Spanish Cinema Now. 4.

Did I know anything about Spanish hip-hop prior to viewing the surprising, vivid, funny and moving One-Armed Trick (El truco del manco) from Santiago Zannou (director and co-writer with Iván Morales)? Hell, I know almost nothing about American hip-hop. Yet for my money this small-in-scope, wide-in-appeal movie gets so much right that I feel more up on Spanish rap than I'd ever have imagined possible. Okay, maybe not on the rap itself. But Zannou gives us more. We discover the partially-paralyzed-since-childhood young man known as Cuajo (Juan Manuel Montillo). We see meet friends and family, a very mixed bag, and watch him beg, borrow, steal and bulldoze his way into setting up a production studio for musicians - and himself - to use.

Along the way, he must work with a gang lord, a none-too-helpful brother and a best friend who's a drug addict with an alcoholic father. If this sounds like the movie is "piling it on," I must tell you that, in execution, all of it seems quite like day-to-day life in this particular Spanish barrio. And because the main character is so real - angry, hopeful, frustrated, foolish and smart (often all at once) - what unfolds seems shockingly close to "as it is." The young waitress for whom our "hero" falls hard is attracted instead to his very sexy best friend; his mom tries to be kind but clearly favors his younger, more "normal" brother; and his antics and constant finagling, lying and cheating turn everyone off, as much as his very real life force turns them on.

The look of the film belies, I suspect, a small budget; the widescreen compositions are often glorious, even while they are detailing ugliness. And the combination of music, drama, elation and near-tragedy is surprisingly moving, particularly the finale. We've seen these stairs several times already, but never with the power they now accrue. The result is something like resignation made bearable by love.

Another in the current and long march of movies that detail the effects of ETA terrorism in the Basque region of Spain, My Father's House (La Casa de mi padre) is directed by Gorka Merchán and written by Iñaki Mendiguren. As did Todos Estamos Invitados, shown earlier at this fest, the movie does not offer much hope for the Basque situation. I would say that it tries to present both sides of the issue, but it is difficult to countenance terrorism when the targets seem to be either chosen randomly or to have relatively little blood on their hands.

The film begins as a lovely family reunion that then grows darker, scene by scene. The Basque version of hand ball known as pelote plays a big part in the story; otherwise, the roughly 95 minutes is devoted to unearthing the history of a family divided but trying to find some sane middle ground. The performances are excellent, as would be expected from pros such as Carmelo Gómez and Emma Suárez as the visiting parents and Juan Jose Ballesta (El Bola, 7 Virgins and, from last year's SCN, Doghead) and Verónica Echegui, as the younger generation. (As an actor, Ballesta grows stronger, more mature with each new performance.)

In an interview with Jaime Rosales about his new Bullet in the Head, which also deals with the ETA and terrorism, this exceptional writer/director mentions trying to find a new paradigm for films that would bring the audience in touch with life via films that reach them in a different, more meaningful way. (I don't think Bullet manages this, but Rosales is trying.) I feel fairly certain that Rosales would consider My Father's House a film of the old school. It reminds us that the conflict still exists and, by focusing on a terrible injustice (perhaps somewhat one-sided), aims to convince us - and them - that it must be stopped. My Father's House plays again on Sunday, 12/14, at 8:15 pm.

Posted by dwhudson at December 12, 2008 1:45 AM