There is a scene about half way through La Mirada Invisible that, for some reason, reminded me of Powell and Pressburger’s 1947 masterpiece Black Narcissus. Our protagonist Marita, a young teaching assistant at a wealthy, elaborate school in Buenos Aires during the political unrest and impending revolution of the early 1980s, is dressing up for a party. She is not an extrovert person by any stretch of the imagination; instead, her insecurity and patent sexual frustration become even more obvious in the party scene itself, provoking feelings of deep embarrassment and humiliation in Marita. But enough of that: why did it remind me of a film that, on the surface (and indeed in almost every way imaginable) is totally different?
I could not help thinking of Kathleen Byron, fetishistically applying lipstick in front of Deborah Kerr in the ultimate act of demented defiance, finally succumbing to her isolation and the suppression of her sexual urges. Sex is something that cannot be escaped in La Mirada Invisible: the plot takes place among students on the brink of adulthood, their hormones raging, and sex – the most elemental and primitive of all human acts, although never mentioned directly, pervades the atmosphere. It is menacing and inescapable; it is forever whispered about, sniggered at, and suppressed by a strict educational system. For Marita, whose sexual repression, painful inexperience and naivety confuse her at every turn, she is set up almost from the very start as one of many victims of this world.
Of course, political allegories are beloved by film buffs everywhere. There will be no prize for the first viewer to spot that the school is simply a microcosm of the fractured world just beyond its gates; yet when we finally reach the brink of the revolution, it is simply heard from inside the building in muffled echoes of violence; we are not permitted to see. Most of the film is set indoors; largely around Marita’s small apartment, which she shares with her mother and grandmother, and the school itself: a vast, cold, whitewashed building, with floors and pillars of marble, shining coolly and sinisterly in the pale white light pouring in through the windows. There is a horrible feeling of illness – both mental and physical – that gradually creeps up on us during the movie.
Marita is employed largely for surveillance. She is to keep an ‘invisible eye’ on the actions of the students under her care. Her superior is an authoritative figure named Carlos Biasutto, an imposing man who clearly signifies the corrupt dictator in this scaled down vision of political Argentina. This premise leads to some interesting developments, which I will not disclose, but which will no doubt polarise the opinions of its audience as to the effectiveness of some elements of the film’s plot.
My problems with the film lie not in the technicalities: both cinematography (including a wonderful title sequence) and acting are excellent. However, the director Diego Lerman’s political statements sometimes seem a little heavy-handed and unoriginal; this leads to an unfortunate situation whereby the plot, and in particular the film’s ending, actually become very predictable, somewhat lessening its emotional impact.
The other thing I should definitely mention is that La Mirada Invisible is a very slow-burner. For some, this won’t matter; I’m sure for many, the slow pace will actually improve their enjoyment of the film. The plot is sparse and simple in its mechanics; this, on balance, is a positive thing, although I began to feel as the film continued that there needed to be a little more development, progression and diversity simply in terms of the events within it (I will simply say one word here – ‘toilets’).
However, I have to say that, for a film I knew nothing about, and from a director I’d never heard of before sitting down to watch it, La Mirada Invisible did impress me. Some will find much of the material here rehashed or forced – especially some of the speeches made by the Biasutto character earlier on in the film – but there are glimpses of brilliance to be found here as well. In terms of the director’s vision, the movie is quite an accomplishment; the ending, although predictable, is carried off with great panache and subtle technical skill. Perhaps my favourite two scenes in the whole film, however, involve two night-time discussions that Marita has with her grandmother. Marita is a victim; ultimately a caring, yet emotionally vulnerable young woman. Perhaps her job as a spy gives her a superficial sense of authority, but of course, this is not nearly enough to fill that her crushing emotional insecurity. As you can probably guess, things don’t turn out well…
Considering that this is quite possibly the only opportunity a Manchester audience will get to watch La Mirada Invisible, I would certainly put this high up on my list of recommendations if you want to see some of the movies on offer at ¡Viva! this year. Flawed and rough around the edges it may be, but this is a good film in its own right, and will certainly make an impression on the viewer.