| Review:
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A weirdly conceived combo National Geographic fatefully
beyond the grave outing and rustic version of Sex And The
City, Silent Light (Stellet Licht) probes the unhealthier
sexual habits of an insular contemporary Mennonite religious
community in rural Mexico. And while playing out in an exhausting
nearly slow motion real time, the cinematic cultural turning
of tables does fascinate, as an exotic dramatic glimpse
of uptight gringo fundamentalists through Latino eyes.***
Written and directed by Mexican filmmaker Carlos Reygadas
(Japon, Battle In Heaven), Silent Light gives nearly equal
weight to its archaic German speaking (Plautdietsch) nonactors
and the exquisitely captured sights and sounds surrounding
them in their natural primeval habitat. Which tends to dwarf
the dramatic conflicts, already muffled in great part by
these radically inhibited and internalized characters. Though
one must wonder if this is a reflection of cultural authenticity,
or unavoidable two-way-street stereotyping from an outsider's
perspective.***
Silent Light focuses on the plight of Johan (Cornelio
Wall), a Mennonite farmer with a houseful of children and
a wife Esther (Miriam Toews), that he cherishes but for
whom his sexual impulses no longer, shall we say, rise to
the occasion. And Johann has seemingly against his will
and better judgment, consummated an attraction to a local
and eagerly willing single woman and tourist restaurant
entrepreneur, Marianne (Maria Pankratz), but with complete
honesty about this affair shared with his brokenhearted
though resigned wife. And Johan's dad is no help in these
matters, because when his perplexed son seeks the old man's
advice, Dad informs him that he had a roving eye as well,
when the depressed lad was born.***
Despite the profoundly tragic nature of this story,
Reygadas seems to have some playful when not satirical mischief
on his mind. The primary aspect here, being that love is
truly blind. In other words, this mutually laconic middle-aged
adulterous pair is comprised of paunchy Johan and homely,
withered Marianne, while Esther is an obviously far more
attractive and bubbly personality. So while Johan and Marianne
go at it with overpowering sexual hunger, the audience is
likely to simply not get it.***
Then there's the matter of pacifism, the primary social
force guiding this antiquated community, and given nearly
equal importance with their religious fervor. So while every
character in this oddly muted triangle wallows in despair,
nobody gets angry or lashes out. Though ultimately all pay
a terrible price, not least of which is the suppression
of rage as a deadly consequence, and nonviolence as apparently
dangerous to your mental and physical health. Is Reygadas
slyly intimating that pacifism can be as wrongheaded and
unworkable a solution to human problems as violence?***
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