I think I’m finally figuring out why we just had a crap summer of films. I reckon they were saving all the interesting ones for this fall, and the summer was supposed to keep us from going to the show and save us some money. Now that we have cash (however small), they have finally started putting out more interesting fare. And Our Lady of the Assassins certainly falls under that category.
I had been wondering what director Barbet Shroeder had been up to since 1997’s Desperate Measures, that so-so thriller with Andy Garcia, which was below par of the director’s previous work (Reversal of Fortune and Barfly). Nonetheless, Schroeder is back with this far out examination of Fernando (Juan David Restepo), a gay writer who returns to his home of Mendello, Columbia after a thirty year exile. The city is now plagued with drugs, poverty, violence and other ghetto symptoms. He meets Alexis (German Jarmillo), a young Beretta-packing hustler, and the two become lovers and shack up together in Fernando’s apartment. During the day, they are the happiest couple alive as they go shopping for stereos, eat out, and discuss philosophy and Fernando’s (negative) feelings on religion. As Alexis is a bit of a bad ass (and a very trigger happy one at that), and since Mendello has a murder about every heartbeat, he gets a chance to pop off everybody from rival gang members to the neighbor punk whose drumming keeps Fernando up at night.
This, however, causes tension between the two lovers and it’s always assumed that the day will come when Alexis will face his death.
The dialogue and character interactions are the film’s plateaus. Each character feeds off the next to create an extremely sensitive, emotive atmosphere, expressing any kind of anger, humour, or joy excellently. And Schroeder uses some very Hollywood camera work during action scenes to contrast the quieter scenes.
This makes the violence of the film look way more chaotic and ugly than your average Michael Bay vehicle. Some of the cowboy violence itself was a little hard to digest, and at times the film appeared like Saigon on a bad day in 1974.
From ten-year-old kids sniffing glue and cabbies who carry machetes, Our Lady probably makes Saigon look like chicken feed.
But the delicate and wistful interactions between Alexis and Fernando are handled with the utmost maturity, so my former complaints are only minor.
I reckon every director or performer needs a sabbatical. Whether you’re Bob Dylan, Terrence Malick, or even Peter Fonda, time off allows you to smarten up, plan and come back with guns blazing.
Barbet Schroeder has done well, and Our Lady has proven he has had time to smarten up, plan, and has come back guns blazing.
I just hope Mr. Tarantino is paying attention to all of this. You can’t make too many From Dusk till Dawns…
