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Film: Cría Cuervos
Year of production: 1976
UK Release date: 10th June 2011
Distributor: BFI
Certificate: 12A
Running time: 110 mins
Director: Carlos Saura
Starring: Geraldine Chaplin, Mónica Randall, Florinda Chico, Ana Torrent, Héctor Alterio
Genre: Drama
Format: Cinema
Country of Production: Spain
Language: Spanish
Review by: Patrick Gamble
The best years of life are universally regarded to be those of youth; a time filled with unadulterated fun and adventure with the constraints, monotony and rigmaroles of adulthood nothing but a distant enigma. Director Carlos Saura raises a rather compelling counter argument; he believes “it’s only our memory that tells us this period was a wonderful time, but that’s only because we don’t remember things.” Although a rather pessimistic view (Saura is no doubt referring to his own traumatic childhood growing up during the Spanish civil war), there are many that would agree with him. Cria Cuervos is a delightful exploration of one girl’s traumatic journey through childhood, giving us a warts and all portrayal of the true confusion that plagues this phase instead of glorifying it through self imposed misinformed nostalgia. Using a seemingly endless series of unhappy events, Saura throws us into a time of terrible indecision, cloaked in a suffocating atmosphere of fear. Highly regarded as one of the most insightful and politically charged pieces of Spanish filmmaking, this charming journey of child fantasy imbued in reality finally gets the re-release it deserves from the BFI.
It’s still very much Francisco Franco’s Spain when we intrude upon the Madrid household of the recently widowed Anselmo. He dies suddenly amidst the throes of passion with Amelia, the wife of his best friend and fellow army officer, Nicolas. However, it appears this was no natural death - he was poisoned! The apparent culprit of this calculated murder? None other than the second of his three daughters, Ana (Ana Torrent, Spirit Of The Beehive), a wise beyond her years girl who blames her father for the death of her beloved mother. Cria Cuervos literally translates as Raise Ravens, a Spanish proverb that reads “raise ravens and they’ll take your eyes” and is generally used for someone who has bad luck raising children!
Out of a sense of family duty, Anselmo’s sister-in-law, Paulina, soon moves into the large, yet moderately dilapidated house to care for the girls and their mute grandmother, instantly instituting her own domestic regime. The girls remain unfazed and continue with their lives in much the same manner as before, but as their summer holiday unfolds, we become privy not only to the family dynamic of this all woman household, but also the vivid fantasy world of Ana. Through a myriad of daydreams and other forms of escapism, this inquisitive, imaginative and possible deadly young girl comes to terms with the death of her mother, whilst maintaining her staunch hatred for her father and the oppressive regime he represented…
The most captivating element of Cria Cuervos has to be its seamless story, which impressively blurs together fantasy and memory, whilst maintaining a strong foothold in reality. These hauntingly vivid depictions of Anna’s numerous flights of the imagination are beautifully conveyed as a stark contrast to the repressed household she dwells within and the world around her. These flashbacks, dream sequences and daytime mirages could have easily resulted in a confusing and cluttered film, yet, through deceptively simple shooting methods (Ana’s mother wanders into the frame nonchalantly and is completely ignored by all except Ana), the camera work of Teodoro Escamilla manages to capture the intimacy of these fictitious moments between Ana and her deceased mother. This ability to let fantasy and actuality intertwine on screen, combined with the tension created by the tentative yet relentless movement of the camera, perfectly aligns us with Ana’s point of view. It all culminates in not just an enjoyably honest portrayal of childhood confusion, but a unique and exquisitely presented perspective on the gritty reality of bereavement.
Fans of Pan’s Labyrinth’s darkly unsettling, poetic depiction of child fantasy and fairytales, successfully mirrored against the violent backdrop of the Spanish Civil War, will instantly fall in love with Cria Cuervos. Both films undoubtedly share a similar thematic and stylish template, but stand out for the astonishingly professional performances from their young and engaging female leads. This in no way should detract from the enjoyment of both these films, but instead underlines how effective depicting sensitive adult themes through immature eyes can be. However, unlike Pan’s Labyrinth’s heroine, Ofilia, a young girl who radiated with childlike innocence, Ana Torrent’s performance is so frighteningly serious that you can’t help but believe that she’s more than capable of the most malevolent of acts. This, however, is a role which demands a broader range of emotion responses than your usual pedophobia thriller, yet Torrent’s expressive and incredibly watchful face never falters in portraying any of these.
The film was made whilst General Franco was on his deathbed, and was naturally seen as a metaphor for the last dying gasps of fascism and the dictator’s totalitarian regime. The film clearly stresses the disparity between Ana’s fantasy world and the political reality of fascism though numerous symbolic techniques. The house, whilst clearly quite grand, feels incredibly claustrophobic, and it can be no coincidence that the blinds on the windows seem like prison bars containing the girls from the outside world. The empty swimming pool in the garden, which the girls play around, could also represent the lost pleasures of the era or, indeed, their unfulfilled lives. Ana’s father, in his military attire, is evidently here to represent fascism within the family dynamic. His controlling nature over Ana’s mother (a once famed concert pianist) could easily be interpreted as the repression of artists such as Saura, making Ana’s murderous act seem almost revolutionary within this domestic microcosm. Unfortunately, the introduction of Paulina to rule the home, with her strict code of cleanliness and etiquette, seems to act as a warning that Spain’s transition toward democracy may not be as smooth as hoped for.
Paulina’s presence turns the home into an all female household that spans three generations; each is represented with its own distinctive soundtrack. The disparity between the girls’ incredibly catchy pop music and the classical music, which seemingly once filled the house, shows a shift away from tradition, which is equally apparent in their casual clothing - a stark contrast to the elegant dresses of their elders. It has led to many perceiving that Saura uses the female sex and their legacy of repression as a parallel to Spain’s troubled history. It’s a tenuous link, but the fact remains that many feminists still laud Cria Cuervos as a wonderfully subtle account of female socialization, specifically the way in which the girls reject the roles they are expected to fulfill. Ana’s interactions with Rosa, the maid, lead to some humorous and well crafted examples of this, but perhaps the dress up scene, involving the three girls recreating a domestic dispute, is the most obviously symbolic of them all. It’s a scene that we later realise, through one of Ana’s recollections, is an almost exact copy of an argument between her broken down mother and nauseatingly abhorrent father. Yet, in this delightfully charming recreation by the children, Ana’s portrayal of her mother is a far more assured and confrontational one, perhaps signalling a time of hope regarding women’s rights through this new rebellious generation, brought up within a new liberated Spain. It’s a subject matter dealt with cautiously by the director, who despite these countless depictions of youthful empowerment presents the future Ana (though some gently interspersed, straight to camera pieces) under an impartial light. Interestingly, Saura casts the same actress here as plays Ana’s mother, leading us to question whether young Ana is doomed to make the same mistakes.
The term ‘classic’ often gets thrown around too easily, without much regard to the importance and role of the adjective within cinematic history. Cria Cuervos, with its cultivated meditation on history, memory and childhood, combined with an intriguing political undertone, is a film which can be enjoyed on many, many levels. Whether you choose to view it as a reflective parable documenting the fall of fascism, a subtle allegory about the repressed roles of women, or just as a joyous journey into the fantasy world of an imaginative young girl, it rightfully deserves to be heralded as a true classic. PG
Film: Boxes
Release date: 1st November 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 95 mins
Director: Jane Birkin
Starring: Geraldine Chaplin, Michel Piccoli, Jane Birkin, Natacha Régnier, Lou Doillon
Genre: Drama/Fantasy
Studio: Bluebell
Format: DVD
Country: France
When Jane Birkin turned her hand to direction, lovers of Anglo/Franco cinema were to be treated with a strong female voice whose experiences of working with such great directors as Michelangelo Antonioni, Richard Lester and Alain Resnais would certainly give a rise to a new chapter in an eclectic career.
Boxes, Birkin’s debut with a narrative driven feature, tells the story of Anna (played by Birkin herself), a lady in her fifties, who, while unpacking in her new seaside residence in picturesque Brittany, is visited by moments and people from her past.
Whether it is her three ex-husbands, her three children, or her deceased father, Anna is forced to deal with the emotion scars, tragedies and triumphs of her life in a physically sparse yet psychologically dense environment…
For Birkin and Birkinites alike, a film about memory and the overlapping presence of past and present is not a new subject matter. Fans of the made for TV French title Oh Pardon! You Were Sleeping… will be familiar with the notion of individuals dealing with memory and tragedy in a heavily theatrical environment. Birkin’s performance is, like her direction, understated, though she is never better or more complicated a character than when she is interacting with her daughters.
Adele Exarchopoulos as Lilli gives an incredibly mature performance for one so young. At times a playful child, on other occasions carrying the wisdom of her older self that Anna is clearly projecting on to the child from her foreknowledge – it allows for a fascinating back and forth between mother and daughter on several occasions.
The complicated and sexual relationship between Max (Maurice Benicho) and his daughter Camille (Lou Doillon) gives the film, which could easily drift off into the realm of art house pulp, a degree of gravitas that is deeply needed, and is carried across by both actors so skilfully that it manages to leave the audience pondering the unasked questions as to the level of intimacy between father and child.
The casting of Anna’s husbands from various stages in her life is wonderfully eclectic, with Benicho, John Hurt and Tcheky Karyo all pitching in with excellent yet short performances, but also highlighting what is surely a diverse and complicated woman (in Anna).
Cinematically, there are some issues with the film. At points, the lack of camera movement only serves to highlight the fact that this is all staged, which perhaps was Birkin’s intention, but in cinema it creates issues between film and audience. At other times, most notably when Anna’s parents are talking in the garden, the cinematography has adopted an extremely low angle, creating an almost expressionistically Weimar shot, though without the psychological devices to drive the idea home. This is momentary, though, and before long the cinematography is back to being made up of master and two shots, which, along with the almost nonexistent score, does little to alter the idea that perhaps Boxes would translate better on a Parisian stage than a cinema screen. The deep focus master shot of Karyo, Hurt and Birkin is something that should be savoured by cinema audiences, as all three actors have such rich oeuvres, yet it is almost too understated and stagey. Several scenes through the film scream Beckett, Endgame especially, which is an example of the director’s theatrical background but highlights this is neither Beckett nor up to the standard of Beckett.
The most interesting avenue in Boxes is one that is key to the film, yet almost disregarded. Notions of memory and its reliability are littered throughout cinema, so it was probably preferable not to linger on it for too long, however, the fact that Hurt’s character goes without a name, and is initially referred to as a ‘Dick’ and is forced to break through Anna’s subconscious to make her to acknowledge that it was her who oversimplified their relationship in order to justify walking away with their child, is extremely interesting. Ideas of suppression would certainly allow you to wonder if perhaps Anna knew, at least on one level, about the unsavoury relationship between her ex-husband and her daughter, or that her grandmother, a constant source of entertainment in the film, is so deep in the final stages of dementia because that’s how Anna has chosen to remember her - all notions that Antonioni would have been highly interested in.
Ultimately Boxes is a stage play that has been recorded for the cinema audience, and though, at times, it is extremely thought provoking and rich, with excellent actors and narrative, it ultimately has a level of theatrically that sits uncomfortable with the cinematic audience. A theatrically that has long since been left behind for the advancement of cinema as its own autonomous art form. There are many moments in the film that should provoke excitement, warmth and rage, but the misfiring format of the film ultimately leaves the narrative key points falling flat. DL
Film: The Orphanage
Release date: 21st July 2008
Certificate: 15
Running time: 102 mins
Director: Juan Antonio Bayona
Starring: Belen Rueda, Geraldine Chaplin, Fernando Cayo, Roger Princep
Genre: Mystery/Horror/Drama/Thriller
Studio: Optimum
Format: DVD
Country: Mexico/Spain
The Orphanage is the first feature film from Juan Antonio Bayona. Helped into production by Guillermo Del Toro, whose influence can be felt throughout, the film combines the drama of a missing child mystery with an old fashioned ghost story.
The Orphanage focuses on Laura, who, along with her husband Carlos and their adopted son Simón, moves into the orphanage in which she was raised, intending to re-open it as a residential school for special needs children. However, on the school’s opening day, Simón goes missing, and the rest of the film sees the couple search for their son with increasing desperation, as Simón has HIV from birth and cannot survive for long without his medication.
As any hopes of a logical explanation gradually subside, Laura begins to believe that there could be some supernatural involvement - that the children whom she grew up with before leaving the orphanage as a child are still somehow connected to the house.
Tensions increase between Laura and Carlos, as he wishes that they accept that there is no hope of Simón returning and attempt to rebuild their lives, while Laura refuses to give up on finding her son and continues the search for him in increasingly unlikely ways. In one of the films most memorable scenes, she has a team of parapsychologists visit the house to attempt to find out if Simón is still there in any capacity. When Carlos sees this as an elaborate hoax, he decides that the couple must leave the house in order to get on with their lives, but Laura chooses to stay behind for one more night, and one more chance to communicate with the orphans she left behind as a child…
In his first feature length film, Juan Antonio Bayona has managed the difficult feat of creating a horror film that is not rooted in constantly startling the audience, or in mindless, repetitive violence. Instead, he has created a film which is rich in emotional depth, and in which the horror is not contrived by a series of ‘jumps’ but comes from genuine human fear. The scenes in which Laura and Carlos struggle to come to terms with the loss of Simón impact as much as anything supernatural, and it is a testament to Bayona that he balances drama and horror in a way that few filmmakers (in America at least) have come close to in recent years.
Still, the film delivers potency in the horror department, as Bayona creates several scenes which are downright chilling, such as the aforementioned investigation, and the final scenes of the film, which generate the kind of nerve shredding tension that no amount of cheap shock tactics could possibly achieve. As well as these scenes, on which the film’s horror greatly depends, there is a feel of unease surrounding the house, and Guillermo Del Toro’s influence can be felt in this aspect of the film. The house seems to be a true-life variation on the gothic excess of the world of Pan’s Labyrinth, with winding stair-cases, hidden rooms and dark, eerie spaces. The house provides a perfect setting for the slow, intense build towards the film’s dramatic finale, as every creaking door, and every squeaking movement of the playground apparatus against the winter silence seem to suggest that the house is alive with an indefinable energy.
Praise must also go to the performance of Belén Rueda as Laura. Her portrayal of the mother of a missing child is one filled with desperation and tangible despair, which increases as the film develops, and her search becomes more helpless. As well as this, we see her mental condition gradually deteriorate, and at some points question whether what we are perceiving as supernatural is not simply her mind playing tricks on her as she refuses to accept the death of her son. What makes Rueda’s performance particularly worthy of acclaim is also what makes the film so impressive, the powerful feeling of love that permeates her every action. Bayona has made a horror film rooted in love, one in which the horror is effective and impactful because it feels real. In an age of endless SAW sequels and Texas Chainsaw Massacre remakes, this is something particularly commendable.
While The Orphanage may lack the cheap thrills of a modern American horror it is hard to see this as a drawback. Juan Antonio Bayona has brought storytelling back to a genre which has become saturated with gruesome violence and nonsensical twist endings.
A beautiful, emotional story, and one in which the deep rooted horror is likely to remain with us in a way which no amount of guts and gore could possibly hope to achieve. PK
