Last updated on August 31, 2023
A film by Pablo Larraín
With: Jaime Vadell, Gloria Münchmeyer, Alfredo Castro, Paula Luchsinger
A black comedy picturing bloody Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet as a 250-year-old vampire.
Our Review: *
Here at the editorial office, we all recognize Larrain‘s talent, even if we don’t necessarily choose the same films. Ema, for example, had divided us somewhat, but we chose to retain only the (ultra) positive opinion. It’s an understatement to say that we were looking forward to discovering El Conde in the running for the Lion d’Or, and had already placed it among our favorites. It has to be said that the synopsis alone suggests that the film gives Larrain the opportunity to enjoy himself, in both form and content, and that this pleasure can be passed on to the viewer. El Conde begins, as we might have expected, with a rather dynamic, technically interesting set-up (could this prologue have been better filmed or staged, potentially, but could a lesser result have been achieved, certainly). The first note is given, and although we’ve noted the capital N in the credits, which doesn’t always augur well for the product, we’ll drop this bias – all the more so since that’s all we’re asking for – and surmise that, after this prologue, Larrain will be able to develop his story, bringing complexity, richness and, we hope, expertise and insight, to repay Pinochet, who crushed Chile with his authoritarian power and multiple exactions. We’re looking forward to an intelligent pamphlet, a firebrand that draws on history to give thanks to an oppressed people, to internationalize the tragedy experienced by Chileans in those dark years, which they are still inheriting. All this, we hope, with mischief, poetry and an artistic scope of which we know Larrain is capable. So much for our hopes, quickly thwarted by what takes place instead. It’s as if Larrain and the El Conde team had nothing more to say, nothing to develop, nothing to bring to the form or content of this one basic premise, fun in itself and full of promise. In terms of development, all we get is a repetition of the pattern – and the tradition – in which a vampire film is set, that of feeding its hero fresh blood, listing the various sources of supply and associated crimes so that eternal youth doesn’t turn into a geriatric hell. At this point, we wonder why it’s so fashionable to systematically use a centrifuge to prepare blood beverages and crush hearts that are still beating. Probably so that the fascination with the morbid can have an effect? Not for us. After what we thought was an inspiring introduction, similar to what Jarmush achieved with Only Lovers Left Alive, El conde gets bogged down in a narrative that’s as vain as it is hollow, adding nothing to what’s already been set up, neither formally, and even more annoyingly, nor in terms of substance – even though there’s no shortage of Pinochet’s pots and pans. Larrain seems to have far less to say than he did about Jackie Kennedy (to use a rather neutral biopic), or Neruda, to have nothing to say politically that goes beyond the simplistic thinking and epitome of “Pinochet was no good, he was a dictator”, historically, or even sarcastically. After this introduction, then, we grow weary. El Conde is therefore worth seeing mainly for its synopsis, its WTF side, its glossy black and white and its 35 (or even 22 mm) focal lengths, very much stamped Netflix.
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