Director Carlos Reygadas
OUR TIME (Nuestro tiempo) C+
Mexico (177 mi) 2018 ‘Scope d: Carlos Reygadas Official
site
Bulls, balls, and bullying, a portrait of toxic masculinity
and Mexican machismo, revealing the hold it has on a culture and the nervous
anxiety it causes in others, starring the director himself in the lead role and
his real-life partner Natalia López as his wife (breaking from her customary
role as film editor), shot at the director’s own ranch where he raises bulls,
featuring his own children and animal livestock, becoming an overly
self-indulgent escapade into male domination which really masks the underlying
insecurities that feed into it. Interestingly
entitled “Our Time,” this overall sense of male insecurity may be the driving
political force across the world at the moment, fueled by despots and autocrats
that are making a mockery of the “free” world, which is in such a state of unsurpassed
anxiety and instability that it’s causing Czar-like figures to rise to power,
ruling with impunity. But that’s not
likely the intent, simply a coincidence, as the film has a much more personal
message, challenging the idea of personal freedom (or open borders), suggesting
humans may not be suited for it. If
Reygadas wasn’t such a powerful filmmaker, this might dovetail into an impassioned
melodrama, instead it’s an attempt at transparency within a marriage, one with
no monogamous restrictions, so sexual partners are expanded beyond the marital
framework, allowing sexual curiosity to grow and expand within the marriage
under the idealistic belief this will make their love grow even stronger. Not sure where this idea stems from, but it
appears founded upon male wish-fulfillment fantasy, the idea of having free
access to multiple partners, suggesting a ménage à trois doesn’t go far enough,
but this assumes the woman remains true to one man, as the moment she starts to
explore her own sexual possibilities, the man cries foul, as unlimited access
doesn’t feel so good under those circumstances, as most men fail to accept unlimited
freedom, falling victim to their own jealousy, insecurities, and inherent weakness. While it resembles the expansive scope of
Bergman’s introspective SCENES FROM A MARRIAGE (1973) that flies into a rage of
marital discontent, here it breaks down with the husband turning into a
sniveling coward who is both intensely curious yet equally repulsed by his wife
taking pleasure with another man. The
degree to which he fails so miserably turns him into the lecherous Fernando Rey
from a Buñuel movie, whose sexual obsessions are so overpowering that they
become ridiculous, as his moral hypocrisy (a stand-in for the church) becomes
comical. That’s not likely the desired
intent by Reygadas, who offered hints of this in his previous film, 2012
Top Ten Films of the Year: #2 Post Tenebras Lux, where the wife in that
film indulges in sex with strangers in a group sauna where everyone’s
naked. There it’s an isolated instance,
but here it’s the central focus, as their entire marriage hangs on a thread
from this sexual experimentation, with woman viewed as interchangeable parts
for a man, yet women aren’t allowed to achieve this same level of promiscuity,
as it drives the man bonkers. While it’s
meant to be a serious exposé, who but the wealthy have the luxury to indulge in
this kind of “freedom of expression,” making this is an overly awkward and thoroughly
uncomfortable experience.
Stylistically, this is the same Reygadas, resorting to
powerful imagery that commands the screen, shot by a pair of cinematographers, mostly
Diego García, with additional work from Adrian Durazo, easily capturing the
rhythms of life on a bull farm, with Ester (Natalia López) managing the farm
while Juan (Carlos Reygadas), who also happens to be a highly regarded poet,
selects the bulls and the cowboys that work with them. With the appearance of a loving relationship,
raising their children and working with the hired help adds to the overall
picture of family life, yet working with bulls is exceedingly dangerous work, shown
in graphic detail when a bull gores a helping mule, then pummels it repeatedly,
showcasing his massive strength. From
that point on, viewers are very aware of the bellowing sounds of the bulls off
in the distance, much like the soundtrack of Béla Tarr’s opening scene in SÁTÁNTANGÓ
(1994), as their grunts and snorts are heard throughout the film, and while
never shown, this must include highly physical mating sessions that fill the
quiet of the night air. The film opens
more innocently, however, following a group of kids hanging out in a large
mudhole that they call a lake, though it appears you can stand just about
anywhere, so the boys end up in a mudfight while the more civil girls sun
themselves on a raft. Eventually the
boys target the girls, with a few of the older ones drinking freely and heading
off as couples into the outskirts away from prying eyes for sexual interludes. In this way, the film contrasts the behavior
of children with that of the animals, with a central focus on the open marriage
concept discussed by Juan and Ester, with Juan openly upset when she refuses to
share the intimate details of an overnight trip into the city. His possessiveness is apparent, as is his overcontrolling
nature, where his constant demands place a strain on her mental health, as she
grows tired of always having to answer to him, never having a moment in
peace. What’s immediately obvious is
that a man like Juan and open relationships do not go together, as he’s too tightly
wound and insecure, jealously checking her cellphone to examine her emails,
literally spying on her, then offering this as proof that much more happened than
she was willing to admit. Surprised at
having to deal with his insulting provocations, Ester is put in a painful
position. While she obviously enjoyed
herself, having an exclusive affair with another man, she hated having to put
up with the constant nagging husband who was relentlessly persistent about
requiring salacious details that she wasn’t comfortable sharing with him. This becomes apparent in the first hour of a
three-hour film, becoming cringeworthy after a while, as this behavior repeats
itself mercilessly for another two hours, where the delusional aspects of their
relationship are accentuated, creating irrational expectations that might have
made sense at one point in their marriage, but it’s time to reconsider. Instead, they push on, oblivious to the
internalized hurt and pain they suffer, all self-inflicted, never once examining
their own unreasonableness in opening up their marriage, as it’s clear that’s
something Juan no longer wants, yet it all plays out with Ester as the sex toy
of two men, still feeling like the film is a male fantasy gone wrong.
The story itself is overly simplistic and uninspiring,
rarely delving into Ester’s motivations, as her sniveling husband is hardly the
man she fell in love with, replacing that with some younger version of
masculinity, though one is hard pressed to realize how this is going to solve
any of their problems, as instead it only intensifies. Reygadas uses a strange device of using
children’s voices to express an inner narration for both Juan and Ester, which
may have intended to suggest the childishness of their behavior, but the adult
or more mature aspect of their thoughts is clearly undermined, with viewers
feeling little sympathy for either character, which is what makes this a
difficult sit-through, as it’s not really going anywhere, overanalyzed, feeling
repetitive and intrusive, putting viewers in the awkward position of voyeurs
staring into the window of a troubled marriage like peeping toms. With mathematical precision, Juan then starts
behaving more and more irrationally, literally peeping on Ester and her lover,
staring into windows, devising a contraption that prevents a door from fully
closing and then positioning himself with a view of the bed, becoming comical
in just how pathetic his actions are, yet at the same time, he contacts the
lover and attempts to coerce the direction of their relationship that is more
favorable to him, all done behind the back of Ester, with men devising schemes
to control the outcome. This element of
cowardly desperation, basically cheating in order to change the rules of the
game and effect a more favorable outcome, is inherently repugnant, a moral
abomination, but this is the level Juan will stoop to in order to get what he
wants, though clearly, he’s simply making a fool of himself, clouding his
panicked response with binges of moral self-righteousness. While there are rare moments of eloquence, an
exquisite airplane landing sequence, for instance, or a strange internalized glimpse
of carnal love accentuated by a close-up view of a truck’s motor, most of this
feels like doomed exasperation, with Ester going on this lengthy monologue
describing how he was once the man of her dreams, how she was caught up in the
intoxication of the romance, caught up in his spell, believing they were
sharing a life together where the love would never end, but now it feels as if
their marriage is on a precipice, where it’s up to her to decide the next
direction, feeling newly empowered in a way that never existed before, yet
uncomfortable in the role, as her husband has been reduced to Looney
Tunes. One of the more compelling scenes
is Ester’s night out with a female companion, going to the symphony for a rare timpani
concerto, Gabriela Ortiz’s “Concerto Voltaje for Timpani and Orchestra,” featuring
a flamboyant performance by female percussionist Gabriela Jiménez (that was not
in synch with the music), yet what was memorable was a discussion between the
two women, with Ester revealing, “We know our husbands all too well. They refuse to leave their fucking ranches.” This little nugget of information reveals how
isolated Juan has become, alone on his island, with The
Emperor Jones (1933) delusions of grandeur.
The obvious question, immersed in marital dysfunction, is whether she
wants to be a part of it anymore, as it’s painfully clear where he stands,
sinking like quicksand in his own petty anxieties, not a pretty sight, but they
share a family connection. Like the
opening sequence with children playing, the final sequence takes place in the
pasture lands with the bulls, shot in a morning fog draped over the landscape
to an instrumental section of King Krimson’s “Islands,” King Crimson - Islands - YouTube
(4:48, picking up around the 2-minute mark with a piano interlude, including a
horn section occurring around 2:30), with the male bulls forever fighting each
other in pursuit of the cows, resorting to violence, fighting to the death, if
necessary, which is an inevitable part of their inherent behavior and primal instincts,
irrespective of the outcome.
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