herimesquida

Fede, a gay man in his forties, is going through a difficult time: depressed, he's put his job on hold (sick leave) to think about his future. A year earlier, he broke up with his boyfriend, and the person he left him for had also left him. He spends his days watching movies, reading, and walking in the park.

One day, he runs into Iván, a 21-year-old straight man, whom he knew ten years earlier when Iván was 12. Iván also seems to have issues to work through, including a penchant for lying and a tendency toward revenge, and he's also carrying a lot of sadness.

Despite this, they become friends and meet up for each other's company. In his interactions with the young man-wild, endearing, unpredictable (I also think the character of Ivan is designed to make people reflect on the mental health issues of Generation Z)-Fede's life seems to take off.

Even though their lives seem ordinary, they imagine future twists and turns and make their friendship the central theme of a film that needs a happy ending... Here's what "Chéries Chéris" magazine said about it last year:

"Known for being Pedro Almodóvar's personal assistant, Osama Chami delivers a dramedy that is as funny as it is inventive. Faced with a certain 'gay melancholy,' the director promotes a refreshing utopia of rebuilding through dialogue, openness to others, and the desire to create 'beautiful movies' every day."

An ode to the love of cinema, Life Is a Movie takes us on a moving journey where two lost souls try to help each other find their way, or at least find amusement in the process. Served by excellent dialogue and irresistible actors, this graceful, elegant, and stylish film undoubtedly marks the birth of a true auteur.

I completely agree with this review.

I would add that the budding friendship between Motos and Lucas brings a breath of fresh air to the film, a friendship that the two actors approach with disconcerting ease, even in the most improbable dialogues. It is in this encounter between two psyches on the verge of collapse, on this fine line that could break at any moment between two aimless personalities, that the film finds its raison d'être.

The influence of 90s romantic comedies (Sleepless in Seattle with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks) is evident: the simplicity of this work is remarkable, with a well-constructed plot and carefully crafted dialogue, showing how, with willpower and time, everything can be resolved, and that isolation does nothing to overcome difficulties. Also noteworthy are the numerous inserts from silent films that Fede watches or remembers, it's not entirely clear, such as scenes from Ernst Lubitsch's "I Don't Want to Be a Man," Jean Vigo's "Zero for Conduct," Murnau's "Nosferatu," or Eisenstein's "Battleship Potemkin." Joyfully melancholic and wildly inventive, a promising first film.

#henrimesquida #cinemaetlitraraturegay.

Anahí Berneri: A Year Without Love. Argentina. 2005.

Teddy Award at the 2005 Berlin Film Festival.

This is a touching debut film directed by a young heterosexual woman, focusing on a young, HIV-positive, gay writer who struggles daily with the fear of AIDS and his apprehension about new forms of HIV and new antiretroviral therapies.

To exorcise his fears, he turns to BDSM and writing. It is also a way for him to find, through the pleasure of pain, the strength to continue living and to try to find true love.

I must emphasize the film's formal perfection, particularly thanks to its remarkable cinematography and editing. Delicious ironies abound, such as the tensions arising from life with his aunt, sometimes more unstable than the protagonist, and especially the pressure from the publisher who rejects his poems, arguing that there's no market for poetry, while simultaneously hoping the budding writer will write an autobiographical novel rather than poems.

What immediately strikes the viewer in A Year Without Love is the absence of any desire to gratuitously shock, even though nothing is sugar-coated or sanitized by political correctness. Pablo is presented in all his rawness, without embellishment: the character is exactly as he appears. The film suffers from no self-indulgence in its portrayal, nor any critical commentary on the pleasures he indulges in. This prevents the film from descending into moralizing pamphleteering. The camera follows the character in his relentless quest. We see him scouring personal ads in search of a potential boyfriend, frequenting pornographic cinemas. But he also gives French lessons in his apartment to make ends meet, or shares pleasant moments with Nicolás (Carlos Echevarría), his best friend.

The story takes place in 1996, the year in which, thanks to new triple therapies, AIDS went from being a fatal disease to a chronic condition. But Pablo questions the effects of these medications on his body. He doubts, and he writes.

For the director, AIDS, homosexuality, and the whip are merely functional elements of the plot, never ends in themselves. They are elements that serve to tell the story, just like the costumes, makeup, and props.

The true theme is the difficult quest for love and happiness, exacerbated, in this particular case, by the proximity of death. "Could I continue to write all this time while being in love?" "I'm hurrying because I suspect that if I fell in love, I wouldn't be able to write anymore..." the protagonist muses, aware that some wounds of the soul only open up under the influence of solitude.

The rest is pure pleasure, and it is to this pleasure that he tries to surrender when he decides to participate in the sadomasochistic sessions.

The scenes in the leather club are filmed with simplicity, without any vulgarity. The narration is measured, understated, and seeks to avoid any sentimentality. This could, at a stretch, be considered a flaw.

But this reservation is swept aside by Juan Minujín in the lead role, who delivers a complex and subtle performance that truly embodies Pablo. The actor never resorts to tics or mannerisms; he is strikingly realistic, and his acting is poignant.

It's a surprising and engaging film, sometimes quite funny, but certainly never as bleak as one might expect given its subject matter.

#henrimesquida #cinemaandliteraturegay.

Stephen King's "Hunger Games": better and more brutal, brought to the screen with simplicity, power, and savagery.

The filmmaker explores his material in a raw and cruel way with disconcerting precision. He doesn't explode with tension, but rather insinuates it slowly, subtly.

And it works, because for most of the film, we find this rhythm that evokes not a catastrophe, but a slow agony.