Though not entirely buried, this has been quite tragically passed over in favor of Soy Cuba. In spite of its relative invisibility beyond certain circles of those interested in Cuban cinema, this is a remarkable feat in revolutionary filmmaking that I will be writing about more extensively soon. In fact, you will (fingers crossed) be able to see it in Chicago this summer…

The beating heart of devotional practice on two sides of a camera. Testimonials to an overgrowth of love, in pools and swamps and grasses, in complexions and voices and organs.

“I think it’s really important that things can be identified as being handmade, or made by a person, coming from a person, or through a person, and the whole idea of cleaning things up and trying to get it perfect seems not that real. It’s like trying to alter reality to suit you, but never being able to do a good job at it, because it’s impossible.”

One of the most transformative pieces of art I’ve ever engaged with. I’ve watched it so many times, and it never gets old. So special ❤️

Could be the case that I’m a sucker for this shit the same way I am with Michelangelo Frammartino; I hope my judgment does not arise from a place of naivety, but this feels like the definitive proof-of-life statement for artistry I’ve witnessed in the last couple years. Such measured direction and gentle delivery, and it managed to align with equally miraculous performances…want to spend more time with this in sweaty, three room theaters.