrays Raul, a cocky delivery man set in the trajectory of Silvia’s affections…


Causing chaos and confusion in every scene, Raul proves to personify the stereotypical Spanish macho-man while providing comic relief in an otherwise dense narrative. The intricate web of relationships leads to an uncontrollable spiral of carnage and melodrama.

Opened to the public in 1992, Luna had chosen an important and socially pivotal year for the hedonistic and complex Jamón Jamón to be released, which happened to be during the decline of the socialist government and, at the time, of the famous Expo’ 92. It also marked the beginning of a change in the stylistic direction of contemporary Spanish cinema, seeing the Spanish film industry become more self-regulating and independent, an increase in the amount of co-productions being made, and a merging of the styles of art film and commercial cinema.

Jamón Jamón mirrors the ambiguous identity not only of Spanish cinema, but of the Spanish stereotypes most human (macho man Raul) and symbolic (the bull shaped billboard once a symbol for Veterano brandy). Bardem’s performance is passionate and strong, while Penelope Cruz introduces us to her delicate yet irresistible style of acting. The pair bring to Jamón Jamón the same on-screen chemistry which is present in Woody Allen’s 2008 film Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

The film is lusty and intriguing, presenting the audience with explicit scenes of passion and illicit affairs exempt of morals. Such a succession of partner-swapping allows plenty of openly erotic moments, partnered with the absurdity and humour that makes up the package of the film. It flawlessly combines melodrama with tragedy, jarringly switching from an energetic and sexually carefree farce ending in a collision of coincidences with grave results.

The themes concerning masculinity and femininity are clear, and are presented in a strong and fearless fashion. However, aside from the brash sexual representations and exploration of the male image, the film does not have many other factors which standout from the rest. It poses a stimulating and lively script, and the acting is admittedly impressive, but at no point during the film are the audience given the chance of relating to the characters due to the abstract and absurd nature of the plot. As mentioned before, the characters are not put forward to the audience to impose any morals or ethics; they are simply vehicles for a representation of what it is to be tangled in one of the most warped-love situations Spanish cinema has ever had to offer.


If it’s romance and happy endings you’re looking for, you’d be well advised to keep on looking. Luna brings diversity to the age-old tale of forbidden love with a touch of the grotesque and the result is fascinating. With passionate performances and enough comic relief to keep you from digging your tongue through your cheek too much, Jamón Jamón is a wonderfully lusty piece of filmic escapism. ES

REVIEW: DVD Release: The Milk Of Sorrow

Film: The Milk Of Sorrow
Release date: 4th October 2010
Certificate: E
Running time: 94 mins
Director: Claudia Llosa
Starring: Magaly Solier, Susi Sánchez, Efraín Solís, Bárbara Lazón, Marino Ballon
Genre: Drama
Studio: Dogwoof
Format: DVD
Country: Spain/Peru

The niece of Peruvian author and political activist Mario Vargas Llosa, Claudia Llosa brings a psychological and sociological eye to South American cinema. The Milk Of Sorrow explores the consequences of terrorism on a highly superstitious generation of female victims who survived the brutal rapes of the Maoist group Sendero Luminoso, at the price of their loved ones and their way of life.

Death and sex never stray from the surface of this film. In the opening scene, we hear the cracked, brittle voice of Perpetua singing unflinchingly on her deathbed of the rape she endured while pregnant with Fausta years previously, and the graphic details of the torture she and her husband suffered.

Elaborate marriage ceremonies are part of the fabric of everyday life, and moments later we see Fausta’s cousin, Aída, trying on her wedding dress, and parading around the dusty family compound. Complete with ludicrously long train, the family dogs and children playing football underneath become emblematic of the rough and tumble nature of life and the need for stability.

The domesticity of the scene is upset by Fausta. Her nosebleed, followed by a fainting fit, marks the beginning of the twin concerns of the film: her mother has passed away, and her last connection to the provinces and her old way of life has ceased to exist, whilst her uncle decrees that Perpetua must be buried before the Aída’s wedding, lest mourning recalls memories of the horrors that have blighted Peru and would spoil their optimistic urban life…


Fausta is slow moving and defined by reticence, she bleeds when she is afraid; her family believe she has no soul and that fear was nourished at her mother’s breast. A gulf exists between science and what the family are prepared to believe, they cannot understand the psychological basis for Fausta’s behaviour, but are supportive nonetheless. When Fausta is faced with tactless chat up lines such as, “If red is the colour of passion, let me bathe in your menstruation,” you can understand her desire to uphold her mother’s precaution of using a potato as a barrier to rape. As Fausta’s condition deteriorates, we see her seated amongst blooming expectant mothers in hospital, or unable to accept the smallest of kindnesses from men, apart from being walked home.

The film makes apparent that death and marriage are booming industries. As Fausta searches for a suitable coffin for her mother, she starts at the high-end with paunchy salesmen to gaudy painted versions presented by a woman in white stilettos. Fausta’s family are in the lucrative business of lengthy wedding preparations, and this is where much of the humour lies. Her aunt carelessly decorates a cake, knowing her customer is illiterate and the presentation of wedding gifts rivals the Generation Game in terms of tack and enthusiasm. And yet death is ever present. Photographers goad the couples with comments such as “smile, you’re not dead” and “this is not a cemetery,” while Fausta runs upstairs to find Perpetua’s embalmed body has been hidden under the bed to make way for Aida’s dress. The juxtaposition of the mummy and this symbol of fertility underline Fausta’s own position: she IS unable to take part in life when she is so haunted by death, and a somewhat reasonable fear of men.

Magaly Solier’s unique and almost impossibly elegant bone structure makes you wonder if a there could have ever been a man involved in making her, while her broad hips and the male appreciation she inspires tell a different story. Fausta’s employment at the ‘Big House’, the home of an affluent composer and pianist, is considered “just what she needs,” after the loss of her mother. It allows her to meet different people, but the iconography she encounters in the kitchen of the Madonna and child, with her breast visible, is a suitably ironic statement on what she encounters.

A willowy blonde woman, shown to tower over the local workmen she hires, is presented to Fausta as the image of a strong independent woman. Fausta’s initial timidity is overcome by Noé’s encouragement of her deeply autobiographical folk-singing - something she has inherited from her mother alongside fear. Her song about mermaids, quinine and contracts has an authenticity Noé can only dream of, but can easily exploit. Fausta is subjected to what can only be described as cultural rape; Noé takes what she wants and leaves Fausta to her greatest fear, walking home alone. It’s a painful allegory - the body and spirit of a nation can be appropriated and abused, and not just by those who fit the mask of the brutal aggressor.


Llosa’s poignant and perfectly nuanced story of a developing nation shows the people of Lima as dynamic force in the spiritual rebuilding of a country afflicted by civil war. Human kindness is shown to thrive in the most hostile of circumstances proving that a hopeful future can have roots in bloodstained soil. SR

REVIEW: DVD Release: Eloise

Film: Eloise
Release date: 5th April 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 92 mins
Director: Jesus Garay
Starring: Leo Casamitjana, Felipe Arago, Diana Gomez, Laura Conejero
Genre: Drama/Romance
Studio: TLA
Format: DVD
Country: Spain

A coming of age drama from director Jesus Garay, following a teenager’s exploration of friendship and love, Eloise proves to be a film that simultaneously conforms and shatters the stereotypes of its genre.

Whilst many are mistaken that the film centres upon the title character of Eloise, the main focus of the picture lies with 18-year-old Asia. The film’s plot details the story of her life which unravels via flashbacks of dark visions interspersed with pleasant memories, as she lies comatose in hospital. Watching her daughter, Asia’s shell-shocked mother demands to know the whereabouts of “her.” As Asia’s boyfriend expresses little knowledge of the mystery woman dismissed as “no-one,” it is clear that she could play a key role in the reason for Asia’s condition.

As time is reversed, we are shown that Asia is an artistic, kind and popular student. She appears to lead a life most ordinary, dividing her time between her friends, studies and controlling mother.

After meeting her future boyfriend, Nathaniel, Asia immediately sets herself apart from her loud and flamboyant friends with her shyness and sensitivity to the prejudice held against fellow student, Eloise. Curious about an advertisement for an art student seeking a model, Asia applies - unbeknownst that Eloise is the artist. Despite the tolerance displayed earlier, Asia expresses reluctance to pose for an openly gay woman but is won over by Eloise’s no nonsense attitude.

As Nathaniel and Asia drift apart, with every art lesson and heart-to-heart she gravitates further towards Eloise. Asia begins confronting her own feelings for Eloise after a weekend together; inadvertently causing Asia’s mother to attempt to literally put her daughter on the straight and narrow by intervening between the star-crossed lovers…


What is surprising about Eloise is the direction Garay takes a film that is a seemingly typical romantic drama by providing a sense of foreboding and darkness contrasting against the happiness of two people falling in love. The overall visual tone of the film is split in to two parts to distinguish flashbacks from scenes of Asia hospitalised, providing us as an audience with a helpful aid in the midst of numerous jolts through time.

Though the ending of the film may come as a surprise to most mainstream audiences, those familiar with films featuring the LGBT community will notice a cliché that has become trite in their on-screen portrayals. Deterring from Hollywood’s perpetual need for a ‘happy ending’ and to solve all character’s problems within a film’s two hour run, Garay let’s the audience choose their own ending depending on the type of person they are - not dissimilar from the glass half empty/half full test.

This can be, depending on an individual’s taste, infuriating or enlightening, as scriptwriter Cristina Moncunill’s natural dialogue combined with the chemistry between Gomez and Cabrol has the viewer heavily invested in the characters. Gomez, especially, has a difficult task of playing a main character experiencing a great amount of conflict that is likeable despite her infidelity. Her portrayal of Asia as someone who welcomes an unexpected love but feels guilt over the consequences is refreshing, with her quiet dignity also tinged with moments of feistiness.

There were moments within the film where the ol’ heart strings were tugged and the feeling that at any moment a violin would appear was a looming prospect. But it is Ariadna Carbrol’s performance that so often saved the day, with Eloise’s ease within her own skin and captivating presence. Cabrol brings credibility to the typical quirky art student that could have been in danger of seeming pretentious. Instead, Eloise, as a character, is charming and gutsy despite the generalisation that all artistic souls wear doc martins and grim reaper robes. Both actresses possess uncanny resemblances to Penelope Cruz and Scarlett Johansson, which was probably intentional to draw comparisons with the infamous Vicky Cristina Barcelona kiss. But the treatment of a same-sex couple within the film is at times outdated, especially as it is set in main city Barcelona and Spanish law has had more progress with gay rights than the UK.

What is surprising is how the film tackles both prejudice and infidelity in a manner that isn’t condescending or preaching to viewers. The film’s soundtrack, although setting the tone off to a good start, quickly became grating with the excessive use of whimsical flute’s song to illustrate the couple’s blossoming romance. Although this does not prevent one from enjoying the film, at times it does sound like it belongs to a made-for-TV movie.


It’s clear that in different hands, Eloise could have been a cure for insomniacs and in danger of becoming a, dare I say it, ‘chick flick’. But it is the combination of cast and director which proves gold in terms of deviating from the usual romance genre yet managing to still tick all of its boxes. A coming of age and romantic drama with an air of independence. SRI