Reviews

In 1988, two bizarre films that included sci-fi elements were released in Argentina: _Lo que vendrá_ and _Alguien te está mirando_. Neither of them is a masterpiece, but there's a big difference between them. _Lo que vendrá_ takes itself seriously, and as a result it seems pretentious, it fails miserably. _Alguien te está mirando_, on the other hand, seeks only to entertain, thus avoiding total failure.

Like the classic 80s horror film, this one follows a group of young adults who just want to have fun. Before they head to the typical weekend house, however, these youngsters participate in an experiment run by three American scientists. The experiment involves dreams and a drug, CP1, which produces, as one of the scientists puts it, "maximum stimulation of the oneiric potential." The connection between the experiment and the events in the lives of the young adults becomes clear as the film progresses. All I can say without giving much away is that this movie anticipates a major sci-fi film of the late 90s. (The movie's poster will tell you as much.) By extension, there is also a Borgesian/Phildickian element to the film.

The acting, though not dreadful, is bad enough. The "American" accent of the scientists is awful. Only one of the English-speaking actors (James Murray) speaks good English, but his accent is nowhere near American. The soundtrack seeks to cover all bases: it is a mixture of hard rock, punk, and pop. The inclusion of the Soda Stereo song "No existes" is particularly noteworthy. Music legends Michel Peyronel (drummer for Riff and Tarzen) and Stuka (guitar player for Los Violadores) have brief appearances in the film. In short, the movie has "80s" written all over it. I almost cried when I saw, in one of the scenes, a bag of "chizitos" (the Argentinean equivalent of Cheetos) that looked just like the ones I used to get when I was a kid.

Like _Blade Runner_ (Ridley Scott, 1982), _Alguien te está mirando_ is a postmodern pastiche, though its sources are altogether different: the film's aesthetic is a combination of sci-fi, horror (_Halloween_, _Friday the 13th_), softcore, and music videos. In other words, David Cronenberg is another major influence, which makes sense, when one considers the year of production. One of the film's directors, Maldonado, went on to make _El desvío_ (1998), another film that begins with young people looking for entertainment, so there is continuity there.

It's been exactly 30 years since the release of this film. I guess that makes this review a kind of tribute. The "kids" in the film are probably in their fifties now. I wonder whether they watch their own film every now and then, and what they think. If I were in their place, I'd be proud of myself, in spite of everything. There may be a considerable amount of corn involved here, but in the immortal words of Alf, "one man's corn is another man's pot roast." Different yet unpretentious, _Alguien te está mirando_ is good, silly fun with metaphysical implications.

The only film written by iconic actress Norma Aleandro, and the only feature film directed by David Stivel, _Los herederos_ is a rare bird. Released the same year as Raúl de la Torre's _Juan Lamaglia y Sra._ and Néstor Paternostro's _Mosaico_, it deserves at least as much recognition as these masterpieces of Argentinean cinema.

As the film begins, María Concepción (Aleandro), Juan José (Emilio Alfaro), and María Isabel (Marilina Ross) move into the huge, old, and decaying house they have just inherited. (The women are sisters, and Juan José is their cousin.) María Concepción's lover Carlos (Federico Luppi), Juan José's wife Estela (Bárbara Mujica), and Carlos' friend Raúl (Carlos Carella) complete the picture. The film is quite simply about these six people living in the same house. They are all waiting on the house--a white elephant if there ever was one--to be sold in order to have some money.

The acting is superb, which comes as no surprise when one considers the names involved. The mise-en-scène is equally effective. As in the house of Usher, the state of the building mirrors the lives of the inhabitants, who illustrate the famous line from Jean Paul Sartre's play _No Exit_ that I chose as the title for this review. I also hear echoes of Tennessee Williams. Jealousy, frustration, abuse, and sexual tension make up the film's atmosphere. _Los herederos_, in fact, foreshadows the films of Jorge Polaco, _Diapasón_ (1986) and _Kindergarten_ (1989) in particular, though, needless to say, Polaco would take things much farther. Madness is Polaco's province, and there's a hint of it in _Los herederos_, for instance, when Carlos paints his legs and torso with lipstick, then smears cream all over himself, and finally runs to the shower. This has got to be the most tormented character Luppi ever played.

_Los herederos_ is dark, atmospheric, and oppressive. All scenes take place in the house. The implication is that, even though the characters may leave, they are still trapped (look at the film's poster). The reference to Buñuel need hardly be mentioned. _Los herederos_ is a hidden gem.

I was not sure at first whether to go see this movie or not. The subject is a touchy one for me, and as the film proves, for many people out there as well. It seemed to me that a film about dating could either focus on the awful way men and women treat each other these days, or offer simple solutions to a complicated problem. _The Dating Project_ successfully avoids these pitfalls. The film is as objective as a documentary can be, and it is neither bleak nor naïve.

The documentary focuses on five real people: two college students (one female, one male) in their late teens, a female college student in her twenties, a woman in her thirties, and a man in his forties. The first two, Shanzi and Matt, are a part of the hookup culture, it seems, without even realizing it: this is simply the way their generation "functions." Cecilia, the student in her twenties, is from Mexico but studies in the US, and finds it difficult to meet people in the first place. The woman in her thirties, Rasheeda, has a similar problem, because she has a job that takes up most of her time. Chris, finally, feels that life is passing him by while he decides whether he is ready for the commitment that a good, solid relationship entails. All of these people, who come from different cities (Boston, Monterrey, Chicago, Los Angeles), are looking for love, but they do not know how to go about it. At the center of the documentary is Dr. Kerry Cronin, a philosophy professor who gives her students (and ultimately, the viewer) a dating assignment, and explains the different stages of the lost art of traditional dating.

"I don't know how to date." "I don't know how to meet people." "It's difficult to find someone who is on the same page." "Some people think it's all about sex." "I meet good guys but those are not the guys that I date." "Why am I single?" You'll find all of these "states of heart" (and many more) in this documentary, so most viewers will be able to relate to at least one of the people introduced. As I watched the film, the old feeling rose up in me: the realization that we live in a world where so many people feel isolated, where so many people are desperate to meet someone who is out there desperate to meet them! Many of us are terrified of simply waiting only to find later in life that nothing has happened. The film captures this modern anxiety very well.

The movie reminded me of Erich Fromm's book _The Art of Loving_ (1956), which in my opinion is required reading for anyone thinking about going into a relationship. One of the ideas it conveys is that we are not naturally born with the ability to love, as we seem to assume; that love is an art, and as such, it must be cultivated. _The Dating Project_ is a great illustration of our society's lack of understanding, and sometimes lack of purpose, when it comes to relationships. The film doesn't claim that there were no problems in the age of traditional dating. It simply suggests that traditional dating would help many people to avoid the mistakes they would make by becoming a part of the shallow and unsatisfying hookup culture the media try to sell.

Documentaries have agendas, or theses; that simply comes with the genre. Some will also argue that as soon as you introduce a camera, you cannot speak of "real life." True. A film is a film, and life is life. What this documentary presents is a glimpse into lives that may resonate with viewers. It does not claim to represent an entire society. At times poignant, at times hilarious, _The Dating Project_ will speak to many viewers who long for a durable, meaningful connection. It is true without being depressing, and hopeful without being naïve.

Juan José Jusid's career had its ups and downs, but he is responsible for some of the most enduring pictures in Argentinean cinema, of which I will mention _Asesinato en el Senado de la Nación_ (1984) and _Made in Argentina_ (1987). His film debut, _Tute Cabrero_, is simply a gem.

Carlos (Juan Carlos Gené), Luis (Pepe Soriano), and Sergio (Luis Brandoni) work as designers for a corporation called Alfa. Apparently, they get along quite well: they share an office, they joke, they hang out during the weekends; in short, they seem more like friends than coworkers. Everything changes when the boss announces that the company does not need three designers: one of them must go. And the best way to settle things, the boss says, is for the three men themselves to decide who will be the one to leave.

Like Buñuel's _El ángel exterminador_ (1962), _Tute Cabrero_ shows what may happen when human beings are put in a tight spot. Connections lose their value when the main concern is to survive. The title of the film refers to a game in which two players ally themselves against a third one.

Based on a play by Roberto Cossa, the author that produced that other penetrating exploration of the Argentinean psyche that is _La nona_ (made into a film by Héctor Olivera in 1979), _Tute Cabrero_ is not only a compelling story, but also a beautiful piece of filmmaking. The cinematography is unconventionally exquisite, combining as it does shots of Buenos Aires with close ups of the actors, who often--in crucial moments--look directly at the camera. Jusid also uses voice-over interior monologue and flashbacks to illustrate the characters' emotions. The bandoneón tango music completes the picture.

Jusid's next film, _La fidelidad_ (1970), did not reach the heights of _Tute Cabrero_. In fact, though _No toquen a la nena_ (1976) is an excellent comedy that prefigures _Cien veces no debo_ (Alejandro Doria, 1990), it was not in the 70s but in the 80s that Jusid's career took off. He then made a couple of good films in the 90s, but I don't care much for the popular comedies that began with _Un argentino en Nueva York_ (1998). Though quite different from what would follow, _Tute Cabrero_ is one of his best pictures, and a true landmark of Argentinean cinema.

It only took a viewing of _Breve cielo_ (1969) to make me a fan of David José Kohon. After seeing that brilliant and poignant picture, I began to watch his other films, and saved _Tres veces Ana_ for last. Now that I've seen all of his movies, I feel a certain sadness, knowing that there aren't any more, but already I look forward to the experience of watching them again.

The film consists of three independent episodes about three different women named Ana, all of them played by María Vaner. In "La tierra," Juan (Luis Medina Castro) meets Ana Ruiz--a toy store clerk and a student--as a result of a wager between friends. Love blossoms between them, but complications soon arise. Will things work out for them? The Ana of "El aire" is quite different: shallow and promiscuous. She meets Raúl (Alberto Argibay), a doctoral student, who briefly tries to show her that her ways are immature. "La nube," finally, focuses on "Monito" Riglos (Walter Vidarte), a simple and lonely man who works at a newspaper. His life changes when, as he waits for the bus, he spots a girl looking out of a window. It is the third Ana, about whom he beings to have increasingly vivid fantasies.

Like the characters in Kohon's first feature film, _Prisioneros de una noche_ (1960), the man and the woman in "La tierra" are slightly older versions of Delia and Paquito, from _Breve cielo_. If the latter are on the brink of losing their innocence, Ana and Juan have already been expelled from the Garden of Eden, though they may still find a kind of happiness. "El aire," which takes place at the beach, is the shortest and the weakest segment. More than a story in itself, it is a character study. Walter Vidarte's role in "La nube" is similar to the one he would go on to play for Leonardo Favio in the haunting _El dependiente_ (1969). The segment represents a departure from Kohon's typical realism. This incursion into fantasy prefigures the director's last two films, _¿Qué es el otoño?_ (1977) and (especially) _El agujero en la pared_ (1982). Some may argue, though, that all three Anas are manifestations of the fantasies (the fears, the anxieties) of the male characters.

Kohon's second feature film, _Tres veces Ana_ was nevertheless released before his first film. Like _Breve cielo_, this film is almost flawless. While I'm still partial to _Breve cielo_, I gave the same rating to both films, but I recognize that _Tres veces Ana_ is much more complex, and perhaps more mature than the later picture. Either one of these films is, in any case, worthy of being regarded as Kohon's masterpiece.

David José Kohon may well be my favorite Argentinean filmmaker. Watching his films has been an amazing journey through time and space, and it was such a pleasant adventure that I decided to review every one of his motion pictures. None of them have disappointed me, and even his weakest effort, _Con alma y vida_ (1970), is worth checking out. Thank you, David José Kohon, for letting me go back to my dear Buenos Aires.

If Leonardo Favio excelled at portraying life in small-town Argentina, David José Kohon was primarily the filmmaker of the city. A family drama set in a small town, _Así o de otra manera_ is thus the oddity in Kohon's career, but it is nevertheless an outstanding film.

While her father finds work, María (Beatriz Barbieri), a teenage girl from Buenos Aires, spends some time in the country with her distant relatives, Teresa and her husband Juan. The evident mutual attraction between María and Juan does not make Teresa happy, and she insists on sending María back to her parents. Juan, for his part, keeps looking for ways to be alone with María.

Reminiscent of Luis Buñuel's Mexican films (I'm thinking, for instance, of _Susana_), _Así o de otra manera_ could be described as an Argentinean response to Kubrick's _Lolita_, which was released two years before Kohon's film was made. The victim of censorship, _Así o de otra manera_ was not shown in theatres until 1996.

Like many other female characters in Kohon's films, María is assertive, if a little self-destructive; Kohon's men, on the other hand, tend to be naïve. Beatriz Barbieri, who actually bears a resemblance to Sue Lyon, is simply perfect in the role of a girl on the verge of womanhood. Her career did not take off, however, and she only appeared in three feature films, of which _Así o de otra manera_ was the last.

With _Así o de otra manera_, Kohon proved that he could tell stories both in the urban and in the rural settings, with equal success. This may be his least representative film, but it is as gripping and memorable as any of his other works.

Kohon's first film in color is both a continuation and a departure. Like the director's previous films, this is a story of marginal characters (specifically, of a man and a woman), but in terms of genre, it is an example of film noir, in contrast to the urban realism of _Breve cielo_ (1969) and _Prisioneros de una noche_ (1960).

El Flaco (Norberto Aroldi), a thief, and Vilma (María Aurelia Bisutti), a prostitute, share a small apartment in Buenos Aires. Their bond is strong and complicated. One day, on a whim, they steal a car and race other vehicles, stopping once to rob a rich old lady of an expensive brooch she is wearing. El Flaco and Vilma end up in prison, but she soon gets out. Gustavo (José María Langlais), a rich architect she once helped has bailed her out, but of course, he expects something in return. While el Flaco serves time, Vilma realizes she has moved from one form of confinement to another. Both of them long for their lost freedom, and for each other.

Aroldi and Bisutti are great as reckless, self-destructive lovers. Bisutti gave a memorable performance as a good, respectable girl in _Los de la mesa 10_ (Simón Feldman, 1960), and she is equally convincing here as a woman of the night. Vilma may well be what Delia, Ana María Picchio's character in _Breve cielo_, eventually becomes.

_Con alma y vida_ is more ambitious than Kohon's previous films. It features car chases and shootouts, and the setting switches at one point from Buenos Aires to Punta del Este, Uruguay. The result, however, is not entirely satisfactory. The film is marred by melodrama, and there are even weak spots in the script. The character of Gustavo, for instance, disappears in the middle of the film. Finally, the movie is commercial and follows genre conventions, two things that the "generación del 60" (to which Kohon belonged) shunned, as it espoused artistic freedom.

It seems that with _Con alma y vida_ Kohon was trying something different. Fortunately, he would then abandon film noir and find a different and much more interesting approach. Seven years would pass before he made his next film, _¿Qué es el otoño?_, but this one was worth the wait. _Con alma y vida_ is not a bad film, and it's definitely Kohon, but it is in _Breve cielo_ and in _Tres veces Ana_ (1961) that one sees this director at his best.

David José Kohon was one of the most important directors in the history of Argentinean cinema. He belonged to the "generación del 60," a group that was also referred to as Nuevo Cine Argentino in those days. It was during the 60s that Kohon made his masterpieces: _Tres veces Ana_, and my personal favorite, _Breve cielo_. He remained active, however, producing two films in the 70s (one of which, _¿Qué es el otoño?_, was Argentina's official submission for the Academy Awards), and one in the 80s. Inspired by the legend of Faust, Kohon's swan song is another excellent film in the career of a master filmmaker.

Bruno Sánchez (Alfredo Alcón), a photographer, lives with his retired mother. "Have you found a steady job?" she asks him. "When are you going to get married?" One day, as he is walking down the street, he runs into a small crowd. They are watching a man who is about to jump from the top of a building. A stranger (Mario Alarcón) suddenly appears and reminds Bruno that he is carrying a camera; he should not miss this opportunity to get a great picture. The stranger later introduces himself as Mefi. It is none other than Mephistopheles, and he soon shows Bruno the way to success. The obvious question is: at what price?

Alfredo Alcón made three films with Kohon. The first, _Prisioneros de una noche_ was realistic, like _Breve cielo_. Towards the end of his career, Kohon began to explore the reality/fantasy dichotomy, as one can see in the other two films that he made in collaboration with Alcón: _¿Qué es el otoño?_ and _El agujero en la pared_. The latter takes things a bit farther by including characters that are clearly symbolic. Like most of Kohon's films, _El agujero en la pared_ gives quite a bit of screen time to Buenos Aires, to her streets and to her buildings. The approach, however, has changed, as can be seen by the unusual camera angles that characterize his last film. _El agujero en la pared_ questions the reality of the city that the director showed us in his previous films. The city, like everything that one sees in the cinema, may be a trick of the camera. This is a preoccupation that this film shares with Antonioni's _Blow-Up_, which also has a photographer as its protagonist.

_El agujero en la pared_ picks up where _¿Qué es el otoño?_ left off. Both films deal with disillusionment, but by departing from realism Kohon's last film leaves room for hope. One can't help but wonder what the next step would have been.

_Soñar, soñar_ is the underrated piece in Leonardo Favio's oeuvre. The overwhelming commercial and critical success of his previous film, _Nazareno Cruz y el lobo_ (1975), may have something to do with this. Though not as daring as his other works, _Soñar, soñar_ still has much to offer.

Mario (Gian Franco Pagliaro) and Carlos (professional boxer Carlos Monzón) meet by chance on the road. Mario is a wandering artist who immediately captivates the simple and sensitive Carlos with his outgoing personality. From that moment, Carlos' only dream will be to become an artist. A complex bond develops between the two men as they set out together to make their dream come true.

If Favio explored romantic relationships in most of his pictures (most notably in _El romance del Aniceto y la Francisca_ and in the Kafkaesque _El dependiente_), _Soñar, soñar_ is a study of what we may call--for the sake of simplicity--friendship, specifically, friendship between men. The film combines two genres that often go together, the buddy film and the road movie, while continuing Favio's tradition of rural settings and marginal characters. The focus on male characters pursuing the ghosts of fame and glory points to Favio's next movie, _Gatica, el mono_, which he was to make seventeen years later, in 1993.

The mise-en-scène is beautiful, if somewhat less exotic than that of _Nazareno Cruz y el lobo_. In this aspect, _Soñar, soñar_ also prefigures the detailed staging of _Gatica, el mono_. There is a particularly nice tracking shot depicting a long stage at a carnival. On the stage, twelve different acts take place at once, involving 52 artists (and three dogs), most of them in costume. And yes, I actually counted them.

I get the feeling that _Soñar, soñar_ would have gotten at least an Academy Award nomination if it had been selected as Argentina's official submission. (_Los muchachos de antes no usaban arsénico_ was submitted instead, and while it is a very good film, it did not receive a nomination.) After all, the theme of the bonds that unite males is prominent in US literature (from Herman Melville to Thomas Pynchon, through Mark Twain, John Steinbeck, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Jack Kerouac, etc.) and cinema (_Midnight Cowboy_, _Easy Rider_, _Two-Lane Blacktop_, _My Own Private Idaho_, etc.). There is, in fact, much of Steinbeck's excellent _Of Mice and Men_ (1937, with numerous film adaptations) in _Soñar, soñar_. The chemistry between the two protagonists is delightful. Mario is the leader, the active character, while Carlos is fragile and dependent. One is tempted to say that if Mario is Don Quixote, Carlos is Sancho Panza, but the analogy only goes so far.

While _Soñar, soñar_ is not Favio's masterpiece, it is nevertheless worthy of standing next to his other brilliant films. Its only major flaw may be its ending, and since that is the part of the film that echoes in the viewer's mind, this may account for the more modest appreciation it has received. To conclude, let me repeat the cliché: while this may be the director's weakest film, it is still much better than other filmmakers' best.

_¿Qué es el otoño?_ brings together two forces of Argentinean cinema: one of its greatest directors and one of its most highly-regarded actors. If _Breve cielo_ explored youth, this film is David José Kohon's commentary on maturity, which can be just as aimless as that earlier stage.

Portrayed by the immortal Alfredo Alcón, Alejandro Farman is an architect who has seen better days. The recipient of many awards, he is respected ("so respected, I will die a virgin," in his own words), but he cannot find work either because he is too proud or because he is regarded as overqualified. Much of the film deals with his relationship with María Luisa (Dora Baret), a divorced woman, the mother of two boys, who may or may not save the architect from himself. As the title indicates, _¿Qué es el otoño?_ explores the autumn of human life, that is, the stage that comes after the idealism and the often misdirected energy of youth.

Argentina's official submission to the Academy Awards, the film did not receive a nomination. That was the year of _That Obscure Object of Desire_ (Luis Buñuel), _Operation Thunderbolt_ (Menahem Golam), and _Madame Rosa_ (Moshé Mizrahi), which won the award. Back home, in Argentina, it was one of the bloodiest years of the Proceso, and the movie alludes to the social and political unrest. "It's easy to manufacture illusions," Alejandro says after a talk with a few young students of architecture, "but these days those illusions are costing a lot of blood." Look out for the scene involving a Ford Falcon...

Some trivia. Alejandro is a fan of Lewis Carroll's _Through the Looking-Glass_ (1871); this preference gives way to an interesting cinematic device at the end of the film. Other things that may have some interest are a scene shot in the old Italpark, which was closed in 1990, and an eerie nightmare sequence involving a painting by Hieronymus Bosch.

Dedicated to the "Generación del 60," the Argentinean equivalent of the French Nouvelle Vague, _¿Qué es el otoño?_ may be a comment on the director's own career as a filmmaker, but it also expressed the insecurities of an entire generation. Let me end with a quote by one of Alejandro's friends, which illustrates the spirit of the film: "They educated us for a world that never came, and we were left in no man's land with a one-way ticket."

Leopoldo Torre Nilsson, Beatriz Guido, Graciela Borges, and Alfredo Alcón. With names like these, it seems impossible for a film to go wrong, and as a matter of fact, this one does not. While not as famous as _La casa del angel_ (1957) or _La mano en la trampa_ (1961), _Piel de verano_ is as elegant and moving as any other Torre Nilsson picture I have seen. The director dedicated it to his father, Leopoldo Torres Ríos, who passed away the year before the film was released.

A shallow young woman, Marcela (Borges) is staying at a summerhouse. One day, her vapid routine is interrupted by her grandmother Jou-Jou (Franca Boni), who tells her that her lover's son, Martín (Alcón), has been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Martín's father has supported Jou-Jou and her entire family, he even paid for the summerhouse where Marcela is now staying, so the family is indebted to him. Jou-Jou has a proposition: if Marcela spends Martín's last days with him, she can have new Dior clothes and a yearlong trip to Paris with one of her friends. Even though she despises Martín, Marcela accepts. As the two youngsters hang out together, the viewer wonders whether her feelings towards Martín are changing. Is love a possibility, even if this is a Torre Nilsson film?

Borges is excellent in her portrayal of yet another young woman plagued by ennui. Alcón also plays a role that would become familiar to him: that of the vulnerable man who struggles to maintain his dignity. Both actors were on their way to become icons of Argentinean cinema. Torre Nilsson's shots, be they landscapes or close-ups, are as beautiful as ever, and his favored atmosphere (high class boredom plus sexual tension) is very well constructed.

Argentina's official submission to the Academy Awards, _Piel de verano_ was unfortunately not nominated. Had it been otherwise, it would have had a tough time against Bergman's _Through a Glass Darkly_, but this is nevertheless a remarkable film, one that stands out even among other Torre Nilsson films. It may be underrated because it was released the same year as Nilsson's own _La mano en la trampa_, which some consider to be his masterpiece. I don't know whether the latter is the better film, but it's darker and may have deeper symbolism. In any case, I recommend both, and everything else Torre Nilsson made.

_Breve cielo_ (1969) is one of my favorite films. It was my introduction to the work of David José Kohon. _Prisioneros de una noche_, the director's first feature film (made in 1960 but released after his second feature film, hence the difference in order on imdb), announces many of the elements that would be brought to near perfection in the later film.

Martín Sánchez (Alfredo Alcón) is a "grupí": in Argentinean slang, a fake buyer who keeps raising the price at auctions, to help the sellers. Elsa Portela (María Vaner) is a paid dancer at an academy. They meet by chance and they immediately hit it off, but Elsa appears to be hiding something. Martín is interested, nevertheless, and he promises to go see her at the academy soon. The film follows the adventures of the couple as they hang out one night in Buenos Aires. A mysterious figure, Roberto Brenda (Osvaldo Terranova), is after Elsa and threatens to ruin her chance at true love.

Like _Breve cielo_, _Prisioneros de una noche_ is a story of star-crossed lovers. Both films feature Buenos Aires as a character, as the camera follows the couple along the city streets. _Breve cielo_ featured many day scenes; _Prisioneros de una noche_, as the title suggests, takes place primarily at night. The latter is the darker film of the two. The inner threat to love that we see in _Breve cielo_ is an actual, real presence in _Prisioneros de una noche_, embodied in the figure of the criminal Brenda. Martín and Elsa, furthermore, are not teenagers like Delia and Paquito. Their world is the world of responsibilities and work, a world without the possibility of innocence.

Three elements make this an excellent film: Kohon's perspective, and Alcón's and Vaner's performances. While I personally prefer _Breve cielo_ (merely because I feel closer to the characters), _Prisioneros de una noche_ marks the brilliant beginning of an evenly luminous cinematic career.

Eerie, atmospheric, and enigmatic are adjectives that come to mind when trying to describe _Kindergarten_. Notorious for being banned due to its explicit nudity and sexual content, this film will strike viewers either as pretentious nonsense or as an unforgettable depiction of neurosis.

Graciela Borges and Arturo Puig star as a couple who run a kindergarten in the Argentinean countryside. The characters have the same names as the actors. Graciela is troubled, to say the least. She keeps the mummified remains of her father, talks to the corpse, and takes it for a walk. At times she tries too hard to connect with her stepson Leonardo; other times she rejects him violently. Arturo is only slightly more normal. His attempts to calm Graciela down often lead to aggression.

The film jumps from the "real" to the symbolic constantly and without warning. Sudden scenes that appear to have no relation to what was going on before actually depict psychological states. The entire film may be interpreted as a complicated allegory. If I had to compare this film to the work of other filmmakers, the only names I could mention would be those of Alejandro Jodorowsky and Peter Greenaway. Polaco uses theatrical settings and revolving camera shots to create a haunting atmosphere. Big, old houses like the one where the action takes place abound in the Greater Buenos Aires area, and they are ideal settings for stories of isolation, madness, and dark desires. The film is punctuated by three recurring, and quite adequate, musical pieces: "Que Sera, Sera," "La Vie En Rose," and Erik Satie's "Gnossienne No. 1."

A cinematic nightmare, _Kindergarten_ remains the only film to have been banned in Argentina after the return of democracy in the early 80s. It is not for everyone, but it is worth a try. To understand where the film comes from, I recommend watching it back to back with Polaco's first feature film, the grotesque _Diapasón_. (For a more accessible introduction to the director, there is _Siempre es difícil volver a casa_. Polaco called the latter his "película idiota," and while it is quite frivolous, I feel it does bear the director's mark.) Whether one considers it a masterpiece or a case of the proverbial emperor being naked (as so many of the film's characters are), one has to admit that _Kindergarten_ has the power of an original vision.

Most of the films released in Argentina in 1980 are "light" or downright frivolous. Some notable exceptions are: _Tiro al aire_ (Mario Sabato), _Desde el abismo_ (Fernando Ayala), _Los miedos_ (Alejandro Doria), _El infierno tan temido_ (Raúl de la Torre), and _Queridas amigas_.

Far away from her native Buenos Aires, in the Province of Catamarca, Isabel (Dora Baret) is sitting at a table, looking at old photographs that inevitably plunge her back into the past. Her treasured memories are of the friendship she shared with two other young women, Esther (Luisina Brando) and Mary (Graciela Dufau). She begins to write a letter, "Queridas amigas..." Esther is now a middle-class masseuse, with a husband (Rodolfo Ranni, who also played Luisina Brando's husband in María Luisa Bemberg's _Señora de nadie_) and two kids. Mary married a wealthy man, and her environment is the shallow world of decorative arts and antiques. Isabel's letter reconnects the three friends, now mature women who know about life's joys and sorrows.

_Queridas amigas_ explores those friendships of childhood and/or adolescence that seem built to last, yet dissolve little by little once life becomes more complicated. Rarely, these friendships are rekindled. Another key theme is a woman's need for fulfillment and independence, both within and outside of marriage. Finally, the film also comments briefly on the capital/province dichotomy.

Dedicated to Leopoldo Torre Nilsson, who passed away in 1978, _Queridas amigas_ is touching and nostalgic, very well acted (by all three of the leading ladies) and very well shot. The ending may be a bit too much, but I chose to take it for its symbolic value.

During his 42-year career as a director, Leonardo Favio made eight feature films, and virtually all of them deserve to be regarded as masterpieces of cinema. The discerning viewer will need to watch only a few minutes of a Favio film to realize that he or she is experiencing a unique way of viewing the world, and this is the mark of a true filmmaker.

The argument of _El romance del Aniceto y la Francisca_ is minimal; as a matter of fact, the full title of the film, _Este es el romance del Aniceto y la Francisca, de cómo quedó trunco, comenzó la tristeza, y unas pocas cosas más..._, almost tells you the whole story. Favio's narrative economy here is truly staggering. Within the first five minutes of the film, Aniceto (Federico Luppi) and Francisca (Elsa Daniel, of _La casa del ángel_ and _La mano en la trampa_ fame) have seen each other for the first time and slept together. No sooner has Aniceto won her affection than he begins to take Francisca for granted, especially when he sees Lucía (María Vaner), who is the antithesis of the innocent-looking Francisca. In a short time, Lucía replaces cockfighting as Aniceto's passion in life.

The three iconic actors are at their best in this excellent depiction of rural Argentina. Together they take part in a fateful dance, to the music of Vivaldi and Los Wawancó. It's amazing how Favio could make so much of such a "quiet" story. _El romance del Aniceto y la Francisca_ is the visual equivalent of a literary novella, which, unlike the novel, focuses on suggestion rather than on development. Favio gives the viewer the essentials, and the viewer puts the story together with these elements.

Some viewers may dismiss the film as a cautionary tale about the evils of machismo, but _El romance del Aniceto y la Francisca_ is much more than that. Like the haunting _Nazareno Cruz y el lobo_ (1975), this film bears the mark of a myth. Favio would remake the film in 2008, this time as a ballet bearing the title _Aniceto_. Deciding which of the two versions is "better," whatever that means, is like trying to answer the Beatles vs. Rolling Stones question: you may give an answer, but no matter what your choice is, deep inside you feel you're doing someone an injustice.

Like all of Favio's works, _El romance del Aniceto y la Francisca_ is a film to be seen and to be felt. I kept thinking of Tarkovsky as I watched it; not because of the content, not even because of the technique, but because of the power at work behind the camera: an overwhelming and ultimately unexplainable force.

Anything that is said about _The Players vs. Angeles caídos_ is bound to sound reductive or misleading. This is a highly experimental film that appears most radical when considered in its context, which is Argentinean cinema of the sixties, right before the transition into the seventies.

The film consists of a series of self-reflexive sketches involving, for the most part, a group of actors known as the Players. Their name is quite appropriate, and the filmmakers were wise to use the English term, as "player" can mean both an actor and a person who engages in games. There is another group in the film, however: Angeles caídos, the Fallen Angels. At the beginning of the film, one of the Fallen Angels explains that this group was expelled by the Players, who are the good guys. The Fallen Angels are, of course, the bad guys, and they keep fighting the good guys, even though, as the character says, "Good guys always win." We then see the Players engaged in a series of performative games. They sing, they dance, they fight, they put make-up on each other, they read and rehearse Shakespeare's _The Tempest_.

One of the highlights of _The Players vs. Angeles caídos_ is the section titled "La fiesta de los espíritus," which was filmed by five directors known as "el grupo de los cinco." Alberto Fischerman, Néstor Paternostro, Raúl de la Torre, Ricardo Becher, and Juan José Stagnaro each had a camera and filmed the "party" according to his own vision. The end result consists of a montage of these five different perspectives.

Made one year after _La hora de los hornos_ (Pino Solanas, released 1971), _Players vs. Angeles caídos_ is to cinema what the works of Julio Cortázar are to literature. The film suggests that we must "invent our own games," and that actors (or players) should exercise total freedom, even if this means departing from the director's intentions. The improvisational jazz soundtrack is therefore truly adequate.

A must-see for enthusiasts of experimental cinema. Others may want to make sure they're in the mood for it first. Those who know the "popular" Fischerman of _La clínica del Dr. Cureta_ (1987) and _Las puertitas del señor López_ (1988) will be surprised by this one.

Before Raúl de la Torre began his collaboration with Graciela Borges, who starred in eight of his eleven feature films, he made _Juan Lamaglia y Sra._, which portrays a loveless marriage.

Juan Lamaglia (Pepe Soriano) and his wife Ana (Julia von Grolman) appear to have very little in common. He is dedicated to his neighborhood store and to horse racing, while she is a good-looking housewife who would obviously like more excitement in her life. Juan's aimless brother, Tito, hangs out with friends and borrows money. At several points in the film, the characters comment on how wonderful Europe and the US are.

_Juan Lamaglia y Sra._ is, above all, a study of ennui. Not much happens in the film in terms of plot, so that the viewer can easily share the characters' sense of purposelessness and dissatisfaction. The film is of particular interest in the light of De la Torre's later work. Once he "discovered" Graciela Borges, the director focused on the depiction of women, so that it is not in Juan Lamaglia but in the "señora" (Ana) that the viewer should look for the point of departure of De la Torre's cinema. The title of the film is purposely misleading: in the movie's poster one can see that the word "Sra." is underlined, and in red. De la Torre's next film, his first important work, was _Crónica de una señora_, and one particular thread of _Juan Lamaglia y Sra._ (a scene involving Ana and a man played by the director himself) actually finds its way, almost without alteration, into the next film. There is much of _A Doll's House_ in both films.

While this is not Raúl de la Torre's best film, it marks the beginning of a brilliant career. The performances are excellent, and both script and cinematography do a great job in conveying the appropriate mood. I was especially struck by the last fifteen minutes of the film, which are unexpected, unusual, and daringly anti-realistic.

Emilio Vieyra is often described as "the Argentinean Ed Wood." The comparison is reasonable but not entirely accurate: Vieyra actually had many facets. _La gran aventura_, one of his action films, is somewhere between the 007 franchise in its self-parodying vein (I'm thinking of the Roger Moore years) and the Pink Panther films.

A beauty pageant is about to take place in Buenos Aires when one of the contestants, Miss Venezuela, who happens to be the daughter of a notorious scientist, is kidnapped. This looks like a job for agents Apolo (Ricardo Bauleo), Hércules (Víctor Bo), and Centauro (the immortal Julio De Grazia). The viewer will have a hard time deciding which of the three is the most inept, or the most hilarious. My vote goes for Centauro in both categories. Graciela Alfano, who plays Miss Colombia without even bothering to fake the appropriate accent, is perfect as the equivalent of a Bond girl. She reminds me of Tanya Roberts in _A View to a Kill_ (John Glen, 1985). Within one hour and a half, this team of four will do its best to thwart the evil plans of the mysterious man who kidnapped Miss Venezuela.

We all know what to expect of an action film: beautiful women, nice cars, fistfights, explosions, shootouts, and a catchy musical theme. _La gran aventura_ fulfills the requirements with some reservations: there is only one (relatively) nice car, the fistfights and the shootouts are unconvincing, and explosions are shown several times from different angles to "heighten" the effect. To be fair, though, the women are beautiful, and the tune really is catchy.

_La gran aventura_ was released in 1974. That means that while Francis Ford Coppola was busy making _The Godfather: Part II_, Emilio Vieyra was shooting this amazing piece of trash. Being an incurable aficionado of camp, I absolutely loved it. This is "so bad it's good" at its best.

During the 70s, many Argentinean films were devoted to the exploration of female trauma and frustration. We may cite the examples of _La Mary_ (Daniel Tinayre, 1974), _Boquitas pintadas_ (Leopoldo Torre Nilsson, 1974), and Raúl de la Torre's films, most of which starred Graciela Borges (_Crónica de una señora_, 1971; _Heroína_, 1972). The lesser-known _Una mujer_ is another paradigm of this tendency.

As the film begins, Matilde (Cipe Lincovsky, in one of her most affecting roles) returns home. The viewer does not know from where she is returning, but the details will surface little by little as the film unfolds. At first, the pace is deliberately slow. It seems that all we are being shown are trivial domestic scenes. Matilde will then begin to open up, and some of her secrets will be revealed as she interacts with her husband (Federico Luppi, showing his macho facet the way he does in _Crónica de una señora_), her mother, her sisters, etc. The film's tagline was, "There are questions she can only answer to herself." This is a direct reference to the last scene in the movie, which some may find disappointing, but I consider to be flawless.

_Una mujer_ features a "quiet" screenplay by the great Aída Bortnik (_La tregua_, _Crecer de golpe_, _La historia oficial_, _Caballos salvajes_), written in collaboration with the famous novelist Osvaldo Soriano. The directorial and editorial work is also worthy of mention. The film makes ample use of montage, in a successful manner. Juan José Stagnaro, the film's director, was director of photography for Leonardo Favio, most notably in _Este es el romance..._ (1966) and in the beautiful, heartbreaking _Nazareno Cruz y el lobo_ (1975). By pure chance I watched _Nazareno Cruz_ and _Una mujer_ back to back, without knowing that Stagnaro was involved in both of them. I was sad to find out that same night that Stagnaro passed away last week.

_Una mujer_ is a memorable character study, and deserves a much higher rating than it has (5.8 as I write this). One of the hidden treasures of 70s Argentinean cinema.

Released the same year as _La Patagonia rebelde_ (Héctor Olivera) and also featuring Héctor Alterio, _Quebracho_ is a story of oppression and rebellion in the setting of a factory located in Villa Guillermina, Santa Fé, Argentina. These two works can be considered sister films, as they have very similar artistic and social purposes.

The film begins with images of an abandoned factory. A flashback to 1914 London opens the story of how things ended up that way. Villa Guillermina is a small town that depends on the factory that processes the quebracho tree for tannin, the substance the British are after. From the very beginning the viewer knows that this resource will be depleted, as the British are already planning to get it from South Africa. Meanwhile, the workers are trying to organize themselves in order to demand better working conditions. Lamazón (the great Lautaro Murúa), a politician, will help them, at first with the purpose of furthering his own career. In the attempt, he will clash with the British, represented primarily by Mr. Murphy (Alterio, speaking with an accent).

The quebracho is an extremely sturdy tree. Its name, as a matter of fact, comes from the combination of the verb "quebrar" and the noun "hacha": this tree is an "axe-breaker". The title obviously refers to the resource the British were exploiting, but also to the strong will of the people to fight for their rights and for what they believe in.

_Quebracho_ is somewhat inferior in execution to _La Patagonia rebelde_. The acting and the directing are good, however, and the film's noble purpose is to denounce the excesses of capitalism (specifically in Latin America and in Africa) and to promote equality. Murúa's performance is reason enough to watch this film.

Tragicomedy with social commentary is a great tradition within Argentinean cinema, and while _Juan que reía_ may not be its best example, it is nevertheless a very good, thought-provoking film.

Juan Libonatti (Luis Brandoni) and his wife Betty (Luisina Brando) are a typical Argentinean middle-class couple. He is a salesman who is waiting for a hospitalized co-worker to finally pass away so that he may be assigned the co-worker's area. She is the one with her feet on the ground, though her mother (the hilarious Ana María Campoy) is obsessed with the lottery and her father (Dringue Farías) has made the philosophical decision to off himself, and may commit suicide at any time. Ok, so maybe Juan and Betty not that typical. The film traces the comic and tragic consequences of an unfortunate event that upsets Juan's plans to climb the corporate ladder.

Carlos Galettini would go on to direct several cheap comedies in the 80s and 90s, such as _Los bañeros más locos del mundo_ (1987), the _Extermineitors_ films (1989-1992), and the first Argentinean film I ever saw, the uproariously campy _Las locuras del extraterrestre_ (1988). He is also responsible for the irredeemable horror film _Charly, días de sangre_ (1990). _Juan que reía_ does not belong in this group. It is so much more than commercial cinema. I would put it in the same category as _Plata dulce_ (Fernando Ayala, 1982).

_Juan que reía_ is a film to remember. It has an element of _Bicycle Thieves_ (Vittorio De Sica, 1948), though the circumstances, the approach, and the narrative purpose are of course totally different. Several brief appearances give color to the film: Federico Luppi as the boss, Ana María Giunta as another lottery-mad lady, Gianni Lunadei as an elderly Italian man, and Enrique Pinti as the owner of a clothing store. Alberto Fernández de Rosa (who played Paquito in _Breve cielo_) is given a few seconds of screen time too. A great film.

The year 1984 saw the production of two historical films in Argentina: _Asesinato en el Senado de la Nación_ (Juan José Jusid) and _La Rosales_. As is known, historical films comment not only on the past, but also on the present. The purpose of these two films was to expose governmental corruption.

Set in 1892, _La Rosales_ can best be described as a courtroom drama that reconstructs the events surrounding the sinking of the Rosales ship, which carried both civilians and members of the Argentinean Armed Forces. Most of the civilians perished; most of the military men survived. Coincidence? Of course not. The film combines courtroom scenes with flashbacks from the catastrophe in order to put together the pieces of this puzzle.

While _La Rosales_ features many stars, such as Héctor Alterio and a young Ricardo Darín (who would work together again in Juan José Campanella's masterful _El hijo de la novia_), the film does not seem to have a protagonist. The great Ulises Dumont, who played memorable roles in _La parte del león_ (Adolfo Aristarain, 1978), _La revancha_ (Adolfo Aristarain, 1981), and _No habrás más penas ni olvido_ (Héctor Olivera, 1983), seems at first to be the main character, an Italian laborer who survived the sinking of the ship and demands to get paid for his work. His screen time, however, decreases towards the end. It is Arturo García Buhr who comes closest to being a protagonist. He plays Captain Jorge Lowry, the judge who is committed to justice, the honest man who will not give in to peer pressure.

_La Rosales_ is not a perfect film. The soundtrack is often annoying, and the Italian accents are not accurate. It is nevertheless successful in its portrayal of corruption, and it is optimistic enough to emphasize that even if things are rotten in the State, there will always be honest people who seek the truth. _La Rosales_ is also David Lipszyc's best film. He is known mostly for this one and for _Volver_ (1982), which seemed to me simplistic, inaccurate, and downright corny. _La Rosales_, on the other hand, is a keeper.

Raúl de la Torre produced many enduring films in the 70s and 80s, among which are _Crónica de una señora_ (1971), _Heroína_ (1982), and _Pobre mariposa_ (1986). In 1993, _Funes, un gran amor_ was almost selected as Argentina's official submission for the Academy Awards; in the end, the honor went to Leonardo Favio's _Gatica, el mono_, which was not nominated. All of these films star Graciela Borges, and so does _El infierno tan temido_.

Based on one of Juan Carlos Onetti's best short stories, _El infierno tan temido_ revolves around Juan Risso (Alberto de Mendoza), a journalist who one day begins to receive envelopes containing Polaroid pictures of an erotic nature. The film chronicles his involvement with Gracia César (Graciela Borges), an actress, whom Risso first sees in the garb of Lady Macbeth, of all characters. The action is interspersed with a conversation in a café: seven colleagues discuss their co-worker Risso and relate past events that tied them together. The viewer is thus given a portrait of the main character through action and commentary.

Like other masterpieces of Argentinean cinema such as _Breve cielo_ (David José Kohon, 1969) and _Sur_ (Fernando "Pino" Solanas, 1988), _El infierno tan temido_ features the unforgettable music of Astor Piazzola. Tango is the perfect type of music for this melancholy, deeply emotional film.

Few writers explored the darkness of the human heart like Onetti. _El infierno tan temido_ is an excellent adaptation/expansion of his text. The pace of the film is a little bit slow compared to that of the short story, but the performances, the mise-en-scène, and the music keep the viewer engaged.

The "generación del 60" was the Argentinean equivalent of the French Nouvelle Vague, and it included directors such as Manuel Antin (_La cifra impar_, _Circe_, both based on stories by Julio Cortázar), Rodolfo Kuhn (_Los jóvenes viejos_), and David José Kohon, whose _Breve cielo_ is one of the best examples of the movement.

Ana María Picchio, who would later shine in the Academy Award-nominated _La tregua_ (Sergio Renán, 1974), makes her feature-film debut as Delia, a streetwise girl who enters into a lonely teenage boy's life and makes an impact on it. Paquito (Alberto Fernández de Rosa) is a naïve orphan who lives with his uncle and aunt and works at their neighborhood grocery store. As his legal guardians leave for Mar del Plata, Paquito's chance encounter with Delia develops into a close yet complex relationship. _Breve cielo_ traces this brief encounter, and we see the characters walking around Buenos Aires, having coffee, talking about life. The premise is simple, but it is full of energy and spontaneity. I was reminded of Truffaut, who saw no difference between the cinema and life. _Breve cielo_ is somewhere between _The 400 Blows_ and _Stolen Kisses_, without being exactly "Antoine and Colette." The young actors' performances are brilliant, and Astor Piazzolla's music is aptly poignant. Scenes from the streets of Buenos Aires make the city almost a character in itself.

The title of the film is perfect. Heaven--like Hell--is supposed to be forever. We should be content if we get to experience it briefly, the film seems to say. The phrase is from Pedro Calderón de la Barca's play _La vida es sueño_ (1635). Paquito's uncle gives the viewer a clue when he says, "Life is a dream." In the play, one of the characters, Segismundo, says that if man is a "small (or brief) Earth" (a common metaphor of those times), then woman must be a "small (or brief) Heaven."

_Breve cielo_, which received an award for best screenplay at the Moscow International Film Festival, is one of the best Argentinean films I've seen. I may be biased, as I absolutely love the French Nouvelle Vague (especially Truffaut, who is my favorite director), but I still urge everyone to see it.

Raters have been harsh on _Sobredosis_. Admittedly, this is not one of the masterpieces of Argentinean cinema; it is not even one of the masterpieces of 80s Argentinean cinema. One must keep in mind, however, the film's narrative purpose: this is, plain and simple, a thesis film.

Fernando Ayala was one of the most prominent Argentinean filmmakers and producers of the 70s and 80s. To him we owe that uniquely Argentinean comedy that is _La fiaca_ (1969), and his collaboration with the iconic Federico Luppi produced such landmarks as _Plata dulce_ (1982) and _El arreglo_ (1983). These films were marked by social commentary, and so is _Sobredosis_, in which Federico Luppi once again incarnates the middle-class Argentinean.

In this film we follow Daniel (Gabriel Lenn), an innocent teenager who experiences the drug addict's typical descent into the abyss. He begins with his mother's medicine cabinet, and is then introduced to progressively more dangerous drugs by a girl he meets (Noemí Frenkel). _Sobredosis_ is a cautionary tale for parents. Federico Luppi and Dora Baret play divorced parents with tragic flaws. Dad is too involved with the soccer club he works for, and repeatedly tries to be his son's pal (arranging sexual encounters for him, for instance) when what Daniel really needs is a father. Mom, for her part, seems to truly care, but it is her habit of popping pills that gets Daniel on a dangerous path in the first place. The title of the film may be a type of spoiler, but then so is the title _Requiem for a Dream_. Most viewers will not expect a happy ending from a film about drugs. The film ends (like _Requiem for a Dream_) with an interesting montage. Without giving away the details, I must say when I saw the last image of the film I could not help thinking about the infamous photo of Videla and company celebrating the Argentinean victory in the 1978 World Cup.

A note for enthusiasts of punk: the film briefly features the pioneering band Los Violadores, playing "Uno, dos, ultraviolento" at the legendary pub Látex. A true document.

How does a nice middle-class kid become involved with drugs? This is the question _Sobredosis_ explores. The answers it provides may be simplistic, but once again, as a thesis film, this one is quite effective.