TONY MANERO (2008/ Chile - directed by Pablo Larrain) *SOME SPOILERS FOLLOW*
Raul is a man just beyond middle-aged; a little bit past his prime. Not very good at anything. Except maybe dancing. Trouble is, Raul's knees aren't too happy these days about the kind of disco dance moves they are forced to take the strain of. But that's not going to stop Raul from doing what he now knows he was born to do - dance the disco!
Meet Raul Peralta - a man looking for a way to escape from a life where all he has to rely on is mimicking the John Travolta role of iconic dancing king Tony Manero in Saturday Night Fever. For a living. Or for a chance of a living. It's a shot at stardom, doomed to fail, but what else is there to rely on? The dark days of the Pinochet dictatorship hang heavy in daily life all around him; his heart is blackened, and the soot falls heavy on the white suit he wears to the dance class. But the dancefloor holds more hope than any of the the streets this man walks down, any of the bedrooms he finds himself stumbling into.
Raul spends all he can on cheap and chipped glass tiles to make a pathetic little disco dancefloor to impress his fellow dancers with; a group of wide-eyed and hope-drained followers who see the white suit Raul wears as evidence of freedom; of a better life.
Raul's love life is equally bleak; though he does at least have one, and seeks occasional company in the arms of his dull-eyed but willing girlfriend and later in the arms and untidy bed of his girlfriend's daughter, a girl conspiring against the Pinochet regime but ultimately doomed to lose everything in every way possible. Raul is seen walking the perma-strutting daughter through the living room to the bedroom after a few too many drinks; right past her watching friends and right in front of his so sad-eyed but strangely passive girlfriend, in a quite unsettling and shocking scene.
Raul's obsession with the film Saturday Night Fever, playing daily at the local picturehouse, is absolute. It's freedom and escape. But in the end; it's a curse and a slippery slope into total immorality. In real life, in Raul's reality - old women get mugged; projectionists get beaten to a pulp when they play (horror of horrors) the film Grease, where Travolta is no longer the harder-edged Tony Manero character, but a character all bright and breezy and wearing a different outfit, with different dance moves.
Raul has devoted too many days of his life to practising the Manero dance moves; to wearing the exact same outfits; into trying to win the Tony Manero of Chile competition, to stop now. Trouble is - he's not a very good Tony Manero. He's more Al Pacino in Dog Day Afternoon or Scarface; more Tony Montana than Manero. In the original Saturday Night Fever, a girlfriend of Travolta's character compares him to Pacino after kissing him on the dancefoor: "Ohh, I just kissed Al Pacino" she croons - a nice touch and neat link to the original movie.
Raul can dance - but not that well. He slips and stumbles at key moves; his knee giving way. The lingering camera doesn't zoom in on any reaction when the inevitable, literal fall - or slip from assumed perfection, comes. Raul carries on with the dance - and the camera does too. In a way, the camera tries to hide what Raul is also hiding; as if we may not notice. But we do. This is masterly direction from Pablo Larrain.
In the last reel there's a chance it may not all end in absolute failure for Raul. A decision in the final stages of the dance competition could go either way, with just two contenders up for the crown at the last dance saloon -could Raul actually win? Is he the 'new best Tony Manero impersonator' in Chile? He will either come first or second. But a runner-up is just another nobody. When asked what his profession is at the dance contest, Raul looks puzzled: "This" he replies, without seeing the irony.
Raul may do something unexpected and nasty to the suit of a rival (in a scene that is really quite disgusting and puts to bed any hope that Raul isn't as depraved as he may at first appear), but it's his own white disco suit that is forever ruined; that will forever be missing the right number of buttons to make him a true Manero impersonator - a suit that is already splashed with the blood of the innocent.
The performance of Alfredo Castro as Raul is heart-wrenching, absolute and intense. It's real, without the barriers of a performance to distract; he is Raul, in the same way he will never be Tony Manero.
This remains a film that refutes the beauty and passion in hardship; denies its existence; embraces the blackest humour and lives the darkest of days. There's no bad boy made good moral to be found here. No pot of gold or winning ticket at the end of this rainbow; this great glass elevator is chipped and broken and going nowhere.
If you thought the real Tony Manero had it bad, you ain't seen nothing yet! by ~ Mark Gordon Palmer
Raul is a man just beyond middle-aged; a little bit past his prime. Not very good at anything. Except maybe dancing. Trouble is, Raul's knees aren't too happy these days about the kind of disco dance moves they are forced to take the strain of. But that's not going to stop Raul from doing what he now knows he was born to do - dance the disco!
Meet Raul Peralta - a man looking for a way to escape from a life where all he has to rely on is mimicking the John Travolta role of iconic dancing king Tony Manero in Saturday Night Fever. For a living. Or for a chance of a living. It's a shot at stardom, doomed to fail, but what else is there to rely on? The dark days of the Pinochet dictatorship hang heavy in daily life all around him; his heart is blackened, and the soot falls heavy on the white suit he wears to the dance class. But the dancefloor holds more hope than any of the the streets this man walks down, any of the bedrooms he finds himself stumbling into.
Raul spends all he can on cheap and chipped glass tiles to make a pathetic little disco dancefloor to impress his fellow dancers with; a group of wide-eyed and hope-drained followers who see the white suit Raul wears as evidence of freedom; of a better life.
Raul's love life is equally bleak; though he does at least have one, and seeks occasional company in the arms of his dull-eyed but willing girlfriend and later in the arms and untidy bed of his girlfriend's daughter, a girl conspiring against the Pinochet regime but ultimately doomed to lose everything in every way possible. Raul is seen walking the perma-strutting daughter through the living room to the bedroom after a few too many drinks; right past her watching friends and right in front of his so sad-eyed but strangely passive girlfriend, in a quite unsettling and shocking scene.
Raul's obsession with the film Saturday Night Fever, playing daily at the local picturehouse, is absolute. It's freedom and escape. But in the end; it's a curse and a slippery slope into total immorality. In real life, in Raul's reality - old women get mugged; projectionists get beaten to a pulp when they play (horror of horrors) the film Grease, where Travolta is no longer the harder-edged Tony Manero character, but a character all bright and breezy and wearing a different outfit, with different dance moves.
Raul has devoted too many days of his life to practising the Manero dance moves; to wearing the exact same outfits; into trying to win the Tony Manero of Chile competition, to stop now. Trouble is - he's not a very good Tony Manero. He's more Al Pacino in Dog Day Afternoon or Scarface; more Tony Montana than Manero. In the original Saturday Night Fever, a girlfriend of Travolta's character compares him to Pacino after kissing him on the dancefoor: "Ohh, I just kissed Al Pacino" she croons - a nice touch and neat link to the original movie.
Raul can dance - but not that well. He slips and stumbles at key moves; his knee giving way. The lingering camera doesn't zoom in on any reaction when the inevitable, literal fall - or slip from assumed perfection, comes. Raul carries on with the dance - and the camera does too. In a way, the camera tries to hide what Raul is also hiding; as if we may not notice. But we do. This is masterly direction from Pablo Larrain.
In the last reel there's a chance it may not all end in absolute failure for Raul. A decision in the final stages of the dance competition could go either way, with just two contenders up for the crown at the last dance saloon -could Raul actually win? Is he the 'new best Tony Manero impersonator' in Chile? He will either come first or second. But a runner-up is just another nobody. When asked what his profession is at the dance contest, Raul looks puzzled: "This" he replies, without seeing the irony.
Raul may do something unexpected and nasty to the suit of a rival (in a scene that is really quite disgusting and puts to bed any hope that Raul isn't as depraved as he may at first appear), but it's his own white disco suit that is forever ruined; that will forever be missing the right number of buttons to make him a true Manero impersonator - a suit that is already splashed with the blood of the innocent.
The performance of Alfredo Castro as Raul is heart-wrenching, absolute and intense. It's real, without the barriers of a performance to distract; he is Raul, in the same way he will never be Tony Manero.
This remains a film that refutes the beauty and passion in hardship; denies its existence; embraces the blackest humour and lives the darkest of days. There's no bad boy made good moral to be found here. No pot of gold or winning ticket at the end of this rainbow; this great glass elevator is chipped and broken and going nowhere.
If you thought the real Tony Manero had it bad, you ain't seen nothing yet! by ~ Mark Gordon Palmer