Spanish Cinema Now. 9.

Foolishly, as it turns out, I was putting off watching Septembers (Septiembres), the new documentary by Carlos Bosch, because I had been unimpressed with his Academy Award-nominated Balseros of a few years back. That fleeing-from-Cuba film was so disjointed and all-over-the-place that I could not keep up with who was who, where we were, or just about anything else I saw through the miasma of crummy photography and editing. Granted, that whole documentary must have needed to be filmed on the sly, since everyone involved, including Bosch, was breaking Cuban law.

No worries this time out, as Bosch appears to have gained legal entry into several Spanish prisons to tell his story of various inmates who compete in and hope to win the yearly Festival of Song contest, in which they karaoke to wonderful songs, some known here in the US, most not. As fine as a few of the performers are (particularly the woman who has won these contests for several years running - by the finale when she sings "Fly Me to the Moon," never one of my favorites, I was a convert), Septembers is not really about the songs or the contest but is instead about the performers.

One fellow, gay but closeted here in prison, is awaiting extradition back to Argentina where he embezzled money. He makes periodic phone calls to his beloved grandmother, explaining that he is working on a cruise ship. Another, serving time for knifing his ex-girlfriend's current boyfriend, plans to marry another girl prisoner he's met and fallen for. A gypsy drug trafficker pines for his wife and family, while a Lithuanian forger forms a bond with a woman incarcerated for trying to provide her drug-addicted children with what they need.

Comparisons may be odious, but I defy viewers not to hold up our own prison system against what we see here (and it does not appear to be whitewashed - it's prison, after all, and the inmates are not too keen on it). I can think of only one American documentary, Shakespeare Behind Bars, that depicts prison life stateside as anywhere near as humane. Without any sugar-coating, Bosch captures so much about these people - their needs, wants, sorrows, joys and regrets - that you will probably wish them as well as I did, while realizing very clearly that, for most of them, life on the outside will be no picnic, either. Septembers will be shown again on Thursday, December 27, at 8:30 pm.

At last: a Pilar Miró movie I can whole-heartedly embrace - even if I do not call it a masterpiece. The Dog in the Manger (El Perro del hortelano) from 1996 is a genuine treat, especially for those of us who love the classics - and rhymed couplets. Lope de Vega, who wrote the original play on which Miró based her movie, was a contemporary of Shakespeare. Given the plot of this romantic comedy of manners, I would guess they were familiar with each other's work and probably cribbed a bit, too. (One of the final lines of dialogue also makes me wonder if Oscar Wilde didn't do a little cribbing of his own.)  In any case, the play and film are full of le mots just and phrases picked up for use by Bartlett. So fast, in fact, does the dialogue fly by, that you may have a little trouble keeping up with it. I did - but found it so much fun and the performances so delightful that I didn't mind at all.

What a joy it is to see Carmelo Gómez in particular do such a fine job in a buoyant, humorous role. We're used to him in darker films (Días Contados, Entre las Piernas, Nos Miran, El Método, as well as Miró's Your Name Poisons My Dreams), so it's lovely to see him lighten up and cut loose. Emma Suárez is his equal as the noble lady who's having trouble accepting a commoner as her mate. The supporting cast is fine, as well, and includes Blanca Portillo (from this year's Seven Billiard Tables) and a very funny Fernando Conde.

Having now enjoyed two of the seven Miró's movies included in SCN's retrospective - this one and El Crimen de Cuenca - I am tempted to suggest that the late director worked better with "period" pieces and on projects for which she may have felt more "bound" to keep within a certain framework: the "facts" regarding The Cuenca Crime, and the already rather "known" and certainly beloved dialogue of Lope de Vega. (It's been years since I've read The Dog in the Manger, but it seemed to me that Miró did not stray too far from the original but simply gave the Rafael Pérez Sierra version used here a little gloss.) In any case, her story-telling comes across best in these two movies; make of that what you will.

The set and production design by Félix Murcia and costumes by Humberto Cornejo and Pedro Moreno also give enormous pleasure, and the locations are simply dynamite. (Part of my trouble keeping up with the subtitles was due to my eyes trying to take in more of the gorgeous tile work in some of the scenes.) I believe the movie was filmed partially in one of Portugal's famous historic castles/homes, and the often non-stop visual glories here are extravagant indeed.

The Dog in the Manger, which will screen again on Thursday, December 27, at 2 and 6:15 pm, concludes for me this edition of Spanish Cinema Now: a total of 28 individual programs of varying quality that, taken together, offered one of, very probably the most worthwhile film experiences of my movie-going year. This past weekend I received a phone call from a friend who'd read some of my postings and told me, "Well, I guess this was not one of your favorite years for Spanish film." But no: it was, as usual, a vital and generally splendid compilation that offered a fine overview of Spanish film today - and yesterday. But my friend's comment made me realize even more strongly that, just because I did not like a film - or two or ten - does not mean that I was in any way sorry to have had the experience of viewing it. More on this next time, together with a wrap-up of the entire festival - and why it is so important to those of us who treasure international film.

Posted by dwhudson at December 25, 2007 8:21 AM