Carlos Saura's Fados

Duvideo, Fado Filmes, and Zebra Producciones present a musical entitled Fados de Carlos Saura in 2007.  Zeitgeist Films distributes the movie on DVD in 2009.  Carlos Saura, known for his critically acclaimed movies like Tango and Flamenco, directs this recital of songs inspired by the fado genre.  Fado has its origins in nineteenth century Lisbon and consists mainly of melancholy themes of loss, or saudade.  The list of performers that appear in this movie includes, in no particular order, the following: Carlos do Carmo, Mariza, Camané, Chico Buarque, Caetano Veloso, Toni Garrido, Lura, Lila Downs, Miguel Poveda, Catarina Moura, Argentina Santos, Cuca Roseta, NBC, SP & Wilson, Vicente da Câmara, Maria da Nazaré, Pedro Moutinho, Ana Sofia Varela, Carminho, Ricardo Ribeiro, Ricardo Rocha, Jaime Santos, and Brigada Víctor Jara.

Fados is one of those films that begins with a great idea, but does not have the corporate resources to fund it.  Therefore, many entities are solicited to pitch in.  As a result, a virtually long list of sponsors appears before the actual introduction to the movie.  (I will list the contributors here, because a person that navigates the bureaucratic jungle to obtain finances for any film does an impressive feat.  For each contributor, I will place a link for anyone interested in researching that particular entity.  Since these institutions come from Portugal and Spain, the websites will be in Portuguese and Spanish, although most, if not all of them, do provide English translations.)  According to the opening credits, the film producers are as follows: Câmara Municipal de Lisboa, Empresa de Gestão de Equipamentos e Animação Cultural, Turismo de Portugal (Ministério da Economia e do Emprego), and TVI (Televisão Independente, S.A.).  The film receives support from these institutions: Eurimages (European Cinema Support Fund of the Council of Europe); Programa Ibermedia or CACI (el Fondo Iberoamericano de Ayuda and la Conferencia de Autoridades Audiovisuales y Cinematográficas de Iberoamérica); and Gobierno de España, Ministerio de Cultura, Instituto de la Cinematografía y de las Artes Audiovisuales (ICAA).  TVE (Televisión Española) participates in the making of this movie.  Additional financial support comes from the Instituto de Crédito Oficial that is under the supervision of the Ministerio de Economía y Competitividad and managed by la Secretaría de Estado de Economía.

Having obtained the funds needed to produce the movie, the director effectively husbands his resources to create a simple yet fantastic recital of film, dance, song, music, and story.  Saura uses translucent screens diffusing back lighting in rich, colorful hues.  Shadows of performers on these screens depict a sense of movement and intrigue.  These backgrounds offer an affordable alternative to expensive venues, offering a glossy, postmodern view of fado with simulacra to a twenty-first century international audience.  Saura also uses instantaneous or previously recorded imagery projected onto screens behind the performers.  The technique supposes a sort of metafiction or narrated level.  He uses mirrors to reflect sides and profiles in an eerie symmetrical trompe l’oeil.  You think you are seeing the performance until you realize that it is only a reflection.  This trick gets you thinking about how Saura is able to perform this trick without having the reflection of the camera come into view.  Mirrors also help in the composition of the shots, especially with singers.  The reflections may show a profile, another side, a multiplication, or a complete reversal of a performer, allowing the observer to contemplate the performances in a phenomenological way.  When you think you have gotten used to Saura’s cinematography, you see a change of technique in “Um Homem na Cidade.”  You think, “Are there green screens here?”  No, they are hanging pictures of cityscapes in Lisbon.  You figure this out by the reflections of light on the ebony flooring of the studio.

In numbers that incorporate dances, dancers become affected by light and sound of an archived film.  Dancers, in exchange, project their own shadows upon the image.  Each medium affects the other.  In one of the simultaneous recordings and projections, you see a dance performed and repeated again ad infinitum.  Each projection slightly lags to produce a visual echo on screens and mirrors.  During “Grândola,” dancers take a break and watch a clip showing Amália Rodrigues rehearsing the song.  It is a movie within a movie.  The camera almost imperceptibly zooms in to the projection on the screen until it fills the audience’s screen in full.  Rodrigues’s eye then introduces the next number played by Caetano Veloso, who sings “Estranha Forma de Vida.”  All the dances have either modern, African, folk, ballet, hip hop, or ballroom style.  In “Menina Você Que Tem,” Africans don nineteenth century Portuguese clothing, hold fans, and dance around a simulation of a Portuguese palace.  (I see it as a type of Occidentalism meets Exoticism.)  Does “Foi na Travessa da Palha” show rehearsed choreography or a choreographed rehearsal?  Of course, it is the latter, but the atmosphere lends an intimate and casual feeling as the spectator watches.  It then smoothly transitions into a performance where Lila Downs sings and acts like an intradiegetic-homodiegetic narrator.  The song narrates a love triangle whose two women have a cat fight over the lover.  Better yet, they fight it out in slow motion.  The singer’s avatar wins her lover back.  Not all fado songs are mournful or confrontational.  “Fado Batido” has dancers around a campfire that is strangely burning in the middle of the sound stage.  It is lively, cheerful, and has a folk dance quality to it.

Saura also takes the opportunity to show how fado has impacted the real world.  In “O Fado da Severa,” singers use a sanfona and a panel of painted pictures on a canvas to tell a story of a count that has lost his love to death.  “Revolução” shows scenes of the Carnation Revolution during the 1970s when a dictatorship ended in Portugal.  An iconic movie star during the silent film era gets a nostalgic treatment in “Rua do Capelão.”  Archival footage of Alfredo Marceneiro singing “Tricana” and Amália Rodrigues singing “Grândola” also figure into the historical documentary.  Even Portuguese-singing rappers and hip hop dancers produce their version of fado in “Marceneiro.”

For a few numbers, I leave a couple of impressions.  “Flor di Nha Esperança” is beautifully recorded in a one-shot sequence.  “Fado Flamenco” is an amalgam of, well, Fado and Flamenco, Portuguese and Spanish.  Mariza and Miguel Poveda sing beautifully the song entitled “Meu Fado Meu.”  “Casa de Fados” showcases a medley that hecklers may call a moping competition.  Despite not being able to sing their songs in completion, they do prove their talent.  The last sequence shows a cast practicing a dance number and crew cleaning the studio while Mariza’s “Ó Gente da Minha Terra” plays.  The camera pans across the stage showing equipment used in previous scenes.  The audience member scans the studio until he or she confronts a mirror and a reflection showing the camera’s own image.  When I see this sequence, I get surprised at first, because it breaks the unwritten rule that cameras should not record themselves.  The camera blatantly breaks this rule and adds itself as a character and a narrator.  When it focuses in on itself, I get this Sartrean fear of the Other’s gaze, leaving me with a feeling that I have been caught in a voyeuristic act.  The producing machine rebels against the human consumer.  The gate of the camera, like a sinister cousin of HAL 9000, sucks my soul into its abyss.  What is left in the abyss then fades out to black, completing the musical experience.  It is quite unnerving, but it makes for a great ending.

The extras on this DVD are few and short.  “The Making of Fados” shows performers and crew members giving compliments to their director and appreciation for the chance to work with him.  There are two theatrical trailers and a gallery of photos showing Saura in his work environment.  I am a little disappointed in the variety of extras, but I’ll take whatever information I can get.

There should be no problem for anyone watching this movie, aside from personal taste in music and dance.  Parents need not worry about anything vulgar, violent, or sexual to disturb their children’s entertainment.  It is quite family friendly.  It is as though you are taking your family to see a production of dance, song, and music at a local theater.

Luis Buñuel's Viridiana

The Criterion Collection releases Luis Buñuel’s film Viridiana on DVD in 2006 under license from Video Mercury Films S.A., a company that holds the rights to the film since 1991.  Janus Films distributed the film in the United States in 1962 and Uninci S.A. in Europe in 1961.  Buñuel, of course, directs this film, as well as writes the screenplay with Julio Alejandro.  He casts Silvia Pinal to play Viridiana, Francisco Rabal as Jorge, Fernando Rey as Don Jaime, Margarita Lozano as Ramona, and real people from off the streets of Spain to play a motley crew of beggars and degenerates.  To finance the production of this film, he receives help from the following producers: Ricardo Muñoz Suay of Uninci S.A., Gustavo Alatriste of Gustavo Alatriste P.C. de México, and Pere Portabella of Films 59.  The Criterion Collection also includes very valuable extras, including an interview with Silvia Pinal, an interview with Richard Porton, a trailer from the early 1960s to promote the film in the United States, and an episode of a French series called Cinéastes de notre temps.  The DVD jacket also states that the booklet accompanying the DVD contains an interview with Luis Buñuel and an essay by Michael Wood.  I presume the Michael Wood essay the DVD cover is referring to is “Viridiana: The Human Comedy,” which you can read by clicking here; but as to the interview, I do not have the booklet available to me at this time.

The movie itself tells of a young nun who wishes to take her vows and become a recluse after having studied for some time.  However, before she officially takes her vows, the abbess requests her to visit an estranged uncle, Don Jaime, who financed Viridiana’s education.  She reluctantly acquiesces and visits Don Jaime on his large estate.  While visiting, she tells him that although she is very grateful for his financial sponsorship, she does not have any familial affection for him.  As for Don Jaime, he cannot get past the fact that Viridiana looks exactly like his wife before she died.  Viridiana stays for a few days.  On the eve of Viridiana’s return to the convent, Don Jaime, having fallen in love with the apparition of his lost beloved in his niece, hatches a plan to keep the novitiate at the estate indefinitely.  He does so by requesting Viridiana to model in his wife’s wedding gown.  Although uncomfortable, Viridiana humors Don Jaime.  She thinks she is only relieving his forlornness.  Don Jaime tries to tell Viridiana something, but because of his incapability to ask her directly, Ramona intervenes and informs Viridiana that Don Jaime wishes to marry her.  Viridiana becomes distraught and wishes to leave immediately.  Don Jaime recants ever mentioning the matter and begs Viridiana to stay and have tea.  She returns to the sofa, but she does not realize that Don Jaime has motioned Ramona to slip some sleeping pills into her tea.  Upon drinking the tea, Viridiana faints into a deep sleep and Don Jaime carries her back to his room to make love to his niece/wife, only to have second thoughts and retreat at the last moment.  The next morning, Don Jaime tells her that he has raped her during the night in the hopes that she will finally stay at the residence.  Mortified by the possibility of having been raped, she packs her clothes and leaves.  Don Jaime tries to stop her by saying that he has, in fact, lied, but Viridiana has made up her mind.  She almost gets on the bus to take her back to the convent when she is stopped by civil guards.  They inform her that something has happened to her uncle.  When they return to the estate, they find Don Jaime hanging from a tree, obviously having committed suicide.  Viridiana, traumatized by her uncle’s death, has no choice but to stay, because Don Jaime has bequeathed the estate to her and to an illegitimate son in a suicide note or will.

The second half of the movie shows Viridiana and her cousin, Jorge, as they occupy the grounds and divide the inheritance.  She decides to use her half of the fortune for charitable pursuits while he plans to refurbish the estate and cultivate the land to produce a profitable enterprise.  Jorge lives in the mansion while Viridiana resides in a smaller building to teach and care for several homeless people.  She quixotically nurtures her flock with food, shelter, work, and Christian affection.  Her plans seem to go well until she and Jorge go out-of-town to finish some paperwork with a notary public.  While they are away, the beggars slip into the mansion, have a feast, and, before too long, destroy the dining room in an orgiastic revelry.  At this point, Jorge and Viridiana return to the house and fall into the clutches of a couple of miscreants.  The experience changes Viridiana’s life forever.

Critics have extolled Viridiana as being Buñuel’s finest masterpiece.  The film receives the coveted Palme d’Or award at the Cannes Film Festival in 1961.  According to Silvia Pinal, many thought at the time that Buñuel’s film would not be competitive enough owing to the fact that it was about a nun in Spain during the Spanish State.  Too many concessions would compromise Buñuel’s artistic integrity, they thought.  Despite all odds, it became a hit at the festival.  It also received a denouncement from the Vatican’s official newspaper, which prompted a backlash in Spain.  Franco reacted by destroying all the sets or any vestige of Buñuel’s work relating to the “blasphemous” film.  Henceforth the film was banned for many years after its release.  The Vatican’s denouncement also placed an obstacle in the film’s distribution, because many export licenses at the time would not permit “immoral” works to cross boundaries.  A hard legal battle ensued.  At much cost and with the dedicated help of French lawyers, the film was declared of Mexican origin, thereby categorizing this film as a Mexican production and distributing it to audiences in America.

In the interview with Richard Porton, he explains the various motifs seen in Viridiana, even though Buñuel “hated simplistic, reductive interpretations” of his work.  At one point in the interview, Porton explains the use of surrealistic objects in the film:

“It’s almost as if objects derive from everyday life have the potential to be imbued with qualities of the marvelous which was a main attribute of the surrealist ethos that you didn’t need to come up with something fanciful from the imagination.  Surrealism is rooted in everyday life and, if you just look hard enough, there can be a certain type of alchemy which is able to reveal itself in what the surrealists like to refer to as ‘objects of multiple use.’”

These objects of multiple use can be seen in images like the pen knife in the shape of a crucifix, a crown of thorns as an object of worship and as firewood, a dog tied to the axle of a carriage, and a reproduction of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper as portrayed by mendicants.  One object that has the most uses in this film is a jump rope.  The uses it has include being a toy, a gift, a social icebreaker, a noose, an unholy relic, a belt, and a hold to pull away a rapist.  The wooden jump rope handles that Viridiana holds while resisting the criminal’s advances may even represent snakes in a certain context.  Buñuel may have been alluding to Saint Verdiana’s snakes that penetrated her cell during the latter end of her life as a recluse in an Italian monastery.  The idea adds an intriguing twist to the meaning of mortification of the flesh.  The wooden jump rope handles also represent other violent forces that intend to take advantage of Viridiana’s chastity, religiosity, and corporality.

Unlike other Buñuel films, Viridiana has a good share of music.  Normally, Buñuel eschews music in his movies.  Mozart and Handel figure prominently with choral and organ music, especially Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus during the beggars’ last supper.  I cannot trace the origins of a couple of songs, but when juxtaposed with various scenes, they take on an uncanny quality.  There is even an American-sounding rock and roll song called “Shake Your Cares Away” at the end during a card game.  (I cannot find out if it is a real song from the 1950s or 60s, or one just made for the movie.)  I find these choices significant, because they incorporate a zeitgeist of British and American cultural influences through the medium of phonographic records.  In a time when Spain is beginning to come out of its isolation from international affairs, the record player portrays a special status symbol of wealth and progression.  The presence of the record player invokes nostalgia of an earlier empire that Spain once was as well as promising a renewed cooperation with wealthier sovereignties.   When considering the dictatorial policies of censors at the time, it is astounding to think how many things got past them.  If I had more time and resources, I would look into British and American musical influences in Francoist Spain as well as in film and literature.

I recommend watching the extra feature that shows a short documentary of Luis Buñuel in French called Cinéastes de notre temps that aired on April 4, 1964.  I like this episode because it shows Buñuel in his most natural and personable character.  The interviewer and Buñuel discuss his history and work while overlooking the city of Toledo.  Surrealistic moments happen even during the interview.  The sound of a bus going by and the bray of a donkey off camera interrupt the interlocutors.  Buñuel suggests showing the donkey passing by in the final edit, which the producers do.  The interview holds a treasure trove of information about Buñuel and several of his works and experiences.

Georges Sadoul, a participant in this episode, recounts a story he heard about Buñuel to the interviewer.  It accurately describes Buñuel’s personality and artistic intentions.  It also explains perfectly the reaction his film has on Franco’s reputation and status.  This is what he relates below:

“His son Juan Luis told me a story that I adore, because it’s Buñuel in a nutshell.  He said, ‘My father had an idea of making a bullet, since he made his bullets himself, with such a weak charge that when the bullet was fired at him, it would slide off his clothes harmlessly.  He worked on it for months, and finally one day he said, “I’ve done it!”  To test-fire it, he took the precaution of lining up several dictionaries and old phone books.  He fired.  The bullet went through the target, through the phone books, through the wall and into the neighbor’s!’  That’s Buñuel in a nutshell.  When he makes a film, he says, ‘I hardly put anything in it!’ and it explodes.”

I like this movie for its thought-provoking allusions and interactions, a few of which I have just mentioned in this review.  Although it is not my favorite Buñuel movie, it is worth taking a couple of hours to view it once or twice.  There are thematic elements that can be shocking or disturbing for more sensitive viewers, but I would rate this film as PG-13.  Teenagers should be accompanied by adults while watching this film so as to answer any artistic or moral questions they may have during the film.  It will be a good exercise in critical thinking skills and interpretation.

Luis Buñuel's La mort en ce jardin (Death in the Garden)

Dismage of France and Producciones Tepeyac of Mexico join together in 1956 to recreate José-André Lacour’s La mort en ce jardin into an adventure film.  Translated into English as Death in the Garden, the film gets its dramatic and surrealistic touch from director Luis Buñuel.  Luis Buñuel, Luis Alcoriza, Raymond Queneau, and Gabriel Arout write the screenplay and the Spanish and French dialogue for the actors.  Many of the performers hail from France.  Georges Marchal plays Chark, a strong, amoral, and independent adventurer that has little regard for authority.  Simone Signoret acts as Djin, a prostitute who survives by plotting her next move with anyone she can take advantage of.  Michel Piccoli plays Father Lizardi, a Catholic missionary with a well-meaning yet slightly vain personality.  Charles Vanel acts as Castin, an old diamond prospector that dreams of returning to France to start his own restaurant.  Michèle Girardon plays María Castin, Castin’s deaf-mute daughter who is innocent, loving, and devout to the Catholic faith.  Tito Junco, an actor that comes from Mexico, plays the hoggish and opportunistic Chenko.  The producers for this particular movie are Oscar Dancigers and Jacques Mage.  Cinedis distributes the film at the time of the movie’s release.  Les Grands Films Classiques obtains the copyrights in 1996 and Transflux Films releases the movie on DVD in 2009.

The DVD includes: French and Spanish soundtracks with English subtitles, a recollection entitled “An Afternoon in Saint-Germain Des Pres” by Juan-Luis Buñuel, an excerpt of an essay called “Simone Signoret: The Star as Cultural Sign” by Susan Hayward, an interview with Michel Piccoli, another interview with Victor Fuentes, an audio track with commentary about the film by Ernesto R. Acevedo-Muñoz of the University of Colorado at Boulder, and a still gallery.  All of these extras help to situate the patron in understanding the cultural and academic significance that Death in the Garden has within the Buñuel canon.  I especially recommend listening to Acevedo-Muñoz’s commentary.  He gives a step-by-step demonstration on how to analyze a film by recognizing patterns, images, viewpoints, and motifs.  He offers insights from other Buñuelian works but does not digress into tangents.  I would love to take a film class from him if the opportunity arises.

Death in the Garden does have its share of Buñuelian touches and surrealistic moments.  Right at the beginning, we see a conflict between the working prospectors and the authoritarian military leadership.  Whether feigned or not, the military personnel notify the diamond prospectors of a constitutional proclamation confiscating all claims and property for the government.  The workers resent the move and aggressively protest against their leaders.  Buñuel consistently shows imagery of haughty military or police forces suppressing or threatening the disadvantaged and hardly armed working class.  The contrast between liberal or communist ideals and heavy-handed fascist enforcement cannot be clearer.  A surrealistic moment—which is especially antiocularcentric in its gesture—happens when Chark stabs a guard in the eye with a fountain pen before he escapes the jail cell and prison.  Eventually, the tension between the two sides boils over into an attempted coup and the main characters flee into the jungle to escape their general and particular dangers.

The second half of the film has all the main characters combined into one group and hijacked by Chark.  It begins at this point when surrealistic elements come to the forefront.  Buñuel rarely incorporates music into any of his films, but the continuous animal sounds of the jungle act as a surrealistic orchestra that reflects the mood of the group or the augury of things to come.  We never see the animals that make these sounds, suggesting a sort of ghostly presence, an ominous gaze, or a conscious forest.  The jungle recreates a type of the Garden of Eden, although in this garden, which Acevedo-Muñoz labels as a “garden of evil,” the dwellers dwindle into death or madness.  The snake that inhabits this garden gets killed and eaten by the inhabitants instead of tempting them into some forbidden act.  A striking surrealistic image in this film shows the serpent’s carcass being moved by fire ants.  The group descends into violence under the oppression of brutal nature.  The only relief seems to come when the group comes upon a crashed airplane with no survivors but full of bourgeois trappings.  Yet this turn of events does not guarantee that all of the members will survive.

Another characteristic of Buñuel that I would like to understand more is his anticlericalism or anti-Catholicism.  I suppose his sentiments come from his experiences with events leading up to and including the Spanish Civil War, but it would be nice to know if he has had personal experiences that relate to seeing or reacting to hypocrisy and corruption in the clergy during his formative years.  (I was quite surprised when quite a few people in Spain told me about their personal experiences with wayward priests.)  Disaffected apostates that leave the membership of their hegemonic religions do not tend to leave the same alone.

In this movie, two instances come to mind that give me occasion to conclude in this manner.  In the first scene, Father Lizardi has an argument with Chark about the Catholic Church’s role in proselytizing to the local tribes of the New World.

Father Lizardi. – Castin, where are you taking me?

Castin. – Wherever you like, Father.

Father Lizardi. – Leave me near the Santa Rosalia Mission, with the Venantes Indians.

Chark. – They’d be better off without you.  At least nobody would force them to work.

Father Lizardi. – I’m here to save their souls.  Thanks to the mission, many tribes hear the word of God.

Chark. – From the mouth of their exploiters.

Father Lizardi. – We’re not responsible for the overseers.

Chark. – No, but they follow you wherever you go.  They must really like you guys!

Father Lizardi. – I refuse to argue with you!  I insist on disembarking at once!

Chark. – I’m in command here.  Get that into your head and we’ll get on nicely.

Father Lizardi. – I have only one master.  I’m not afraid of you.

Chark. – We’ll see.

Father Lizardi. – Castin, you’re wrong to associate with…

Chark. – …a scoundrel.

Castin. – What could I do?  I was innocent and they put a price on my head.

Chark’s opinions and arguments are not unusual for a man of his nature, but Father Lizardi falters in defending his position.  People in religious positions find themselves in a quandary, because their belief systems are not readily verifiable in the short term.  Suppose Father Lizardi really tries to perform his office in an upright and honest fashion.  He acts on faith and belief that do not prove themselves true until long after the act or even after death.  He can vouch for his own actions, but defending his comrades or the larger system becomes difficult when they follow their own policies.  Hence Father Lizardi is unjustly interrogated by Chark who accuses him of those abuses that he doesn’t commit.  On the other hand, if Father Lizardi is not innocent, but condones wholeheartedly the practices of his superiors, then Father Lizardi evasion of obvious discrepancies shows his motives are not exactly altruistic.  (Father Lizardi hypocritically stashes jewelry away near a tree after lecturing María Castin not to “take things that belong to the dead.”)  On top of that, the injunction to “repay evil for evil” already places Father Lizardi in a tight spot (1 Peter 3:9).  Father Lizardi has lost the debate before it has even begun.

The second instance shows Father Lizardi relating a story to the rest of the party one night during a downpour.  Drenched from head to toe, everyone tries to sleep comfortably despite the uncomfortable conditions.  Father Lizardi, in a sort of confession, reminisces about a colleague’s idiosyncrasies of stealing soft-boiled eggs and eating them.

Father Lizardi. – My friends, do you hear me?  It may be that hunger is making me delirious but I’m obsessed with a story about soft-boiled eggs.  It happened when I was at the seminary.  I must tell you about it.  I was in my second year of theology.  I remember the refectory with its rows of tables like it was yesterday.  We were 10 to a table.  The seminarist who served us was a fat kid—a good soul—we had nothing to reproach him for except something that happened each time we had soft-boiled eggs.  Four or five always disappeared.  There was no explaining these disappearances.  Until one day someone saw him swallowing the eggs two by two on the way from the church to the refectory.  I mean, from the kitchen to the refectory.  It didn’t stop him from becoming coadjutor back home.  My mother’s name was Mary.

During his story, the rest of the party ignores him or, if the group is listening to his story, does not acknowledge him.  Father Lizardi’s oneiric confession suspiciously reveals a subtle surrealistic or psychoanalytic revelation regarding ambition and favoritism within the seminary’s ranks.  Father Lizardi’s self-correction from church to kitchen passes off as a parapraxis that could reveal some sort of scandal that Father Lizardi’s doesn’t intend fully to divulge.  If we suppose the party is listening to his story despite obvious signs to the contrary, we can conclude that the party does not react to this revelation because either they condone such behavior as being socially acceptable or think that they are powerless to change things.  Another possibility could be that they think he is just dreaming out loud about his hunger or mother, topics that Acevedo-Muñoz explores in his commentary.

The thing I most enjoyed in this movie is the cinematography and the scenery.  The jungles, rivers, and lakes look lush and beautiful.  The village where the action takes place has gorgeous shots of cathedrals and squares.  One sequence shows an angle from the soldiers’ point of view while confronted by the prospectors.  A few stones are thrown from the crowd and make their way toward the camera.  The agility of the actors to throw those stones at or near the camera is nothing but impressive.  One stone even swerves like a curveball that nearly misses a soldier.  The camera lets the events tell the story and moves economically and efficiently.

I would rate this movie with a PG rating.  Sexual activity is implied and the word “prostitute” is never used.  There is a scene depicting animal cruelty and slaughter.  Violence against women is shown or is implied as in a scene in which Chark hits Djin three times for handing him over to the police for no apparent reason than to pilfer his money.  Violence in other contexts is mild.