Spanish Cinema Now. 2.

No doubt about it, The War on Film (La Guerra filmada) is an event. This first-time showing anywhere outside Spain of the landmark Spanish television series should have "patriots" of all stripes - now mostly, I should think, in their senior years - lining up and ready to lap it up. First aired in 2006 to commemorate the 70th anniversary of the outbreak of the war in July of 1936 (the war ended, rather appropriately, on April Fool's Day, 1939, with rebel General Francisco Franco assuming dictatorship over Spain), the series is actually an assemblage of newsreel and propaganda films shot during the war, grouped (by topic and time) and presented by Spanish historian Julián Casanova.

The key word in the above paragraph is propaganda, which should probably be added to the duo of death and taxes as the new triumvirate of life's "unavoidables." I write this, having just finished the nearly eight hours of The War on Film over four days at approximately two hours per pop. The propaganda, particularly during the first two hours, is nearly non-stop. One would expect that any series devoted to the defining event of modern Spain, one that echoed around the entire world, might offer something more.

The decision to simply assemble these archival films, from both the Republic and rebel viewpoints, and have Señor Casanova introduce them by explaining to viewers in quiet, measured tones what each contains may be commendable in terms of circumventing polemic. But it offers neither depth nor detail about the war. Nor is there any commentary to leaven the nitwit propaganda. And, ohmigod, is it boring! This is especially true of the first two hours - which is too bad because the repetition and boredom might cause viewers to give up on the series. Fortunately, The War on Film grows somewhat more interesting as it progresses. The original television series was divided into eight parts of approximately one hour each; for the Film Society of Lincoln Center presentation, two parts each are packed into a single bill of four programs.

Program One includes The Republic at War, three pieces offering a look at the Republic side early in the conflict. The first, Spain in Arms, though written and produced by - yes! - Luis Buñuel, makes it appear that the master's entire oeuvre was somehow made in reaction to this propaganda piece. The Burial of Durruti (we see the noted anarchist alive and well in other portions of the series) catalogs the fellow's funeral, but unfortunately bears no subtitles. The original episode was filmed with an English soundtrack, so presumably someone thought subtitles were unnecessary. Yet the spoken English has been over-dubbed in a Spanish that effectively drowns out the English dialogue. The final section covers the initial meeting of the Spanish Parliament and features a famous speech by Parliament President Largo Caballero. The rebels (so called because Franco's military coup unseated the democratically elected government) are represented by Heroic Spain, which is mostly the same blather, less poetically stated, and from the other side of the fence.

Program Two: Part Three begins with a 24-minute Report on the Revolutionary Movement in Barcelona, which includes the following gem, recited over the shot of a young soldier holding a rifle: "This magnificent specimen of a libertarian guerrilla is keeping constant watch, like a young eagle, so as not to be caught unaware by fascism." In the propaganda battle, I admit the left does seem to hold the upper hand in its use of metaphor; the right could have benefited from a Spanish Ayn Rand. The most shocking part of this section is its attack, after the fact and via film, on the Catholic clergy, who were mostly in the pocket of Franco. Also included is a gentle actual attack on a local lunatic asylum so as not to harm the inmates. The following section takes us to the countryside to watch the soldiers interact with the populace, and the irony and sadness of seeing fresh, smiling faces you know will soon go down in defeat is particularly unsettling. Next we see the living Durruti, who, we are told, "has muscles of steel!"

Around now, you may begin to realize why narrative films such as Ken Loach's Land and Freedom, Guillermo del Toro's Pan's Labyrinth and Vicente Aranda's Libertarias (among many, many others) handle so much better the delicate questions of guilt, complicity, doubt, and that mixed bag called humanity than do all the propaganda dished out by either side - even when, as here, it's accompanied by music military and faux majestic.

Barcelona: Working for the Front takes us back to the city and factories, showing how the left helped distribute and organize food, clothing, medical supplies and the like. We get a lesson in sheep skinning, another in vermicelli- and macaroni-making; and we see a sausage factory and the canning process. Newsreels are particularly fascinating for their capture of time and place. Fashions, cars, architecture: They're all here. The section ends with a visit to the Ritz Hotel, formerly a haunt of the wealthy elite, now used as a meeting/dining place for the common folk.

Part Four, The Defense of Madrid, Section 1, shows the anarchists to be in control in Barcelona, while Section 2 reflects the Communist/Soviet control over Madrid. Sections 3 and 4 were filmed by Soviets sent to Spain as war correspondents. We see everything from actress Montserrat Blanch urging resistance by the Republic to preparations needed in case a building should collapse. Catalonian anarchist Buenaventura Durruti appears again, leading Madrid's defense columns, and we go to Casa de Campo Park in Madrid, as it becomes a battleground. The program ends from the rebels' viewpoint: a "Re-conquest of the Fatherland."

The propaganda quotient in Program Two is sometimes so high that you wonder if it won't turn a hardened liberal into a frothing fascist (or, I would hope, vice versa). At one point, I found myself thinking: If I see or hear "No Pasarán" one more time (it appears on posters, signs, banners, plaques; it's sung, danced and chanted), I would not only let Franco pass, I'd hand him the keys to the city. The amount of time devoted to/wasted on pomp and circumstance, parades and marching easily surpasses the entire director's cut of Waterworld. I'd gladly have sacrificed much of the marching and replaced it with some intelligent commentary.

Program Three: Part Five begins with an Homage to the Brigadier of Navarre, ten minutes more of pomp and ceremony with commentary that is weak to nonexistent, in which Franco gives a speech to new officers which is described as "a just speech, full of sobriety and style." Of course, we don't hear an actual word of it. Following five minutes more showing the Basque President, we have Mr Casanova, again telling us what we are about to see. And then we see it. No further explanation, discussion or questioning ever occurs. (It's a bit like a Bush press conference - without the planted questions.) Later we can appreciate the sexy looking, leather-clad motorcycle cops of the Republican side (Hmmm... Early Wild One?), as well as the ambulances sent to Spain by the American left. Then follows a newsreel more interesting than most, perhaps due to its more realistic and less pompous narration, showing a Falangist theatrical production, Franco in Morocco, and the capture and re-capture of Teruel. A demonstration takes place in Barcelona regarding Teruel, and in a final clip, the Falangist General Yagüe addresses a Latin American audience, telling it that "Franco is building a just Spain."

Part Six deals with the International Brigades who aided the Republic, the German and Italian forces who sided with the rebels, and how both sides used the foreigners for propaganda purposes. This "internationality" of the Spanish Civil War is among its most important aspects, and it's here, I think, that the documentary simply flattens. Sure, it's interesting the see the Brigade from Turkey taking its leave. But why did it depart? There was a lot going on here: divisions between the Anarchists and Communists, a ploy by Republican leader Juan Negrín to get the rebels to withdraw their foreign troops, problems in the home countries from which each Brigade came - all fascinating and rich stuff, of which you'll learn nothing. But you will see a lot more pomp and ceremony and, oh, yes, more marching.

Otherwise, there is some interesting left and right propaganda on how each side treated its prisoners, the most telling being a British interview with two foreign fighters: an Italian solider, Gino Foggi, and a German, Rudolf Ruecker. This interview appears to have proven - to the Brits, at least - the existence of international intervention in the war. Other short scenes show Americans (some politicians of the time) visiting the American wounded, international writers congregating to show their support, and finally, the German "Condor Legion" returning to Germany.

Program Four, covering the end of the war and the final Franco victory, begins with Part Seven and the idea that the non-intervention policies of the western democracies helped other countries fall to the Axis powers - and then gives us more propaganda. Following this, a thoughtful French documentary warns of the upcoming danger to the free world and shows that the French, frightened legitimately early on, knew quite well that they were surrounded on three sides by fascist enemies - Germany, Italy and Spain - whose troops together vastly outnumbered their own. (Seeing this short film helps make it clearer why France fell so quickly and completely. Sure, it could have put up more of a fight, but to what end? At that point in time, England, America and so many others had adopted a non-intervention policy.) We also observe the French "Milk Day," created to save Spanish children. Overall, some four million tons of food, clothing and medical supplies were sent to Spain from France.

Two pro-Franco documentaries conclude this episode: The March on Barcelona, in which we see the general populace embracing the rebel cause, bringing to mind how quickly and easily people will rouse themselves to whichever side gains power. When a smiling woman is shown trying to tear down a street sign dedicated to Durruti, you may flash forward to that bust of Saddam Hussein being toppled during our first (and only) victorious moment in Iraq. However staged both of these events may have been, a conquered people is always willing to comply, usually with a smile. Perhaps the funniest moment comes in the next documentary that tours the torture chambers of the "Reds," offering up cells "with hallucinogenic designs on the walls that worked on the victims' brains." These "designs" looked to me like small-potato modern art, but I suppose if the particular prisoner were an art critic, this might have proven a horrifying incarceration.

Part Eight, Victory, pays homage to the fallen heroes who fought for Franco. Religion, missing from the Republican propaganda since the early chapters' condemnation of the Church, is now almost ever-present in the message of the rebels. We see the jail in Alicante where the founder of the fascist movement, Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera, was executed, and the mass attended by remaining family members. Outside masses, several of which are shown, were all also a big draw. In La Liberation de Madrid we learn that the University is evil and the Church good. More poetic propaganda ensues and medals are presented to Franco. Cue the applause, parades, pomp - boy, they are really rubbing it in - with everybody and his brother (and their horses) marching before our tired eyes.

The series ends with Franco promising Spaniards that "the laurels of this victory shall never wither." And though it did take nearly 40 years before the little dictator died, "wither" those laurels now have done. (Though I wager that plenty of the current Spanish populace would love to be experiencing the Franco time again, just as many Chileans would enjoy a return to Pinochet. And once the Bush administration is out of power, you can bet just as many Americans will be praying for its return.)

In the final two minutes of these nearly eight hours, historian Casanova at last lets his hair down. Suddenly, there is more urgency and meaning in these brief moments than in the entire series. During his recitation of the many brutal statistics about the war and its aftermath, Casanova's hatred is very nearly palpable. "The Civil War was followed by an uncivil peace," he explains with barely concealed rage, "but that is another story." Indeed it is, and one that Spanish filmmakers have been telling over and over, in all its incarnations, since the death of their dictator and a return to the democracy - difficult, as democracy always is - that was denied them nearly 75 years ago.

I suppose, were I a Spaniard, this series might have meant more to me. Seeing films made at the time of a war that I had studied in school would count for something, and these old newsreels do fill in certain visual blanks. Still: I am no historian, yet I am probably more genuinely interested in the Spanish Civil War than most Americans (who barely know their own - let alone foreign - history). I came to The War on Film hoping to increase my knowledge and understanding. Despite some interesting moments and scenes, it didn't begin to happen.

For the press, one of the unalloyed pleasures of the Film Society of Lincoln Center's various national movie festivals - French, Italian, and currently Spanish - is the special luncheon held around the time of the opening of each series. Here, distributors, filmmakers, actors, press and others can spend two to three hours chatting, making the rounds, enjoying some splendid cuisine, and most especially, talking one-on-one with some of the artists who grace these festivals with their work. It is particularly surprising to me (and I would think rather galling to the FSLC) that more of our mainstream press, those gatekeepers and cultural guardians, don't bother to attend. Well, their loss.

At Thursday's gathering, full of the same energy, humanity, curiosity and charm that you'll find in many of these new Spanish films, I was able to chat for a good length of time with a young woman involved in the marketing of the movie Concursante (Contestant), one of my favorites in the fest so far. I learned that in Spain the film relied heavily on YouTube and even created a blog, which, instead of being about the movie, was written from the perspective of its main character.

From there we sat down at our respective tables and I found myself seated next to Félix Viscarret, director of Bajo las estrellas (Under the Stars), and his wife Pilar, one of the loveliest, most charming and helpful women I have encountered in a long while. She was a lifesaver, making certain I avoided any food that might set off my shellfish allergy, while filling me in on all sorts of fun facts about the making of the film. Viscarret himself is possessed of a sturdy charm factor, and spoke quite interestingly and honestly about his experiences on the film. (For everybody connected with Under the Stars, from its director and writer to all the crew, this was their first full-length feature. Although I had some qualms about the movie, I find this rather amazing because the technical level achieved is so high.)

Because so much of this particular festival is devoted to the Spanish Civil War, I mentioned that the films of the three younger directors represented today - Viscarret, Rafa Cortés (Yo) and Rodrigo Cortés (Concursante) - did not seem to touch at all upon this topic. "I think," noted Viscarret, "that we feel so much has already been done on this - and that often it is so one-sided - that we should move on. There are plenty of other subjects to explore."

At a nearby table, I talked with Rodrigo Cortés and got a mini-course in banking, the Federal Reserve and other subjects close to the heart of his fascinating and very unusual little movie, Concursante. "Were you an economics major?" I asked, at the conclusion. "Oh, no, " he laughed. "If I'd studied economics, I'd never have been able to make this film!" I think I know what he means. His movie so determinedly hacks away at conventional wisdom and things so many of us take for granted. If he'd had a more typical education, he might have fallen for the rhetoric and we'd never have been blessed with this crackerjack film.

The one actor at the luncheon - appearing in two of this year's films: Yo and 53 Winter Days - was Alex Brendemühl. Each time I see this fellow, he's so different as to be almost unrecognizable. (Once you've seen these two films, watch him as the missing husband in the Leonor Watling/Luis Tosar comedy Unconscious.) His ability to get inside each new character seems to me to be the equal of anyone here in the USA. And he does this is a very "un-showy" manner, subtle and truthful. Speaking with Brendemühl, a German actor who now works often in Spain, made me realize once again how much international talent there is that we provincial Americans (yes, even here in NYC) hardly know.

The luncheon also made me even more aware of the tremendous spirit and energy present in Spanish filmmaking today.  Even though I found two of the films mentioned above more worthwhile than the other two, I would not discount any of the talent on display. This is a country - and a generation of young filmmakers - to watch, enjoy and learn from.

- James Van Maanen

Posted by dwhudson at December 8, 2007 5:46 AM