Marfa Film Festival: Dispatch #1

One of the first things that you notice about Marfa is the spirit and vibe of the place. No one seems to be in a hurry and everyone has a friendly hat tip or hello to offer. Laid back doesn't even cover it; things just roll more easily here, smiles and warm gestures are second nature. This would manifest itself in the first events of the evening, which were running a bit behind schedule. At any other festival that we have attended a 30 minute delay would have had tempers flying and fingers pointing, but not here. Perhaps it was the Patron-laced lemonade or the New Belgium beers that were being passed around, but as the crowd of about 70 people awaited the opening remarks of festival director/producer Robin Lambaria, we didn't observe a single person without a big grin on their face. And when the first strains of Mariachis Los Arrieros sang across the sky, ringing in the official opening of the festival, hoots and hollers of praise and celebration filled the air.

After a quick acknowledgment of some of the key figures behind making this very DIY festival happen, Lambaria introduced the first film of the night, the short Soy Mi Madre, a fascinating study of societal roles and identities, using a three part melodramatic telenovela format as its frame. Director Phil Collins employs some of Mexico's leading television stars to weave together a story of a wealthy family and the housekeepers who tend to their estate, periodically shifting the actors who play each character, signifying that any human could, at any time, play the role of a servant or a master. Collins also plays with the relationship between the viewer and the presenter, cleverly letting the audience in on the fact that even while we are watching the actors create moods and characters, they recognize that they are being watched. With rich, textured production design by Salvador Parra (Volver, Before Night Falls), the short is both engaging and a treat for the eyes.

Following along with the Cinco de Mayo nod to spanish language films, the festival's first feature length offering, Parque Via, took us into the secluded world of Beto (Nolberto Coria), the custodian of a large mansion in Mexico City. Beto's life is rote, performing the same tasks every day: scouring the deep garden tub, mounting a tall ladder to scrub the outside windows, push-mowering the lawn and generally living in a Groundhog Day-type world. Only Beto doesn't get to choose his own adventure, having sequestered himself from the bustling life outside the mansion's doors. When Beto is forced to leave the grounds of this self-induced prison, either to gather supplies from the market or visit the grave of his deceased wife, he almost sleepwalks, keeping his eyes to the ground, a thick layer of sweat constantly cropping up on his forehead. You see, as part of his daily routine, Beto's only link to the outside world is through the sensationalized death-and-despair newscasts on television (which incessantly tout the kidnappings, murders and general unpleasantries of the human experience) and the yellow spanish-language tabloids that are comparative to the National Enquirer. Outside the four walls of his home, which he has been tethered to for 30 years, the only thing that exists is violence, pain and suffering, so when the house is finally sold by its well-to-do matriarch (Tesalia Huerta), Beto finds himself in a precarious position.

One of the things that we noticed right away about Parque Via was how quiet the films is. We didn't clock it, but we would gander that the first 30 minutes or so of the film is completely devoid of any sound or score, save the ambient noises that occur from Beto's rounds: the squeaking of rubber soles on tile, the splash of a bucket of water, the rhythmic ticking of mower blades slicing through grass. Unsettling for sure, the silence works as a sort of deprivation chamber, allowing us to feel for a short time what Beto has experienced for decades. Furthermore, Beto's few interactions with other characters are stunted and emotionless, giving the impression that Beto has completely forgotten how to connect with humans on more than just a business transaction level. All of these choices by first-time-feature director Enrique Rivero prepare the audience for how Beto deals with his impending "release" into the real world, which is undeniably shocking, but ultimately Rivero maintains such a keen sense of continuity between Beto's life before and after his transition that the denouement makes complete sense.

Thankfully, the first day's program only consisted of those two films, as after sitting in a car for seven hours and then in a theater for two we were more than ready to get a little standing time in. From The Crowley Theater we headed to the Liberty Theater, for the opening night soiree, complete with Maine Root ice cream floats (delicious, btw) and a disco-ball-adorned party featuring musical performances by Helado Negro, Lazaro Valiente and a band called Mexicans at Night, who actually only got to play half of one song before the party was shut down by the authorities. Luckily it was already midnight, and everyone was ready for a bit of shut eye at that point, so we lazily strolled back into the star-filled sky. If you've never seen a West Texas sky at midnight, we can tell you that it is almost worth the seven hour drive by itself. Stunning.