2008 proved to be a banner year for the cinema of South America – Brazil and Argentina most especially. And 2009 could prove better still, for this is a continental cinematic movement that is firmly on the ascent. Demetrios Matheou, author of a forthcoming book on this newest of filmic "new waves" (to be published in 2009 by Faber and Faber) marks moviegoers’ cards for the year ahead in this survey of the many and varied new South American directors who are generating heat.
If the calendar’s major film festivals can be regarded as reliable barometers of world cinema – and if they aren’t that, then what are they? – then last year’s Cannes has to be seen as confirming the re-emergence of South American filmmakers as a significant force on the international stage. With Cannes’s official selection giving competition berths to the Brazilians Walter Salles and Fernando Meirelles, and to the Argentines Lucrecia Martel and Pablo Trapero, plus more than 20 other Latin titles on display throughout the festival, this show of strength was clearly not just a passing fad but, rather, a gloriously casual, matter-of-fact assertion of South America’s newly revived cinematic brilliance.
The contrast with the state of things a mere decade ago is striking. When Salles’ Central Station won the Berlin Festival’s Golden Bear in 1998 (the first of its many awards, followed by two Oscar nominations), people were scratching their heads to recall the last time a Brazilian film had garnered such acclaim. But Salles – whose success can now be seen as part of the retomada, or "rebirth" of Brazilian cinema after years of struggle – was only the vanguard figure. Four years later, Fernando Meirelles’ City of God created an even greater stir, with its vibrant, kinetic, raw account of the drug war inside Rio’s favelas. In the meantime Argentina was also reawakening. Crane World (2000), by the Argentine boy wonder Pablo Trapero, scooped awards everywhere it played, while Lucretia Martel’s The Swamp (2001) introduced a talent that was, and remains, inimitable.
Walter Salles directs Fernanda Montenegro
and Vinícius de Oliveira in Central Station
The ten years since Central Station have borne witness to not one but many new "waves" from Latin filmmakers. But while Mexico had its buena onda ("good wave") swept in by Amores Perros and Y Tu Mama Tambien, arguably the more interesting phenomenon has occurred in South America, a continent in which for three decades cinema had been variously censored and curtailed by dictatorship, corrupt democracies, and economic crisis. Whether one considers the retomada of Brazil, or the nuevo cine argentino, or the nuevo cine chileno, each of these movements have been characterised by a new generation of resourceful directors (aided by a tide of genuine political democracy and improving economies) rediscovering their continent’s cinematic voice. Salles and Meirelles are still the "senior partners" on the continent, their genuine international reputations as directors cemented by Salles’ The Motorcycle Diaries and Meirelles’ The Constant Gardener. But just as significant have been their endeavours as local producers, nurturing a plethora of younger directors.
Chief among these is Karim Ainouz, whose two feature films (co-produced by Salles) champion the indomitable outsider in Brazilian society: Madame Satã (2002), a passionate, almost expressionistic tale set in 1930s Rio, charting the extraordinary real life of a sometime drag queen, carnival hero and criminal; and Suely in the Sky (2006), a contemporary fiction following a young mother’s attempt to control her own destiny in the country’s dusty, deprived north-east. Ainouz was also a co-writer (and Salles a producer) on Sergio Machado’s Lower City (2005), a depiction of hustlers, boxers and prostitutes in the north-eastern city of Salvador, and a picture in which you can almost smell the sweat, blood and sex coming off the screen. Fernando Meirelles, meanwhile, has successfully loaned his clout as producer to Cao Hamburger’s The Year My Parents Went on Vacation (2006), a winning coming-of-age tale that cleverly combines a study of the effects of dictatorship with the Brazilian national soccer team’s success in the 1970 World Cup.
READ MORE ▼
2008 proved to be a banner year for the cinema of South America – Brazil and Argentina most especially. And 2009 could prove better still, for this is a continental cinematic movement that is firmly on the ascent. Demetrios Matheou, author of a forthcoming book on this newest of filmic "new waves" (to be published in 2009 by Faber and Faber) marks moviegoers’ cards for the year ahead in this survey of the many and varied new South American directors who are generating heat.
If the calendar’s major film festivals can be regarded as reliable barometers of world cinema – and if they aren’t that, then what are they? – then last year’s Cannes has to be seen as confirming the re-emergence of South American filmmakers as a significant force on the international stage. With Cannes’s official selection giving competition berths to the Brazilians Walter Salles and Fernando Meirelles, and to the Argentines Lucrecia Martel and Pablo Trapero, plus more than 20 other Latin titles on display throughout the festival, this show of strength was clearly not just a passing fad but, rather, a gloriously casual, matter-of-fact assertion of South America’s newly revived cinematic brilliance.
The contrast with the state of things a mere decade ago is striking. When Salles’ Central Station won the Berlin Festival’s Golden Bear in 1998 (the first of its many awards, followed by two Oscar nominations), people were scratching their heads to recall the last time a Brazilian film had garnered such acclaim. But Salles – whose success can now be seen as part of the retomada, or "rebirth" of Brazilian cinema after years of struggle – was only the vanguard figure. Four years later, Fernando Meirelles’ City of God created an even greater stir, with its vibrant, kinetic, raw account of the drug war inside Rio’s favelas. In the meantime Argentina was also reawakening. Crane World (2000), by the Argentine boy wonder Pablo Trapero, scooped awards everywhere it played, while Lucretia Martel’s The Swamp (2001) introduced a talent that was, and remains, inimitable.
Walter Salles directs Fernanda Montenegro
and Vinícius de Oliveira in Central Station
The ten years since Central Station have borne witness to not one but many new "waves" from Latin filmmakers. But while Mexico had its buena onda ("good wave") swept in by Amores Perros and Y Tu Mama Tambien, arguably the more interesting phenomenon has occurred in South America, a continent in which for three decades cinema had been variously censored and curtailed by dictatorship, corrupt democracies, and economic crisis. Whether one considers the retomada of Brazil, or the nuevo cine argentino, or the nuevo cine chileno, each of these movements have been characterised by a new generation of resourceful directors (aided by a tide of genuine political democracy and improving economies) rediscovering their continent’s cinematic voice. Salles and Meirelles are still the "senior partners" on the continent, their genuine international reputations as directors cemented by Salles’ The Motorcycle Diaries and Meirelles’ The Constant Gardener. But just as significant have been their endeavours as local producers, nurturing a plethora of younger directors.
Chief among these is Karim Ainouz, whose two feature films (co-produced by Salles) champion the indomitable outsider in Brazilian society: Madame Satã (2002), a passionate, almost expressionistic tale set in 1930s Rio, charting the extraordinary real life of a sometime drag queen, carnival hero and criminal; and Suely in the Sky (2006), a contemporary fiction following a young mother’s attempt to control her own destiny in the country’s dusty, deprived north-east. Ainouz was also a co-writer (and Salles a producer) on Sergio Machado’s Lower City (2005), a depiction of hustlers, boxers and prostitutes in the north-eastern city of Salvador, and a picture in which you can almost smell the sweat, blood and sex coming off the screen. Fernando Meirelles, meanwhile, has successfully loaned his clout as producer to Cao Hamburger’s The Year My Parents Went on Vacation (2006), a winning coming-of-age tale that cleverly combines a study of the effects of dictatorship with the Brazilian national soccer team’s success in the 1970 World Cup.
Argentinian director
Lucretia Martel
Apart from the patronage of Brazil’s leading auteurs, documentary-maker Jose Padilha pursued his own bold path in order to make the controversial, violent, ugly but utterly essential drama Elite Squad (2007): a movie that served to demonstrate that Brazilians are discovering the knack for making films with social relevance as well as local box office appeal. A study of extreme police action against the drug-dealing gangs of Rio’s slums, Elite Squad not only touched a chord with millions of Brazilians tired of police corruption and gang violence; it also earned serious festival cachet, winning another Golden Bear for Brazil a decade after Central Station.
The most noteworthy films to have emerged from Argentina recently are often stylistically different and yet highly comparable to the Brazilian successes. The prolific Pablo Trapero’s verité approach – shooting in real locations, often using non-actors, and drawing his subjects from everyday life – has become synonymous with the revolution in Argentine filmmaking. From Crane World’s study of a man trying to rebuild his life in middle-age, to the family comedy Rolling Family (2004) and this year’s Cannes favourite, the women’s prison drama Leonera (featuring a knock-out performance by Trapero’s wife and producer, Martina Gusman) this is a director going from strength to strength.
Older Argentine hand Carlos Sorin also casts non-actors, but his pictures tend to be warm-hearted comedies about poor, provincial Argentines propped up by dreams. His best-known film, Bombon: El Perro (2004), about an out-of-work mechanic entering the world of dog shows, is one of the funniest and most poignant films made about contemporary Argentina. Reflecting the staggering diversity in the country, Lisandro Alonso’s films La Libertad (2001), Los Muertos (2004) and Liverpool (2008) are studies in rigorous minimalism and existential gloom, which have garnered a small but passionate following; Daniel Burman’s wry, urbane investigations of Jewish identity and father-son relationships – Waiting for the Messiah (2000), Lost Embrace (2004), and Family Law (2006) – have earned him the moniker "The Woody Allen of Buenos Aires;" and newcomer Pablo Fendrik’s stunningly original crime thriller The Mugger (2007) is, arguably, the undiscovered Latin classic of the last two years.
And then there is Lucrecia Martel, whose atmospheric, sensuous, mysterious calling-card films – The Swamp and The Holy Girl (2004) – offered deliciously wicked observations on family, sexuality, religion and, particularly, her country’s stagnating bourgeoisie. Martel’s latest, The Headless Woman, fared badly with impatient Cannes critics, but I believe time will prove it to be a formidable achievement, another swipe at the bourgeoisie that includes a creepy echo of the complicity and guilt felt during the "dirty war" waged by the Argentine military junta upon citizens between 1976 and 1983.
It’s worth noting that Argentina can conceivably boast of more active women filmmakers than any other country in the world. Alongside Martel these include Celina Murga, recently mentored by Martin Scorsese, and whose films Ana and the Others (2003) and A Week Alone (2007) display a particular talent (for patient, absorbing observation of the everyday lives of young people and children) that is just as original as Martel’s; and also Lucía Puenzo, whose XXY (2007), a tale of a hermaphrodite teenager under pressure from her parents to select her gender of choice, has already intrigued audiences worldwide.
Pablo Larrain's Tony Manero
If Brazil and Argentina offer highly conspicuous success stories, the new cinema of Chile should not be overlooked. Andres Wood’s handsomely-mounted and moving Machuca (2004), about a friendship between two boys in the days leading to the Pinochet coup, has performed a vanguard function in Chile similar to that of Central Station in Brazil, in terms of its galvanising of local filmmakers. Alicia Scherson is a director who has excelled at low-budget digital production. Her fabulous 2005 debut Play – which earned her the Best New Filmmaker award at Robert De Niro’s Tribeca film festival – was at once a paean to Santiago; a plaintive reflection on the culture-clash between town and country, rich and poor; and a rom-com for the iPod age.
Pablo Larrain is another Chilean with a bright future, whose latest film is irresistible. Tony Manero is a black comedy about a sociopath living in Santiago during the Pinochet era, obsessed with John Travolta’s character in Saturday Night Fever, and prepared to do anything – even kill – so as to obtain his very own disco dance-floor. Tony Manero epitomises a key strength of South American cinema: namely the ability to tell stories that are innately local, yet which also touch on themes (in this case the obsession with fame and the illusory, harmful influence of the Hollywood dream machine) that can connect with audiences all over the world. Such is the potential of the new South American wave. Be sure to keep an eye out in 2009 for when it hits a theatre near you.
Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
Pariah
Being Flynn
ParaNorman
The Debt
The Broken Tower
Flashback Feb 13, 2010 
Inside Our Movies 
