@ Cineworld, Edinburgh, on Mon 20 Jun and Tue 21 Jun 2016
(As part of Edinburgh International Film Festival)
Paddy Breathnach/ Ireland/ 2015/ 100 mins
Known for horror film such as Shrooms and Freakdog, director Paddy Breathnach could not have taken a more different turn. In his latest, Viva, the Irish filmmaker tell the story of a young gay man in Havana, Cuba, who wants to be a drag queen.
Jesus (Héctor Medina) is a hairdresser in his late teens who scrapes a living cutting the hair of the old matriarchs in his slum neighbourhood; and tending to the wigs of Mama, a weathered veteran drag queen (Luis Alberto Garcia). Mama owns and runs a seedy drag bar, and gives Jesus a chance to perform. Choosing the name Viva, no sooner has he taken his first teetering Bambi steps towards his dream, than he is assaulted by an older man who takes exception to his performance. This man turns out to be Angel (Jorge Perugorría), Jesus’ father, an ex-boxer who vanished fifteen years previously and who has been in jail for killing a man.
Tales of reunited sons and fathers are hardly new, but Mark O’Halloran’s deft script makes much of the brooding silences and implicit threats of the drunken, volatile Angel and the pretty, fragile Jesus. The juxtaposition between Angel’s ultra-macho past and Jesus’ flamboyant, gay present is dramatically chewy. One can even read a biblical subtext in their awkward attempts at reconciliation as, despite his understandable hatred for this man, Jesus tries to save the soul of the fallen Angel (one suspects the names are not coincidental).
It’s a films about dreams; whether crumbled like the decaying streets of Havana for Angel, or tantalisingly in the future for Jesus. Much of the drama is in the crushed Angel forbidding Jesus to try and achieve his ambition, and it’s a testament to the writing and Perugorría’s performance that Angel remains a pitiable, rather than hateful figure.
Medina is the real standout here, as fragile as bone china, yet with a rigid iron core that ultimately shows him to be as pugnacious in his own way as his father. There is a real sense of repression about him that explodes with static relief when he unleashes Viva on the stage in great gouts of uplifting catharsis.
The film is not without its issues. The reconciliation between father and son occurs somewhat suddenly, lessening it’s dramatic impact, and there is a wearying predictability in using illness as a plot device. In a story that eschews cliche for the most part, when one hoary old chestnut rears its head it stands out even further. However, it’s used most effectively in a thoroughly rousing climax that is intensely satisfying.
Viva looks like product of an unlikely collaboration between Pedro Almodovar and Ken Loach; glamour and grit together, with a hint of Greg Araki’s Mysterious Skin. Despite a slightly careworn resolution, this is a fine film indeed.
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