CANNES
2002
"JAPÓN",
A DEPURATE SENSITIVITY EXERCISE
"Japón",
is the feature debut by the Mexican Carlos Reygadas, one
of this year's cinematographic sensations. This weird film,
bringing unexpected scope plans, was one of the most commented
in Cannes 2002, in the parallel section 'Director's Fortnight'.
As well as it was in January, during the Rotterdam Festival,
in Holland, where it was presented in a less refined version.
Whether
we like it or not, it can't be denied that we are facing
a perceptional phenomenon, a depurate sensitivity exercise.
The film follows with precision the nihilist journey of
a character who conceives his own death row. It travels
in his inner time searching for the absence of time, taking
refuge in the hinterlands of a country and in a beautiful
and barren geography.
The
landscapes in "Japón" are the Hidalgo state,
200 kilometers from Mexico City. Reygadas' inspiration comes
from the Russian films by the master Andrei Tarkovski. The
title evoking Japan is just an invitation to dispersion
and to an unexpected trip that might have distinct interpretation
levels. "Like Terry Gilliam did by naming one of his
films Brazil", says the Mexican director.
Carlos
Reygadas was born to the movies when at the age of 16, he
discovers by chance Tarkovski's cinema and a new way of
expression. But he keeps on studying international law and
writes his thesis on the UN and its Security Council for
world peace. Graduated at 23, he goes to London to study
the genesis of armed conflicts and the international penal
law courts. Crisis with law studies comes when everything
seems to be prepared for a brilliant diplomatic career.
The young lawyer decides that what he is looking for might
be in the movies and starts studying it at the Insaas, in
Brussels. He writes the script for "Japón"
between September 1999 and February 2000. The film is made
with very little resources and the participation of almost
all members of his family and friends, as actors, technicians
and extras.
The
neo-existentialism in "Japón" leaves its
prints along this unusual sensorial experience. The man,
who travels to put an end to his life, finds his end-of-the-world
in the hut of an old widow Indian woman. It is in this relationship
that he finds his humanism, his sexuality. The end he wanted
so much turns out not to be just an end. The Iranian cinema's
detachment, who could tell, echoes in Mexico.