Set against the scorched and barren backdrop of the rural North-West Andes; Miguel Pereira’s Veronico Cruz shows how even the most isolated of rural communities cannot escape Argentina's encroaching modernism and military regime of the 1970s.
Veronico Cruz tells the story of a young indigenous Argentine boy (of the same name) as he grows up in a stark and isolated hamlet called Chorcán in the North-Andean province of Jujuy. Abandoned as a baby by his father, after his mother’s death, Veronico is left under the care of his strict grandma in a small plot of land where he lives a near solitary existence as a shepherd boy.
With only his goat Chiquito and a wooden flute for company, it is not until an educated and worldly teacher (respectively named ‘el Maestro’ by the villagers) is placed in Veronico’s local school that he learns anything of human interaction or the world around him. Taking him under his wing, el Maestro gives Veronico gifts of a transistor radio and comic set from the navy that enthrals the boy to such an extent it seems Chorcán is completely disconnected from the rest of Argentina.
It is not; however, exempt from the military junta of 1976 that is slowly enveloping the country. Any hope that el Maestro initially had to enlighten Veronico and his classmates is thwarted when his work and life becomes increasingly monitored by military figures. Having already been ordered to remove his anti-revolutionary books and censor his political opinions, el Maestro’s disillusion with the new Argentina is concreted when Veronico’s grandmother passes away, and he takes him to nearby city Jujuy in the hope of finding his father.
As Veronico wanders the city’s sophisticated streets in innocent rapture, el Maestro is treated to heavy-handed questioning by military officials for enquiring after Veronico’s father, who appears to have been blacklisted for his anti-revolutionary sentiments. Returning to the Chorcán hopeless and deflated, Veronico and el Maestro realise they must follow different paths in order to find a place for themselves in the hostile environment of their new country.
Characterised by extreme long shots, slow pans and long takes of its barren setting, Veronico Cruz is an undeniably, and, at some points, infuriatingly slow-paced film that relies heavily on visuals to convey its narrative. However, while minimal action and dialogue may decrease its accessibility to wider audiences, the film is not without touching and effective moments, perhaps due to its starkness of direction. The scenes in which Veronico and the Andean mountains appear to converse with echoes of his cries “Stupid Grandma!” demonstrate not only his utter loneliness but how Veronico's landscape is itself an important voice and presence in his life. Similarly, with little directorial interference, the characters of Veronico and el Maestro are given the space and time to develop naturally within the film's 106 minute running time.
With only two major characters and minimal dialogue, it can be argued that Veronico Cruz is one of those films that manages to encompass big themes and issues through its seemingly small characters. The impoverished inhabitants of Chorcán demonstrate the huge difference of development between Argentina's urban and rural spaces, whilst the subtle military presence that increasingly oppresses el Maestro's movement within the village shifts the focus of the film from a local to national story. Consequently, Veronico Cruz conveys a rather bleak portrayal of a country at a very specific time in its political history. With the gentle-natured Maestro transferred away from Chorcan to a larger school by the government; there is a suggestion that small villages such as these are purposefully denied the tools and education to be able to change their circumstances.
With beautiful visuals, endearing characters and grand themes, Veronico Cruz is a slow-paced yet engaging film that conveys an important time in Argentina's history. Perhaps not the best introduction to Argentine cinema, but for those already interested in its culture and tumultuous history, an interesting view.
Fan: Rachel Barrie
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