La antena

Some would argue that Argentinean director Esteban Sapir's La Antena is an exercise in anachronistic futility; that, while the silent films to which Sapir's pays homage were at the cutting edge of cinema when they were made, they are outdated today, leaving La Antena a meaningless oddity.

I would disagree. Fervently. La Antena melds the conventions of the silent film with 21st century technology, making it the ultimate exercise in post-modern film-making.

The film is set in the timeless "The City Without a Voice", so called because the citizens have been rendered speechless by Mr. TV, a dictator/media mogul with his hair painted on. The City resembles the titular one in Fritz Lang's seminal Metropolis (1927), perhaps 100 years before that film. It is all expressionist skyscrapers, TV aerials, and animated billboards.

The citizens of the City are mollified by La Voz (The Voice), the only person with the gift of speech. Her face perpetually shrouded by a hood (kept on even when she is naked), La Voz is forced to sing on Mr. TV's television network. But when Mr. TV concocts a plan to steal the written word as well, La Voz and her eyeless son join forces with a renegade family in an attempt to return the freedom of speech to the people.

La Antena is nothing but pure cinema. Burdening himself with the conventions of the silent film, Sapir has to rely upon images to tell his story. There is sound, most notably in the almost continuous score by Leo Sujatovich. It evokes the best of silent movie music, as well as ingenuously working itself into the film's diegesis, such as the beeping of car horns, or the rhythmic ra-ta-tat-tat of gunfire. And, underlying the whole film is a familiar whirring, as if it were being shown on an ancient projector.

There is a fair amount of dialogue as well. But instead of using intertitles, Sapir has the characters' words appear in the frame. They are larger or smaller, filling the screen or hovering meekly in the air, depending on what is being said. Think a more imaginative version of the subtitles in Night Watch (2004).

Thankfully, the words don't distract from the images. Which is very fortunate indeed, because La Antena boasts some of the most creative and original images we've seen in a long time, all captured by Cristian Cottet's sumptuous black-and-white photography. There are the expressionist cityscapes. The hooded singer and her eyeless son. There is the city's abandoned aerial, which looks like the decayed remains of some colossal spider. And there's the sinister Dr. Y, whose jabbering mouth is displayed on a television screen attached to his face.

La Antena has been criticised for relying too much on its imagery, while skimping on the allegorical depth. But, again, I would disagree. It is true that the sudden appearance of a mind-control machine shaped like a swastika, or the eyeless boy seemingly crucified on a Star of David, feels out of place, a tad over the top in what is otherwise merely a well-crafted fairy tale.

But the lack of overt symbols (the two previous examples aside) works in the film's favour. It allows us to make up our own minds: to decide whether to infer political meaning, to see La Antena as an allegory for fascism, the danger of capitalist monopolies, and the power and responsibility of the media; or to just take the film at face value, as a visually stunning adventure through a world simultaneously unique and familiar.

The sacrifice of explicit depth in favour of unique imagery may seem like a compromise. But, really, when a film looks as good as this, it's hard to care. There is more imagination and artistry in every frame of La Antena than Hollywood can shake a derivative stick at. Evoking films almost 100 years old might be futile, but in doing so, Sapir may be showing us what is lacking in the films of today. He may be telling us that it is time for another artistic revolution. And he may be right.

Stunning! One of the most visually fascinating films. It's almost like Georges Méliès took a time machine to the 70's, dropped acid, stole a Stanley Kubrick script, and channeled Spielberg, Burton, and Wes Anderson into this dream like un-reality. The cinematography and editing are mastered in the perfect sense of cinema, paying great homage to filmmakers of the 20's and 30's. The production design, costumes, and the use of the dialogue subtitles are extremely creative and visually relevant to the story, and the practical effects complete the surreal dream world. But what really holds this movie together, like a comforting blanket during a weird dream, is the score. Complementing every shot, action, emotion, and visual cue. Visual storytelling at its finest!

This is a beautiful film to look at. Surreal and kitsch, its many homages were maybe a little too obvious - yes, Lang, Melies, even Chaplin. This allegory on Argentinian and German fascism initially buried the real story beneath its look - that of a complex animated commercial. However, as the film progressed, it soon become obvious to me the symbolism of the scars on the family's hands (stigmata), the blind boy who could talk and would save the city / world (Jesus Christ), the boy's single mother (Mary), the young girl (Mary Magdalene), and ultimately the boy on the Star of David, reflected a world in which religion / Judaism / Jesus Christ, vanquished the evils of fascism / Satan.

So maybe a little heavy on the symbolism and allegory, ideas of religion saving the world or prophets dying to save us from our sins are all a little lazy. As many directors have shown, revealing religion for the corrupt and superstitious organisations they really are, can make a much more satisfactory cinema experience; see Bunuel / Fellini / Bergman.

The summary line is some men's wet dream for the ideal woman ... ;o) Seriously though, back to the movie, which has classic cinema written all over it (pun intended and quite literally shown in the picture, too as you'll see)!

How could someone make a silent movie in this year and age? It's not completely silent for once (take the music for instance). With great cinematography is the answer. And it's no wonder that it did win prizes (as another user stated) in this area! But it's also sometimes it's downfall. Although the pictures are great, it sometimes delves too much in them instead of moving forward (plot and time wise). If you can cope with that, than you'll enjoy it even more than me. I haven't told you anything about the story, but I'll never do that, because I don't want to spoiler anything for you ...

La Antena, an audacious film by Argentine director Esteban Sapir, succeeds both as a reinvention of the silent movie genre and a gripping cautionary tale. The setting is a city in thrall to mindless television, its people deprived of the power of speech except for a solitary and mysterious screen presence known simply as The Voice. In a bid to cement their grip on power the marvellously villainous duo of television mogul Mr. TV and mad scientist Dr. Y set out to kidnap The Voice and turn her unique talent towards their own dastardly ends. It is up to a young family and The Voice's nameless, eyeless son to stop this evil scheme. The result is a roller coaster of a story that is bewildering on occasion but never less than engrossing.

This is a silent movie that wears many of its influences on its sleeve; the overt references to silent movie greats such as George Melies and Fritz Lang will be readily apparent to anyone with a passing familiarity of their work. But more subtle references and symbolism lie behind such tributes. I particularly like the fact that Mr. TV and his henchman drive around in typical 1930s gangster cars, drawn from the decade when the silent movie era died away and a very different industry began to emerge.

La Antena mines the clichéd plot devices and theatrical over-acting common to so many silent films, albeit in a very knowing and humorous way. It is the astonishing visual style of La Antena that really sets it apart from the movies that it pays homage to. From the hypnotic TV logo to the menacing hilltop transmission station, this film abounds with dazzling visual inventiveness that is the rival of a Studio Ghibli animation – and all this using real actors and handmade sets.

Moreover, though the style is often intentionally corny and theatrical, this is still an unsettling, provocative and emotional picture. The use of religious symbolism throughout La Antena lends added resonance to the struggle between the TV Empire and the waning power of words. At the same time, many of the most powerful images are original ones, including the hypnotic swirl of the television sets and the nightmarish TV food factory.

I hate to end this review on a sour note, but I feel that the English-language release of La Antena is let down by the subtitles. The original Spanish subtitles are used to great effect, with much playing around with words on screen. However, the English-language subtitles that accompany the original dialogue are frustratingly incomplete, with omissions and mistakes at times leaving the viewer to piece things together for themselves. La Antena is nevertheless a striking piece of cinema; a visually breathtaking experience that displays great energy and humour whilst narrating a powerful cautionary tale.