Leap Year

"Leap Year" is simple, albeit brilliant filmmaking. There is very little, if any, "coverage" for each and every shot. No close-ups, no pans, no dolly shots, no cranes, no over-the-shoulder, and no reaction shots. The camera remains still and static throughout - time and time again simply letting the drama unfold before our eyes. We are nothing more than a voyeur. It's a bold choice - perhaps born out of budget necessity - but it nonetheless works. What's makes every shot absolutely fascinating is called "life." Human behavior. The success of this film is a tribute to the director, his belief in the story, and most of all, the trust he was able to get from his actors. Although the camera rarely moves, it tells the story better than most Hollywood directors with a much bigger budget ever could.

So, we've got this chick with a real weird hard-on for the looming February 29th, like it's the expiration date on her sanity, and wouldn't you know it, the whole shebang ends in a climax that's about as pleasant as discovering a hairball in your morning coffee. Mónica del Carmen as Laura exudes flesh and blood for this character and her journey through the personal tragedy, marked by urban solitude and loneliness. She stumbles into some kinky business that apparently glues her body, her space, and her shot at redemption together. Turns out, there's no "do not cross" tape on Laura as she begins to experience transgression and dedicates herself to licentious exercise of sadomasochism.

This is definitely an arthouse character study into a love-lust-and-loneliness casualty. Think of it as the kinky cousin of Jeanne Dielman, a watered-down Hisayasu Sato that kinda smells like the leftovers of Jean-Claude Brisseau, Götz Spielmann, Silvio Soldini, Catherine Breillat, Lars von Trier, Conrado Sanchez, Werner Schroeter, Julio Medem and Fabrice Du Welz's recent Alleluia (which, let's be honest, was pretty damn bonkers). Now, while this film delivers a potent whiff of alienation and an uncomfortably raw artistic realism, this soul-baring cinematic enema, with its troubling eroticism, is supposedly a vehicle of compassion for this deeply messed-up woman. My advice? Maybe skip this one. Seriously, proceed with the kind of caution. You've been warned.

This film was, at first sight, a turn off. The protagonist at first seems like a self indulgent loser. The camera remained still and the action, such as it was, took place entirely in a tiny dark apartment. The girl never leaves home except off camera. But viewed as a tragedy this makes sense. The action moving only by visitors, the single setting and the simple themes all add up to create a classic world of claustrophobia and sadness. The sex is honestly portrayed as empty. Unlike Hollywood moves which tend to glamorize sordid situations, in this film the sex scenes are depressing rather than titillating.

As the story plods along we begin to realize that the girl's apparent victim relationship with a sadist has an underlying motive. She needs him to help her reach a goal. ( shades of "a Taste of Cherries") Her conversations with her sexual partners are limited. She seems totally uninterested in her lovers and we could judge her as selfish until we see how she cares about her brother and how she lives vicariously through her neighbours. Despite themes of self destruction, abuse, lying, empty sex and loneliness, the film eventually includes a ray of optimism or art least a possibility of another life. I did understand why some reviewers were put off but I appreciated it rather then enjoyed it.

Watched this last night with my wife and we both agreed it is perhaps the most accurate depiction of modern life of young adulthood that either of us have ever seen. This film is to that lonely time of self discovery in the mid to late 20's that Apocaplyse Now is to the Vietnam War. Not only is the depiction of sex graphic and frank but it isn't sexy. And there is about the best explanation for U.S. Mexico relations -and the Mexican gov. in general (or lack thereof)- in this film that I have ever heard: i.e. the monetization of security. If you have seen and liked the films of Carlos Reygadas, Fernando Eimbcke and Arturo Ripstein then you will understand the type of aesthetic at work here. If on the other hand your idea of Mexican cinema is Vicente Fernandez or the Santos lucha libre films you are in for a rude awakening.

Leap year is the story of the encounter or rather the break up of Laura and Arturo. Apparently this is a simple story but it contains a lot of details worth taking a second look at. The Australian director and screenwriter who lives in Mexico submerges us in a visual world that is plain and charmless for Mexican standards and someone might be tempted to judge the film by its visual austerity. But this perspective allows Michael Rowe to explore the solitude of Laura, her detachment from others and to slowly introduce us into her adventures with man, what she searches in them or better said who she would like to encounter in them. After seeing the film a close friend told me it was anti Hollywood. Definitely it does not embody a mass market aesthetic. The dark skinned actors and the unappetizing looks of the apartment where the action takes place are ideal to center the attention of the spectator on what is happening to the main character. Scenes like Laura taking off her bra underneath her shirt, picking her nose while working on her computer submerge us into an uncomfortable bodily intimacy. And there are also the very explicit sex scenes with exquisite violence full of details I don't even feel free to mention here that are not exciting in the usual sense but awaken a deep curiosity for the character. This movie was not shown in the Mexican commercial circuit. What does it mean when society that not willing to see herself in the mirror. When Michelangelo Antonioni answered critics of his movie The adventure (1960) he used these words "Eros is sick, man is uncomfortable and this makes him react but he does so in the wrong way, he explores eroticism and he is unhappy".