Dir: Juan Pablo Rebella & Pablo Stoll, 2004, Uruguay/Spain/Germany/Argentina, 94 mins, Subtitles
Cast: André Pazos, Mirella Pascual, Jorge Bolani, Ana Katz, Daniel Hendlert
Since debuting at Cannes last year, where it picked up the Fibresci and Prix Original – Un Certain Regard awards, Whisky has been a popular fixture on the festival circuit and finally, save a screening at the London Film Festival last October, finds itself available to British audiences. Juan Pablo Rebella and Pablo Stoll’s second feature is a subtle and bone dry tragicomedy that is beautifully droll in its execution.
Through a series of locked-off shots we are introduced to the laborious routine of sixty-year-old Jacobo Köller (Pazos) - owner of a dilapidated sock factory - and his assistant Marta (Pascual). They habitually follow their same routines, the days bleeding together with barely a word spoken. This is until an imminent visit from Jacobo’s younger brother Hermann (Bolani), to place a headstone on their recently deceased mother’s grave, compels him to request a favour from Marta.
The brothers have had little contact for years, and Jacobo, having long felt emotionally and professionally inferior to his sibling (who also runs a sock factory, though based in Brazil, with a more modern technological setup), asks Marta to act as his wife for the period of Hermann’s visit. She agrees, and ‘moves in’, making cosmetic adjustments to his apartment to maintain the façade. Then Herman, much to Jacobo’s discomfort, invites them for a short seaside break.
Once one comes to terms with the sedate pace and sparse dialogue in Whisky, its originality and charm shine through. Shot under the harsh financial limitations that necessitated the selling of the car they were using as Jacobo’s (to a junkyard), the directors have produced a credible piece of low-ebb humour.
Their similarity in style with Aki Kaurismäki has been well documented, but Whisky also bears strong similarities with Roy Andersson’s surreally apocalyptic Songs From The Second Floor. Its dour tone is similar as is the fact that there is no moving camera work at all – instead a series of carefully selected locked-off shots (though significantly more in number and without the painterly tableau framing of Songs…). This self-imposed limitation certainly helps in the rendering of the monotony of Jacobo and Marta’s life, but also creates a wonderful absurdity to the situation the three protagonists find themselves in – so much of the humour comes from the choice of framing (see the morose holiday makers, of varying heights, standing in the lift for example, or the two occasions when Jacobo and Marta pose for a picture).
Whisky – which is the Uruguayan equivalent of saying ‘Cheese!’ when posing for a picture – is sometimes difficult to warm to, perhaps a case of taking understatement to its extreme, but it has a great deal of inventiveness in its simplicity. Whether one sees Jacobo as the personification of Uruguay or not (his lack of desire to embrace technology has been compared to Uruguay’s own lack of ambition in comparison to surrounding countries), there is much to enjoy here.
A quietly satisfying film that bodes well for a fledgling film industry.
Adam Watkins
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