QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN

The soil is dry and barren. The vegetation is scarce: there is barely a tree in sight. The weather is sunny and a little nippy. The landscape boasts all shades of yellow, from pastel sand all the way to rich fold. Quiet and intropective Caviche (Sebastian Damian) lives with his partner Chelina (Maria Ibarra Peña), who is pregnant with their first child. The arrival of a new family member, however, isn’t good news at all. They fear that Chelina’s overprotective, macho father may want to punish them. And so they opt for an abortion. The procedure is described in agonising detail, in a powerful scene that favours a powerful script, and simple and impactful narration over graphic details.

Caviche joins the local petrol smuggling gang in the hope to raise money for the troubled couple. He meets gang leader Callo-Callo seated inside his precarious shaft, surrounded by rusty cars, and enveloped by cheesy pop music. It feels very eerie. The kingpin behaves indeed like a monarch. His his sycophantic stooges tend to his long braids and delicate hands, as he strikes a pompous pose. His stature is geometrically opposed to his formidable behaviour. He’s aged around nine, with a squeaky girly voice. The contrast between the child body and the toxic masculinity is creepy, and also a little funny. Undaunted by his diminutive looks, Callo-Callo has full sway over the closely-knit criminal community. He commits to helping Caviche, despite the reluctance of one of his followers. Caviche quickly incorporates Callo-Callo’s ruthlessness conveyed into his own demeanour. He becomes a willing gang member, prepared to resort to shocking violence if needed.

Fire is at the centre of this drama. Chelina significantly exclaims: “I’d rather be burned alive than to carry on living in fear”. And such is indeed the fate of some characters. Immolation becomes a weapon for punishment, but also a tool towards redemption. Both Damian and Peña deliver gently smouldering performances. Their characters burn without a flame.

Despite the fiery premise, Seed of the Desert is not an explosive movie. More slow-burn than incendiary. The developments – however dramatic – are quiet and subtle. Everything is handled from a distance. The characters are mostly seen in medium and long shots, and the camera remains mostly static, ensuring some Brechtian alienation. The significant close-ups only come at the end of this 80-minute gangster fable, when viewers are finally offered a little intimacy with our two protagonists, and these two characters are allowed a little humanity. The violence – however excessive, the de facto local currency – is never portrayed in graphic detail. Viewers are spared gruesome violence. The focus remains on the oppressively dry environment, and the couple’s inescapable predicament.

Sebastian Parra R’s sophomore feature (nearly a decade after his acclaimed debut Anthropos, in 2015) is a masterfully poetic and technically accomplished movie. David Curto’s exuberant cinematography deserves unequivocal praise. The desert acquires a sombre quality, often filmed at dawn and dusk. Despite the gloom, the skilled DoP never exits the spectrum of warm colours. Human skin gleams, providing characters with a near-divine quality, in stark contrast to their callous and unholy behaviour. And thanks to the respectful gaze of the makers, the artistry never slips into exploitation. This is not poverty porn, but instead a movie crafted with heart, soul, and a firm directorial hand. A remarkable achievement for a low-budget movie that started out with a small crowdfunding effort.

The narrative is dogged by some minor plot holes (for example, the relationship with Chelina’s father and a very surprising development are not clearly explained). This does not compromise the integrity of the viewing experience.

Seed of the Desert just premiered in the Official Competition of the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival. I hope it doesn’t take another decade before Parra R makes this next movie.