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| Director Lila Avilés |
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| Director on the set with Naíma Sentíes |
TOTEM (Tótem) B- Mexico France Denmark Netherlands (95 mi) 2023 d: Lila Avilés
While this is a hauntingly despairing film about death, told from the perspective of a young child, the naturalistic approach deviates from the norm, mixing tones of comedy and drama, using the Robert Altman template of a revolving ensemble cast, adding plenty of character and nuance, all taking place in the course of a single day, yet there’s also something uniquely uncomfortable about the set-up, where all the bells and whistles ignore the elephant in the room, as all the attention is paid to planning a surprise birthday party of family and friends for a sickly father suffering from the end stages of cancer, and while the intentions are well-meaning, it’s an extremely difficult watch. If you know anyone who’s suffered from the effects of cancer, then you know how much effort it takes to engage and socialize with others, to have to put on a brave face for the public, to ignore every fiber in your body that tells you how much pain you are in. While this is meant to be a farewell/celebratory event, it puts way too much pressure on the honoree, who feels more like a ghostly presence and simply doesn’t have the energy to participate, yet there are nonetheless demands being made in the name of love, which is literally an imposed dance with death. Resembling a high-energy wake before the person is even dead, loving tributes are paid, which feel heartfelt, but at what price? The weakness of the film is this is more of an idealistic vision than real life, as it’s doubtful the loved one could summon this kind of energy. It would make more sense to visit the infirmed in a more restful state of lying down, saving one’s strength, where individuals or small groups of people could come visit one at a time instead of one giant gathering. To pretend to be happy and overlook all the suffering is just not a good look for a film, even if it’s told through innocent eyes, as no one seems to really care what they’re putting him through or comprehend the severity of the toll this will take. Without a narrative storyline, this instead moves within an existential framework, yet there’s something very unpleasant about the way this is presented, given a look of authenticity without a hint of sentimentality, but it has the effect of dropping the hammer on his head, where he is blocked into a corner and given no other recourse. The entire film documents the preparations taking place in one frenetic day, with everything leading to a single event, yet everyone in the family appears far too busy among themselves, perhaps fending off the inevitable, exposing the ritual of human behavior, where there are side effects for good intentions, and this film about family love and loss feels more like a blessing and a curse, though it pales in comparison to the depth and classical elegance of Edward Yang’s Yi Yi: A One and a Two... (2000). Yet there is also something to be said for so many people who die alone, who have no one paying tributes or reflecting on their life, and it must be one of the saddest things in the world to die alone.
Based upon a deeply personal experience of her own, Avilés recreates this heartbreaking event with a dispassionate eye, giving viewers the opportunity to experience it for themselves. At the center of the film is 7-year old Sol (Naíma Sentíes in a remarkable performance), an impressionable young girl who loves animals and is very informed about minute details associated with them, loving to share her knowledge with anyone who will listen. When she and her mother drive through a tunnel, they hold their breath and make a wish, with Sol solemnly wishing “for Daddy not to die.” That gets us right into the heart of the matter, as she’s trying to come to terms with his eminent death, where everything else revolves around that one single thought. Since her mother Lucía (Iazura Larios) works as a theater actress, and has an afternoon matinee performance, she drops her off at her grandfather’s house, Roberto (Alberto Almador), who uses a voicebox to speak from his own episode with throat cancer (his wife succumbed to the disease), spending most of his time tending to a bonsai tree that he’s been attentively working on for eight years, but it’s also the home of her Aunt Nuri (Monserrat Marañon) and little cousin Esther (Saori Gurza), idly spending the afternoon hours awaiting a chance to see her father Tona (Mateo García Elizondo), yet she is continually ushered away from his door, claiming he’s not ready yet, creating an anxiousness, where her biggest fear is that he doesn’t want to see her because he doesn’t love her anymore. In the quiet of the darkened room behind the scenes, alone with his caregiver nurse Cruz (Teresita Sánchez), it’s clear Tona has difficulty standing and walking, needing assistance for nearly every aspect of his life at this point, where he literally has to drag himself out of his room to finally make an appearance. Basically a snapshot of a single day, revealing the chaos and everyday life, with the dulled familiarity of the family routine, the film offers a surprising intimacy, taking us into bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchens, and living rooms, with the camera eavesdropping on various conversations, where people are going through their daily lives, but constantly bickering amongst themselves, offering insight into the difficulties the family is having in coping with the inevitable reality of a pending death, where they each have their own stressful situations to deal with. In something of a hilarious turn, another one of the nutty aunts, the chain-smoking Alejandra (Marisol Gasé), brings a spiritualist into the home to supernaturally eradicate bad spirits, trying to smoke them out with a burning loaf of bread on a stick, charging extra due to the severity of his condition (“I also sell Tupperware”), but then refuses to leave until she gets paid. The same could be said for Cruz, who hasn’t been paid in weeks, yet her services are indispensable. In the eyes of a young child, that fire on a stick just seems strange, making little sense to anyone except Alejandra, who views the spiritualist as essential, but it only ends up getting on everyone’s nerves. The priorities are all out of whack, as medical expenses have drained all financial accounts, where a collection is taken at the party, accepting any and all donations. This film is like an archaeological construction, where there are scenes behind the scenes, and detours along the way, but the final outcome is certain, becoming an elegy of death.
The film title holds a special meaning, representing a series of sacred symbols around the Mexican Aztec or Nahua mythology that symbolizes the relationship between animals and nature, and their relationship to the family, as there are literally dozens of references of plants and animals around the house, with Sol taking extreme pleasure in caring for animals in all forms, which emphasizes a cycle of life and death, and while there are plenty of foreshadowing signs along the way, where the preparation in anticipation of the party is actually more important than the party itself, becoming a metaphor for the preparation of death, still the gravity of the situation slowly creeps up on you. Tona, short for the Indigenous name Tonatiuh, which according to Aztec mythology is the god of fire, the sun, is still a relatively young man, an artist whose paintings are seen all around the house, like Mesoamerican historical artifacts carrying an extension of his legacy, nonetheless they are pulled out of a hallway, with a truck coming to take many of his artworks away, something discreetly done quietly off to the side, where they’re likely being sold off to pay for the medical expenses. Perhaps the strongest message is that you never know what’s going to happen in life, or when death may come, as things happen so unexpectedly, so it’s important to live life to the fullest. As if to accentuate that, the movie amplifies the most banal details that family members cling to, yet given the circumstances, they are only magnified, part of the lasting memory of what happens with this massive emotional outpouring. Watching this film is like sifting through those moments, leaving an indelible impression, where it’s not any one thing that stands out, but the collective sum of what they mean that matters, like discovering your true and authentic self. Surrounded only by those closest to him, their tributes leave a lasting legacy, as what they have to say is meant only for him, like making amends, and perhaps only he understands the essential truth in that given moment. Emblematic of those expressions is Sol lip-synching to a dramatic aria from the mad scene of Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, “Spargi d’amaro pianto” (“Sprinkle with bitter tears my earthly remains”), Maria Callas - Lucia di Lammermoor - Spargi d'amaro pianto YouTube (4:04). Taking it further, this film is emblematic of the transition from life to death, specifically the spiritual space that needs to be healed and cleansed, getting rid of all negativity, where all is forgiven by the final chapter. Given the age of Sol, there’s so much that remains incomprehensible and out of her reach, perhaps growing sadder and more reflective when she comes closer to realizing the finality, which especially hits home when Tona hasn’t the strength to blow out the birthday candles in a sequence that simply lingers in our imaginations, yet there’s something unmistakable about creating lasting impressions, where she may not remember exactly how it happened, but she will remember how it felt. The audience is in a similar position, having just been introduced to these characters, where the attention to detail is extraordinary, with a series of hand-drawn animals appearing over the end credits. As a point of interest, the director didn’t attend film school, becoming a mother at a young age and worked her way behind-the-scenes with various roles in theater and later in cinema, such as wardrobe, production, and the art department, having a hand in all aspects of the film including writing, directing, and producing, as well as the casting, becoming a distinctive voice in independent Mexican cinema, claiming John Cassavetes as an influence, where this film, dedicated “for my daughter,” may be seen as a love letter to her.
