dir. & writ. Carlos Reygadas
feat. Cornelio Wall, Maria Pankratz, Miriam Toews
Reygadas' tale of adultery in a Mexican Mennonite community seems to seek a new film language, perhaps one to suit the mix of German and Spanish spoken by the people of the film. From the endless opening shot of a starry night sky tilting down to show dawn breaking over the fields to children bathing in a pond to the sweat on the brow of Jonah and Esther, his mistress, after sex, there is an otherworldly quality to the cinematography, as well as a rich tactile quality reminiscent of the work of Sergei Urusevsky (I Am Cuba, The Cranes Are Flying).
This world, while familiar in its farmers and fields, offers up a slice of somewhere else, a spiritual detour. When Jonah asks for the advice of his father over what to do about his mistress, the expected initial reply of being true to his wife is deflected by his insistence that he has found the better woman for him, hinting at a religious right, or divine duty, to find and pursue this chosen mate. This conflict appears to be at the heart of Jonah's distress, plaguing him as he waffles between pleasant moments with his children and subtly more inspired stolen moments with Esther.
Marianne, Jonah's wife, suffers through in obedient silence, fully aware of the situation, awaiting Jonah's action on it. When she finally speaks up, recalling a happier time in their relationship, the sudden minimalist display of anger and resentment equates to a roar from the demure, devoted woman.
What follows is a confusing foray into symbolic redemption, a stretch for a film that doesn't seem to have earned the magic that it wishes to dole out. While there is an undeniable emotional power to Esther's visit to Marianne and her subsequent transformation, it is unclear to whom this gift is being granted and why.
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