The somehow sedated delirium of Pablo Larraín‘s cinema exudes a heated energy in his latest directorial effort, Ema. The opening scene of a traffic light aflame, and our protagonist wielding a flamethrower, is an illustrious moment, and less deceiving in hindsight.
Ema is an enigma for sure. A presence that sprays energy wherever she might go. But also a failure in some quarters of her life. A promiscuous bag of emotions and motives surround this young woman. Physically, there’s an unfathomable blankness and radiance that co-exist. Her slick, peroxide hair and pyromaniac extra-curricular activities make for a fascinating figure. No matter a wry smile or morose glare on the horizon.
What maybe defines Ema predominantly is the dancer. Whether she is morally haphazard or bordering on the sociopathic, Ema flaunts herself more passionately in her clear bravura for dancing. Correlating with her organic flow of sexuality and those undeniable pheromones popping off her, Ema’s true spirit – and indeed our own inducement as the audience – comes alive.
Ema, the film, premiered in the UK at the BFI London Film Festival last autumn, and now hits the streaming service, Mubi. A timely arrival during these confined times, a fluid, fluorescent film like Ema might just be the medicine. Or, at least, a distraction.
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Chilean filmmaker, Pablo Larraín, co-wrote the screenplay with Guillermo Calderón and Alejandro Moreno. It’s a script that kind of plays out so subtly, pieces of this puzzle may drop in the right places later that you imagine. It’s a crafty little tale, that pulls the rug from under you, as you attempt to digest some of the bloodless dialogue that often derives from frosty hearts.
Larraín’s contemplative, visually striking directorial style may be familiar to those accustomed to his work thus far. Which remains freshly squeezed regardless of how many of his films you’ve encountered. The Chilean manages to continue his intriguing take on subdued chaos, and once again it proves to be both alluring and alarming.
Ema (Mariana Di Girolamo) and her choreographer spouse Gastón (Gael Garcia Bernal) are at a cross-roads in their lives. Which is an understatement. It transpires that they have given up their adopted Colombian son, Polo (Cristián Suárez), due to some particularly anti-social behaviour. You know, putting a cat in the freezer; setting a fire which badly burns Ema’s sister.
The ethics of human behaviour, in several forms, is apparent in Ema. But some may find the array of conflicting, antagonistic characters a tough pill to swallow. Larraín’s execution balances the style and the substance, but perhaps one weighs more than the other at times the focal tide is pushing out.
That said, such blind-spots mean little to this reviewer. The almost avant garde method in chunks of the story telling engage the viewer in these varying expressions. As well as swoon at the often sizzling dance sequences. Reggaeton, if you’re asking, a kind of expressionist grinding you have probably not heard of, but have seen.
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An early sequence, as Ema is greeted warmly by the young children she teaches, cross-cuts so immaculately over her adult dance troupe against a huge effulgent moon. The editing and the music (exceptional at times from Nicholas Jaar) is so promptly embedded into your bloodstream, the whole sequence pretty much sweeps you off your feet.
The proceeding scene has the fragile couple, Ema and Gastón, speaking frankly with each other about their sacrifice. But more directly, the kind of raw character bashing, so casually blurted out, its the sort of harsh truths you can only hear from someone you have endured a kind of deep love with, and now lay brittle and broken amidst the ashes.
Moments such as these are not here to crave your defence of Ema (or Gastón). They are human beings because, not in spite, of their flaws. Ema’s encounter in various sex acts – some more explicit than others – appears to be part of her thirst to be in the driving seat. Ema may be devious, oozing anarchy, and have a kind of witch-like bond over her wolf pack of friends, but there’s a misunderstood sense of maternal suffering.
A lingering, brooding scene of Polo and his current guardians, cuts to Ema being asked by her friends about getting her son back. Oh, so that’s why they would set their car aflame, to lure a particular fireman. Ema goes about her cunning plan the way you would create impressionistic art. Larraín is not interested in making anything that would parachute a suspenseful thriller or con artist tale. So subtle and slow in the unraveling you hardly notice Ema is up to much at all in terms of an end product.
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The central demeanor of Ema, stoically played by the stunning Mariana Di Girolamo, is extraordinarily sat between two of Larraín’s earlier characters. Alfredo Castro’s bleak, ghostly morgue assistant in Post Mortem (2010) urges our curiosity from a colourless environment. While Natalie Portman in Jackie (2016) tackles private turmoil amidst social patter and sartorial vibrancy. All three characters share a melancholic poise, while also sporting flickering sparks. In very different remits, of course, but they are there somewhere.
In the titular role, Di Girolamo is a magnetic presence. She gyrates, swaggers, and absorbs our full attention, with that spell-binding, joyless stare and rhythmic force of her anatomy. Ema dances to assert or to numb her own transcendence. A form of communication as essential as those brutally honest exchanges with Gastón.
Ema’s silent treatment and recoil, is Gastóns invitation to break her open. Both are hurting, and both shed their skin in different climates. When he is backed against the wall during a dance session, in defence of the clear hostility he singles out Ema as heavily responsible for their misery. Her dropped face is one of sheer disappointment rather than partaking in the guilt trip. But there is no outburst.
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Ema’s calm facade gives little away throughout. Even when Gastón taunts her by echoing Polo’s pleas – “Mommy don’t leave me.” – what must be her most vivid of current nightmares. Their loving history has already been partly established in these darkened clouds. A moment of rapprochement and borderline affection, has the couple folded together like clean socks, on the bed with a children’s car frame. Which speaks far louder than words
In Ema, the spicy atmosphere is shrouded by its gorgeous setting. The city of Valparaiso is a canvas of colours in its own right. And here the pathways, rooftops, fairgrounds, all serve as a seductive backdrop – especially in those near-dark scenes. With the proficient paintbrush of Director of Photography, Sergio Armstrong, the beautiful Chilean city seems a perfect fit for this turbulent narrative and social hardships.
It’s a respectably absurd film on the surface. And the emotional undercurrent stands out like a sore thumb. Larraín’s ambiguous, acidic style fills the many layers with enough gusto to never fall into sentiment. In fact, given the realistically hollow interactions and exhilarating choreography, the mixture of moods and music and locale colours somehow make sense of the frustrations and frictions depicted before us. An acquired taste for some this, but tasty all the same.
