Director Jimena Montemayor
WIND TRACES (Restos
de viento) B
Mexico (95 mi) 2017
d: Jimena Montemayor
One of the best
examples of child acting seen all year, reminiscent of Jim Sheridan’s IN
AMERICA (2002), where in each the common denominator is an indescribable death
in the family, allowing greater space for these children to evolve. Ana (Paulina Gil), the older child, is
usually placed in charge of younger brother Daniel (Diego Aguilar), while their
mother Carmen, the remarkable Dolores Fonzi from PAULINA (2015), languishes in
her own world of confusion and pain, unable to comprehend life without her
husband who dies mysteriously before the film begins. While little backstory is ever provided, the
film is set in the 70’s, largely so that it is a period of time audiences will
universally view as the past, as times were different then. When their mother oversleeps, the kids are
late for school, so she just allows them to stay home, initially hoping they
can do something fun together, but it’s clear their mother is a bit unsettled,
never really getting it together, where she drinks too much and continually
pops pills to keep her going, wandering in her own confusion. As a result of her aloofness, these adorable
kids are on their own, free to pursue whatever they please, much of it spent in
their imaginations. In one of the first
remarkable sequences, which reappears in different variations, Daniel can’t
sleep, envisioning some apparition in the house that resembles a mix of Native
American mythology, an antlered head, a face mask, with arms that look like
tree branches. What’s perhaps most
intriguing is the brief inner narration by Daniel that accompanies the vision,
as he seems to be reading from a school book about the history of Navajo
Indians, who believed in a blend of the spiritual and natural worlds, that everything
on earth is alive and their relative, worshipping the winds, the sun, and
water. While the Navajo are also
cautious about death, they rarely talk about it. Similarly, Carmen initially tells her
children that their father is not really gone, that he’ll be coming back. Daniel’s vision seems to be the returning spirit
of his father.
While the writer/director
is Mexican, shot in and around Mexico City, Fonzi is an Argentine actress,
which contributes to her feeling of detachment and being out of place. According to the director, if she was
Mexican, there would be family intervention, as relatives would come look after
the mother and children during their loss.
But in this film, beautifully shot by María Secco, the family appears to
be isolated, where the only friend the kids have is another young boy without a
father, as they are viewed and treated as outcasts by other children, who have
a rude way of handling any signs of vulnerability. The two kids are priceless throughout,
showing changing emotions and a remarkable assuredness, while each exhibits
their own unique personality, yet the relationship with their mother couldn’t
be closer, as she heaps hugs and affection on them both, perhaps loving them
too much. In this way she resembles Gena
Rowlands in A
Woman Under the Influence (1974), both films about a woman in trouble,
where each seems to love the idea of being with children, allowing themselves
an abandoned, carefree spirit, as it’s the world of adults that gives them
problems, retreating into some dark place, succumbing to the depths of
depression. Some of the stand-out scenes
involve flashbacks, showing Carmen in slow motion walking into a bar, dressed
elegantly, holding a cigarette in a proudly distinct fashion, becoming a
fascinating sexual force to reckon with, looking around the room, knowing she
commands attention. Fonzi’s outstanding
screen presence is overshadowed by the downbeat nature of the film, where her
character struggles with daily mental lapses, finding herself out of sorts, not
really being there for her children, who for the most part must fend for
themselves. Because of this less than
heroic view, she is not really recognized in awards consideration, yet she
provides one of the most devastating performances of the year.
There are
repeated trips to the bar, as Carmen can’t really keep herself away, always drinking
heavily, but none more precious than when her kids help her get dressed,
picking out a necklace, brushing her hair, just hovering over her with an
intense purpose, knowing she’s about to leave them alone again. One of the saddest scenes is watching Carmen
sing karaoke, already reeling from alcohol, choosing a lush Mexican ballad
about remorse, being lost in time, a stand-in for her own deteriorating
psychological state, where minutes and hours slip by without notice, lost in a
haze, where an uncle does try to intervene, witnessing her rambling and
incoherent thoughts, bringing her home safely.
Among the more powerful moments of the film are the extended wordless scenes,
filled with a kind of personalized, cherished intimacy as viewers recognize how
they are deeply impacted by sorrow and loss, with the kids showing greater
resilience, more capable of expressing their feelings than their mother, who is
completely overwhelmed, tragically haunted and continually stuck in a temporary
paralysis. Carmen retains her dignity
throughout, however, despite her internalized wounds, and transfers enormous
pride to her children. Ana is the one
that recognizes the full extent of her mother’s addiction, emptying liquor
bottles, awakening her mother when Daniel thinks she might be dead, where
viewers have enormous empathy for these children, who show such heart in the
way they look after each other.
Innocence is a predominate theme throughout, much of it seen through a
child’s eyes, traipsing through forests, connecting to wind spirits, where they
are sensitive enough to see and hear things that others miss, like the Navajo
spirit world, which builds to a beautiful climax, accentuated by inventive music
by Emiliano Motta, where the mother seems to snap them out of their reverie,
bringing them back to their senses, finding, at least for a moment, some restorative
balance in their lives.
