There’s a lot going on in the opening scene of Everything Else is Noise, but director Nicolás Pereda hardly has to move his camera. It just sits there, gazing out the window and onto a Mexico City intersection as a traffic jam forms from construction. In one long, continuous shot, vehicles accumulate and block the box, forcing oncoming drivers to make dangerous maneuvers that instigate horns and sirens—a soundtrack supplemented by the sustained notes of a cello coming from inside. The cacophony of noise is enough for a new father downstairs to knock on the door and ask his cellist neighbor, Tere (Teresita Sanchez), to quiet down. She’s already made a similar pact with another bothered tenant, but this request seems absurd considering the blaring noise outside. As Tere will be reminded throughout the rest of this wry, knowing, minimalist comedy of manners, she’s always at the mercy of other men’s schedules, preferences, and selective ears.
Pereda (Lazaro at Night), a veteran Mexican filmmaker whose films frequently dabble between fantasy and reality, stays inside Tere’s plant-filled apartment for the rest of the movie. There’s too much activity to leave, anyway. On this loud morning, Tere has lent her living space to her friend Rosa (Rosa Estela Juárez Vargas), another cellist and fellow composer, so she can film a cable-television interview about her craft. When the interviewer Lázaro (Lázaro G. Rodríguez, Pereda’s longtime collaborator), and his cameraman, Paco (Francisco Barreiro), show up to record, the power shuts off, the camera’s audio malfunctions, and the next-door dog won’t stop barking—among several hiccups that turn this shoot into a cursed, comical experience.
Between the humorous fits and starts, the pair interrogate Rosa with some basic questions that she entertains in short, slightly stubborn answers. The stilted rapport builds a stuffy atmosphere, and at times it seems Lázaro and Paco are mailing in their questions like a group homework project. This gives Tere—and later, her daughter Luisa (Luisa Pardo), lurking in the corner of the room—a chance to interject with her own answers (and force Paco to mic her up) about the trio’s work in a male-dominated field, even relaying a fantastical story about how the scent of rat influenced her to become a composer. Lázaro can’t tell she’s fibbing (or, at least, partially fibbing) and proceeds to take her seriously, yet asks none of the follow-up questions that such a revelation would warrant. He’s just there to collect material he needs.
About halfway through Noise, Pereda adds some stylistic flourishes that don’t announce themselves so much as sneak up on you. When Lázaro and Paco step outside, waiting for the power to return, Pereda stays keyed into their conversation while the camera remains on the three women. It’s an eerie, effective juxtaposition, like you’re eavesdropping without any visual reference. The pair exchange small talk until Lázaro explains that this messy, all-day interview might have real merit only because of the fact that Luisa’s father (and Tere’s one-time lover) is the legendary composer Estevez (José Rodríguez López). Upon their return, Lázaro brings up the maestro and recedes into an easy corner of questioning. “What was his influence on you?” he asks Rosa, as though nobody in the room might have their own source of inspiration.
Pereda and his co-writer Juan Francisco Maldonado nestle into this subtly ingrained groove of sexism (including an awkward scene in which Paco attempts to ascertain Lusia’s number for a movie he’s directing) throughout the rest of the 70 minutes, a runtime that cuts off opportunity for a deeper examination of the complicated family dynamics at its core—namely the relationship between Tere and Luisa, which boils into a frustrated third-person conversation about their generational insecurities. Still, there’s enough to infer in the way Luisa spats about her mother having her at 18 and losing her independence or Tere believing her daughter hasn’t to terms with her lack of vocation. They have history and musical gifts and a shared understanding that will never be given due credit.
What binds them is the patriarch, the maestro that Lázaro seems to care more about anyway—all the more evident when Estevez stops by at night and captures the interviewer’s full attention. As they rabble under candlelight, Tere and Luisa listen to his self-congratulatory list of accomplishments and projects and the predicted talking points that never change. They can’t handle the reality of this chaotic day and this secondary existence, but can at least indulge in its preposterousness. “You’ve spent your whole life doing what other people want,” Luisa advises her mother. “Stop caring so much.” What better way than to laugh?
Everything Else is Noise screened at the 64th New York Film Festival and will be released by Pragda.
The post NYFF Review: In Absurdist Comedy Everything Else is Noise, Women Fight to Be Heard first appeared on The Film Stage.
from The Film Stage https://ift.tt/rviWOtB
0 Comments