everything
is as it was
by Douglas Messerli
Paz Alicia Garciadiego (based on the
novella by Gabriel García Márquez), Arturo Ripstein (director) El Colonel no tiene quein le escriba (No One Writes to the Colonel) / 1999
The Colonel, moreover, lives still in the world of his youth, during
which he fought, along with the Communists, in the Cristeros War (La Cristiada), the 1917
Mexican battles waged against the clerics by then Mexican President Plutarco
Elłas Calles in his struggle to help peasants to gain property rights, a
revolution which the Catholic Church had opposed. Thousands were killed in the
10 year persecution of Church and its believers.
Although his loving wife certainly knows
that the money will never arrive, she, in a kind of tacit compact with her
husband and his ideals, keeps hoping for a miracle, hiding the fact that the
debtors are soon to evict them if their mortgage remains unpaid. The wonder of
this work is that, unlike so many of García Márquez’s writings, there is no
“magic” at work in their lives. The only thing of value they hold—other than
each other’s sometimes begrudging love—is “Blondie,” a fighting cock once owned
by their son, and the cause, so they are told, of his murder by a local
carnival worker, Nogales (Daniel Giménez Cacho), who also shared with Agustin
the love of the local prostitute, Julia (Selma Hayek).
There are figures who, knowing of the
Colonel and his wife’s situation, try to help, including the owner of a local
market (whose kindness is defied by her daughter’s insistence that Lola pay for
anything she might wish to purchase) and even the prostitute Julia, who buys a
few provisions just to help Lola and her husband survive. But the destitute
couple is too proud to even accept these insignificant provisions. We know from
the outset, alas, that this elderly couple cannot survive, and much as in
Michael Haneke’s 2012 Amour, they have only their love to temporarily
sustain them.
Knowing that, we see their brave attempts
to survive a bit longer—the Coronel’s painful sale of “Blondie” to his corrupt
former comrade in battle, Don Sabas (Ernesto Yáñez), Lola’s sale of her wedding
ring to the local priest whose major community activity seems to be attending
the weekly movies, and their symbolic sale to a German of time itself, in their
temporarily restored clock—hardly matters; even the director and his writer, at
times, seem to forget the results of these demands and sacrifices (Did the sale
of her ring pay for the mortgage? Did the agents back off their attempts to
evict the couple?), particularly given the fact that the Colonel, missing the
fighting cock, buys it back with the intent to put it into competition.
In a sense, it doesn’t truly matter, for
the important thing is that this couple stands, in their steady love, against
almost everyone else in their community—including the kindly figures of Julia,
who claims that she cannot feel love, and the doctor, who leaves wife at home
in his search for sexual satisfaction with local young men. In two instances,
moreover, the Colonel proves that
Although everyone believes that Agustin
has died for the love of a woman, stabbed to death in a fighting-cock ring, the
Colonel gradually comes to comprehend that a banned underground newspaper his
son had hidden beneath his shirt has become transferred to his skin through the
moisture always present in this forever rainy village and the sweat of the
event; revealed as a political radical, Agustin, accordingly, has been executed
by Nogales not because of Julia but because of his political views. To most,
this shift of causation may seem like a minor detail in what is described by
his fellow citizens merely as “destiny.” But given the Colonel’s strong moral
code, the realization of the “truth” is everything.
The film ends, as we knew it must, with a
dream of hope even within the reality of despair. Convinced his rooster will
win in the upcoming fight 45 days away, he sits as if about to wait out the
time in proud anticipation of the day when they can pay all their debts. When
his wife asks what they eat in the meantime, he answers, “shit,” a word which
ends this sad film. Like inverted cannibals, they now have no choice but to
consume themselves—bodies which, at least spiritually, are rich and sustaining.
Los Angeles, June 28, 2014
Reprinted from World Cinema Review (June 2014).
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