Guatemalan film-maker Jayro Bustamante’s feature-film debut
Ixcanul (2015) opens with a close-up shot of 17 year old indigenous girl Maria
(Maria Mercedes Coroy). She lives with her parents who are low-level workers in
a coffee plantation, situated on the slopes of an active volcano [Ixcanul means
volcano in the dialect spoken by the indigenous Kaqchikel people of Mayan
community]. Maria has strong eyes, but none of her feelings rises up to the
surface of her face. But, you could sense some intense inner force. In that
sense, she is pretty much like a volcano waiting to be awakened. Initially,
director Bustamante observes the rituals and quotidian life of the impoverished
community. The people combine their own spiritual traditions with ideals of
Christianity, forming strange form of worship. The community seems to live on a
different planet with none of the sophistication of urban atmosphere. There’s
no electricity or running water and they have to fend off poisonous snakes in
their little corn fields. The lure of American dream takes away the youngsters.
In such conditions, the active volcano seems to be the least of disruptive
forces for the indigenous community.
Maria and her mother Juana (Maria Telon) catches a pig,
pours some rum on its mouth, and locks the pen as it is the time for mating.
The nonchalant nature of Maria shows that this is just a routine activity. The
pig sequence is preceded by the opening close-up shot of Maria being adorned
like a bride. The mother takes the bride-to-be to make offerings to the
volcano. Later, the bridegroom’s family arrives to discuss about the upcoming
marriage. The husband-to-be Ignacio (Justo Lorenzo) is the coffee plantation’s
foreman, who lives in the city and speaks Spanish unlike the indigenous people.
The ensuing marriage discussion scene is wonderfully visualized. Maria sits at
center of the dinning table, although the cacophony of voices pushes her to
the background. Maria’s mother Juana is exactly the opposite when it comes to
expressing her feelings. She pretty much ‘sells’ her daughter, pitching the
advantage of marrying Maria (she also gives positive sexual promises). All the
men in the table feel assured. It is a business deal for these workers who
doesn’t have permanent roof above their heads. Only Ignacio’s mother talks
about love; she asks whether Maria loves Ignacio. Maria smiles a little and that’s taken
as a confirmation.
Gradually, we witness
Maria’s desires. She may not have had a thing to say in the dining table. But
her body urges her to change things. The things existing and happening around Maria are shown to have link with her. For example, she sees herself in the pig-mating ritual. The
scorching emotions make her feel like a volcano. She also rubs her vagina
against a tree trunk. It’s such a strange scene which makes you wonder whether
it is just to depict the girl’s burgeoning sexuality. Maria dreams of escaping
to United States with a reckless young worker Pepe (Marvin Convoy). In order to
form a strong bond with Pepe (whom she really loves) so as to take her to the United
States, Maria offers herself. When Pepe takes off her virginity the camera
hitches close to Maria’s face which is filled more with pain. The pleasure she
found while rubbing against the tree trunk is absent. That’s the central irony
of the tale at that point: the comfort a land gives couldn’t be given by the
humans in Maria’s life. However, it all changes sooner when Maria gets
pregnant. Pepe leaves her. Ignacio returns from the city and Maria’s father
tells him the truth. Mother Juana incredibly changes; her maternal nature
preceding the family’s economic welfare. She protects Maria in myriad ways.
Amidst all the accompanied tragedy, the strong love between mother and daughter
shines through.
Winner of Silver Bear (at 2015 Berlin Film Festival),
Ixcanul is a tale of unbridled maternal love. It elegantly observes the
contradiction that forces Juana to succumb to the community’s rules, while also
striving to fiercely protect her daughter. The initial scenes of Juana offering
her daughter’s body is later substituted with humane scenes of mother shielding
the daughter and the life inside her body. The human warmth could be palpably
felt in the bathhouse scenes. In fact, the visual compositions of the naked
bodies in those scenes perfectly zeroes-in on the underlying love between
mother and daughter. Director Bustamante’s framing of the rugged landscape were
flawless. Yet the marvelous quality of the film comes from the director’s
distinct framing of the bodies and character’s face (Dop Luis Armando Arteaga).
It lends an intense emotional weight to the proceedings. Bustamante starts with
a fluid visual style, marked by lot of static shots. He gradually builds it to
a crescendo and extracts enough tension when situation forces the family to move
through the bustling urban roads. While we keep a certain distance in the
opening portions, the frenetic camera movements pulls us deep into the action.
Ixcanul has a very familiar story. The script is drained of
any big dramatic moments. The writer/director doesn’t want to forcefully dwell
on subjects that agonizes the indigenous community. Bustamante grew up in a
similar farming community and so he allows the people of community to tell
their own story. His view is that of an insider; not of a noble outsider. It allows
Bustamante to not establish a contrived message about the oppression of
indigenous community. He is intent on providing a window for the viewers to
look into a way of life. Even when the narrative turns to address the
bureaucratic apathy against the indigenous community, the director doesn’t
bring in artificial emotions. A typical melodrama based on the same subject
would get closer in the dramatic reveals. Here the camera is hitched at a long
distance when Maria’s father tells about his daughter’s pregnancy to Ignacio. In
the long shot, the only clear movement is that of a horse stomping its feet,
which subtly expresses Ignacio’s state of mind.
Ixcanul isn’t entirely devoid of a lamenting tone. The
beauty is in how it’s expressed formally. Nothing works for the community, as
they are caught in cycle of misery and poverty. Neither the volcanic god nor
the shamans could bestow a little sense of hope. The charm of the distance land
like US casts out Maria, but none of the spells could cast out the snakes
defiling the fields. Even the practical solution of chemical repellent for the
snakes doesn’t work. Such little elements ponder over the helplessness of the
people. And, the venom of a creature in the nature seems to be less poisonous
when compared to the venom in the heart of people manipulating the language
barriers. Their powerlessness is approached clearly in the third act, unfurling
in the tightly framed bureaucratic offices. Director Bustamante takes up a big,
national scandal towards the end without a tinge of sensationalism. Since the
bond between Juana and Maria is robustly realized through the nuanced film-form,
these additional layers are elegantly placed upon it. It would be incorrect to
call the imperious presence of Maria Mercedes and Maria Telon as acting
performances. Telon as worried mother Juana tears our heart in the ‘truck
sequence’. Both the actors playing mother & daughter are theater artists.
Maria Mercedes Coroy does street shows, advocating for women’s rights and human
rights. She doesn’t bring many emotions to her face. Yet, we are able to feel
her inner pain just through the formidable presence.
Trailer
Ixcanul (91 minutes) is a thoroughly engrossing and beautifully
shot film about the unconditional love of a mother. It’s also an artful,
sensitive examination of the painful existence of exploited ethnic community.
No comments:
Post a Comment