neruda-movie

Neruda ★★★½

As I watched Pablo Larraín’s Neruda, I was reminded of two releases from the end of 2016: Jackie and PatersonJackie was also a film by Larraín and, like Neruda, also a biopic (about Jacqueline Kennedy) that played with the mythology of its main subject. Paterson was also a film about a poet (albeit, a fictional one) by Jim Jarmusch, and like Neruda it attempted to transcend the cinematic form to capture poeticism on the screen. For various reasons, I couldn’t get too excited about the functions within Jackie and Paterson. The former felt too constricted by a mediocre screenplay, and the latter did too little formally to really make an impact. Neruda, a wonderful, thoughtful, beautiful film, manages to achieve more in both areas where those films floundered, really accomplishing a true cinematic mastery of poetic vision while crafting a truly passionate, mythologized image of its protagonist – poet and politician Pablo Neruda – that captures the man as human and symbol. It cares deeply about understanding Neruda as a man, but more importantly as a figure in the perpetual Latin American struggle against political oppression.

Luis Gnecco plays Neruda, the beloved Chilean poet and senator for Chile’s Communist Party. After criticizing President Gabriel González Videla’s violent suppression of Communism, Neruda becomes a wanted fugitive in his own country and is forced into a life on the run, with his Argentinian lover Delia del Carril (Mercedes Morán). On his tail is a State-supported police inspector named Oscar Peluchonneau (Gabriel García Bernal), a feisty but egotistical officer who’s search for personal glory and obsession with Neruda as an enigma undermines his manhunt. Peluchonneau, always steps behind the much beloved Neruda, walks willingly into the poet’s traps, constantly falling victim to his own vanity. President Videla and his staff hold little regard for Peluchonneau, whose parentage even he isn’t sure of. Is he the son of the great Chilean police officer Olivier Peluchonneau? As Peluchonneau’s internal and external search rages, Neruda continues to spread his words out to the people with the help of a defiantly loyal group of people dedicated to keeping his location secret and keeping his powerful poetry in the hands of the working class people fighting against the fascist forces at the head of the state.

Larraín’s film is not overly concerned with plot, but instead wrapped up in the concepts and ideas behind Neruda’s ever-powerful message. Neruda‘s screenplay (by Guillermo Calderón) goes through great lengths in showing the divide between Neruda’s ideas – which were hopeful and utopian in nature – and his behavior, which was inconsistent, tempestuous and occasionally lecherous in terms of his treatment of women. Communism has been such a bluntly important figure in the histories of so many Latin American countries, and those same histories are littered with men preaching Communist ideals, while then going on to portray the very people they were said to represent. There’s a big difference between those who preach Communism and those who practice it. Larraín and Calderón are both working within this complicated humanity, the difficulty in establishing governmental balance and social equality, the failings of human nature when given power. Neruda believed in the working class and the people, Peluchonneau believes in professional duty and party loyalty. Neruda is filled with conversations regarding the true nature of being a Communist, being an artist and being a human being.

There are times when the manhunt at the center of Neruda becomes akin to a South American version of Michael Mann’s Heat. The lines between good and evil are blurred. Neruda’s quest begins to look self-serving, and Peluchonneau’s search has moments of endearment. Larraín doesn’t appear interested in assigning good guy and bad guy tags. The poetry of Neruda flows through both men, even if one of them isn’t even aware of it. With cinematographer Sergio Armstrong and editor Hervé Schneid, Larraín creates a striking visual identity within Neruda. Conversations switch in and out of various locations, the power dynamics of various relationships shifting from shot to shot. The imbalance is useful in Larraín’s attempts to communicate the complications of the situation. The performances of Gnecco and García Bernal work steadily toward creating this fascinating game of cat and mouse, where who is the cat and who is the mouse seems to keep changing. As del Carril, Morán is brilliant, at times devastating as Neruda’s loyal lover. This is the Pablo Larraín biopic one should see in 2016 (though, seeing it in 2016 is no longer an option), as the Chilean director proves once again how truly gifted he is as a visual storyteller.

 

Directed by Pablo Larraín