In this golden age of home viewing, the Criterion Collection still provides some of the best editions of the best movies ever released, usually with a rich selection of extras and often including audio commentaries (a feature they pioneered, and perhaps the greatest gift ever to film students and cinephiles alike). This column features one Criterion release per week, based entirely on where my interests lead me.
The legend of La Llorona (the weeping woman) is well-known in Latin American countries and has many variants, but the basic story is that of a woman with long black hair and a wet white dress who cries endlessly while searching for her dead children. In many versions she killed them, variously due to anger at her husband betraying her, to prevent them from being taken from her, or because they were fathered by her lover and she needs to prevent her husband from finding out. At any rate, she is cursed to forever wander the earth as penance, and anyone who comes across her will suffer misfortune or death.
Jayro Bustamente’s La Llorona draws on this folk tale but infuses it with political meaning (which is made explicit in the song played over the final credits). The story is set in the household of the former dictator and general Enrique Monteverde (Julio Diaz), who was convicted of genocide against the native populations of Guatemala. Then his conviction was overturned, and ever since the General’s house has been surrounded 24/7 by protestors, whose chants and noisemakers form a constant background to the household’s daily activities. Other members of the household include his wife Carmen (a truly frightening Margarita Kenéfic), their daughter Natalia (Sabrina De La Hoz), her daughter Sara (Ayla-Elea Hurtado), the bodyguard Letona (Juan Pablo Olyslager), and a number of native servants. I’m not sure if there’s meaning in the fact that this is essentially a house full of women, unless to make the point that despite all the power he once held, the General’s name will die with him.
The General is elderly and suffers from ill health, but that doesn’t stop him from shooting at what he thinks is an intruder, narrowly missing Carmen in the process. Most of the servants quit after that incident, with only the loyal Valeriana (Maria Telón) remaining. Then a young woman named Alma (Maria Mercedes Coroy) appears and begins to work as a maid. Strange things start happening in the household, Carmen has recurrent nightmares placing her in the role of a native woman victimized by her husband’s troops, and apparently deceased people appear among the protestors.
Bustamente seems to live by the old proverb “people are like the fingers of a hand—they are not all alike” because he clearly differentiates the members of the General’s household in terms of their attitudes toward him and his crimes. Carmen constantly makes excuses for him, even in the present day when he’s caught peeping at Alma in the bath. Natalia is horrified by the accounts of Native women who testified against her father and doesn’t forgive him for what he did to her mother either. Sara is eagerly open to friendship with Alma and soon knows a lot more about her and her past than anyone else in the house.
Most of La Llorona takes place within the General’s house, giving the story a claustrophic feel, as if the entire household were under a form of house arrest imposed from outside the legal system. Much of the scary stuff takes place at night, and cinematographer Nicolás Wong proves himself to be a master of low-light photography. Although this film is in color, it is reminiscent of Val Lewton’s best work in terms of slow burn and the creation of tension by suggesting more than by showing. There’s even an eerie scene in a swimming pool that Lewton would have approved of had he lived to see it. | Sarah Boslaugh
Spine #: 1156
Technical details: 96 min.; color; screen ratio 2.39:1; Spanish, Ixil, Kaqchikel.
Edition reviewed: DVD
Extras: Video interview with writer/director Jayro Bustamante; making-of featurette; trailer; booklet with essay by journalist and novelist Francisco Goldman.
Fun Fact: Not really fun, but the character of Enrique Monteverde was based on Efrain Rios Montt, a military officer and ruler of Guatemala after a military coup in 1982. He was later tried and convicted of genocide and crimes against humanity, but the verdict was overturned by the Supreme Court (sound familiar?) and he conveniently died before his second trial was completed.
Parting Thought: One theme of this story is that you may avoid human justice but there are higher powers ready to step in if necessary. Another is that of collective guilt: is it possible to claim innocence if you profit, however indirectly, from crimes committed against others?
