June 20, 2002
Another hit Spanish film from writer and director Julio Medem, "Lovers of the Arctic Circle" arrived hot on the heels of his "Sex and Lucia", at the Phoenix from May 31st-June 13th. "Lovers" is a graceful and sorrowful tale of an illicit and deeply passionate relationship, and is woven of circles of history, language and geography. The central theme is supposedly that of the inevitability of destiny, which seems to boil neatly down to the moral that incest (even when it's not really incest) works no better in the movies than it did in ancient myth (NB for a recent exception to this rule, see Wes Anderson's "Royal Tenenbaums").
The cast of quirkily beautiful, delicate-looking actors was excellently appropriate (despite an uncanny Kenneth Branagh lookalike), with Najwa Nimri (pop singer and composer) and Fele Martínez looking like doomed waifish fairies in the lead roles of Ana and Otto. The perspective of the narration switches abruptly from Otto to Ana and back again during the course of the film, yet this is not done to confuse, and each change is accompanied by a chapter-like title. As you might expect from any self-respecting Spanish arthouse picture, just the right amounts of magic-realism and steamy sensuality tint the angsty fatalism, tempering the reminders of the constant proximity of death, and of how easily we can lose life through a moment of inattentiveness.
Lovers is a sexy, scary, and even occasionally funny film. There is ridiculous hope and coincidence, and a simultaneous lack of them. The finale is a race toward something which we know will not happen, because desired too all-consumingly. Therein lies a message for us all.
The cast of quirkily beautiful, delicate-looking actors was excellently appropriate (despite an uncanny Kenneth Branagh lookalike), with Najwa Nimri (pop singer and composer) and Fele Martínez looking like doomed waifish fairies in the lead roles of Ana and Otto. The perspective of the narration switches abruptly from Otto to Ana and back again during the course of the film, yet this is not done to confuse, and each change is accompanied by a chapter-like title. As you might expect from any self-respecting Spanish arthouse picture, just the right amounts of magic-realism and steamy sensuality tint the angsty fatalism, tempering the reminders of the constant proximity of death, and of how easily we can lose life through a moment of inattentiveness.
Lovers is a sexy, scary, and even occasionally funny film. There is ridiculous hope and coincidence, and a simultaneous lack of them. The finale is a race toward something which we know will not happen, because desired too all-consumingly. Therein lies a message for us all.