Tag Archives: Alfredo Mayo

Mondays in the Sun (2002, Fernando León de Aranoa)

At some point, around the halfway point but maybe a little earlier, Mondays in the Sun becomes an endurance spectacle—can director de Aranoa (who co-wrote with Ignacio del Moral) actually keep the film lyrical. There are softly epical arcs in the film, but they get resolved gradually (or not at all) in the final third. There’s no potential for the epical arc because it’s about people in stasis; the film is about these three ship-builders who got protested their fellows getting laid off and ended up getting laid off themselves. Four years later, there’s no progress. They’re past desperation at this point, halfheartedly clinging to various hopes, while (proverbially) clinging to their beers with double fists. Proverbial because no one actually double-fists their drinks. Actually, they’re patient, pensive drinkers.

The film opens with footage of the cops attacking the protesting workers, set to this really calm, really gentle music (by Lucio Godoy). Like everything with Mondays, it’s patient, deliberate. It’s just the militarized cops doing worse and worse things to the protesters. Then it’s over; fade out. de Aranoa and editor Nacho Ruiz Capillas have excellent fade outs in the film. Sometimes they’re for humor, sometimes they’re for tragedy, most times they’re for a combination of both.

There’s an immediate tone change in the subsequent scene, which introduces the primary cast and one of the most frequented locations—José Ángel Egido is taking the ferry to a job interview, Javier Bardem and Luis Tosar are going along too. Tosar’s going along because he too is ostensibly still looking for work. Bardem’s along because he’s got nothing else to do. They raze Egido for being too old for this job he’s trying to get. There’s no exposition setting up the context of the opening protest, we don’t find out it’s four years later until the last half of the movie, there are just single lines of dialogue—friends needling each other—to set up the characters’ ground situations. It helps Bardem’s a talker. He’s able to fill out a lot. And he’s a master needler, so the exposition comes through in some of the responses to his pokes. Mondays has a phenomenal script. de Aranoa’s direction is excellent, sure, but it’s the script. The script and the actors.

Bardem’s a ladies man—he spends his days screwing and daydreaming, avoiding paying a fine for a broken streetlight in the protest. It’s not an expensive fine, it’s the principle. All Bardem has at this point, the film explores, is that adherence to his principles, which aren’t so much tested as tempted; Bardem’s got his lines and he doesn’t cross them, but it takes a while make them all out.

Tosar’s the married one. Well, both he and Egido and supporting pal Celso Bugallo are all married but Tosar’s the one whose wife (Nieve de Medina) gets the film’s attention. She works at the tuna factory, standing twelve-hour shifts, no longer able to feel her legs. Tosar’s at home, “job hunting” with the boys, or at the bar. Of everyone, he’s got the most epical arc in the film, at least the implication of it. Because as the runtime progresses, Tosar’s drinking comes home with him. He adores de Medina, but given their situation—they only ever see each other in passing—it becomes a nuisance to her. Because it’s been four years.

Then there’s Egido, who’s trying to competent with men twenty years younger for office jobs he’s not really qualified for. He’s got a somewhat epical arc—he’s adapting to the job interviews, he’s trying to learn new things—but told in the most lyrical way of anything in the film. Like I said, the script is amazing. Egido’s got a wife and family at home, so he’s in a much different situation. There’s also the implication he didn’t blow through his severance like Bardem definitely did and Tosar seems to have done. He’s the responsible one. And it’s breaking him. Mondays is an exploration of dignity, resolve, and stubbornness. When they’re confused, when they’re called for, when they’re not.

It doesn’t just explore through Egido, Tosar, and Bardem; their pals are just as important. There’s Bugallo, who becomes a day drinker with his wife away taking care of family. There’s Joaquín Climent, who owns the bar where they all drink. He took his severance and set up a place where everyone else could give him theirs (but no, he actually comps his alcoholic pals). He’s also got teenage daughter Aida Folch, who probably shouldn’t be growing up in this environment. Especially not given Bardem’s such an oaf of a man-slut. Then there’s Enrique Villén, who’s a security guard (so a cop), and Serge Riaboukine, who came to Spain when the Soviet Union collapsed. Cosmonaut to ship-builder to handbill passer. And because the acting and the script are so damn good, Mondays is able to get away with such an obvious statement about the world grinding up its workers.

Performance-wise, Bardem’s best. Then Egido. Then de Medina, then Tosar. She’s better because of the material. Suffering wife beats out passive inflicter of said suffering. The supporting cast is all excellent too.

Very nice cinematography from Archie Mayo. That Godoy score is great—gentle, yet aware of the grit. Capillas’s editing is fantastic. Julio Esteban’s production design. The technical side is all strong.

Mondays in the Sun is an outstanding film.

4/4★★★★

CREDITS

Directed by Fernando León de Aranoa; written by de Aranoa and Ignacio del Moral; director of photography, Alfredo Mayo; edited by Nacho Ruiz Capillas; music by Lucio Godoy; production designer, Julio Esteban; produced by Elías Querejeta and Jaume Roures; released by Sogepaq.

Starring Javier Bardem (Santa), José Ángel Egido (Lino), Luis Tosar (Jose), Nieve de Medina (Ana), Joaquín Climent (Rico), Aida Folch (Nata), Enrique Villén (Reina), Serge Riaboukine (Serguei), and Celso Bugallo (Amador).



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Voodoo Black Exorcist (1974, Manuel Caño)

Voodoo Black Exorcist is exasperatingly dull. In the first scene, which is before the opening titles, after a few seconds it becomes clear seventh century Haitian lovers Aldo Sambrell and Eva León aren’t just star-crossed, they’re also in blackface. Voodoo Exorcist Black is not a Blaxploitation horror film, but a (dubbed) Spanish remake of The Mummy set in the Caribbean.

Though calling it a horror movie is a little too gracious, because it’s never scary. It’s only compelling twice–both involving León, who isn’t good or appealing, she’s just the one who suffers the most in Santiago Moncada’s weird script and she gets some pity. So when León’s threatened, maybe Black Exorcist Voodoo registers a pulse. Maybe.

So after this terribly done but somewhat energetic opening sequence, the film moves to the present. By showing NASA footage of shuttle launches and moon shots and whatever else. It’s weird. It’s a weird way to do a time transition and one has to wonder if it was in the original Spanish version or something the dubbers came up with. Because the dubbers do a lot on the film. They do a lot.

But it’s not clear they make the movie much worse. Black Voodoo Exorcist is already atrocious. Maybe if there was some background noise it would help on some of the cruise ship interiors. I forgot–the movie is a Mummy remake set on a cruise ship. The cruise ship is transporting the mummy, who occasionally turns into an intense white guy, also Aldo Sambrell. León and Sambrell might have been black a thousand years ago, but now they’re both white. León through reincarnation, Sambrell… just because? He even becomes black again when he mummifies. It’s weird. But it’s just a bad weird.

Eventually Sambrell teams up with archeologist Alfredo Mayo. Mayo is León’s lover. She’s his secretary. She wants to get married. Even though he’s a gross old man and she’s a hot young woman, he doesn’t seem to want to get married. There’s no tension about it though, because both actors are so bad. And the script. And Caño’s exasperatingly bad direction.

Exorcist Black Voodoo is Panavision too. It’s a nice wide frame of cruise ship exteriors and not cruise ship interiors. Even though Roberto Ochoa’s photography isn’t good, it’s bright enough to betray visual inconsistency. But Caño’s setups are all bad so it’s easily on him too.

In the second act, the movie actually teases being interesting as Sambrell starts courting León. By starts, I mean there’s a short scene. Then it’s over and it’s back to being boring. Then Fernando Sancho’s self-depreciating police inspector gets all the screen time as he investigates Sambrell.

Exorcist Voodoo Black is a movie where a cop turns a firehose on an escaping thousand year-old voodoo mummy (Sambrell’s always running when in his mummy makeup). And it’s not amusing for a frame.

I’m not even sure Voodoo Black Exorcist deserves a good joke made about it.

0/4ⓏⒺⓇⓄ

CREDITS

Directed by Manuel Caño; written by Santiago Moncada; director of photography, Roberto Ochoa; edited by Antonio Ramírez de Loaysa and Frederic Vich; music by Fernando García Morcillo; produced by José Antonio Pérez Giner; released by Horizon Films.

Starring Aldo Sambrell (Guedé Nibo), Eva León (Silvia), Alfredo Mayo (Dr. Kessling), and Fernando Sancho (Comisario Domínguez).


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