Rojo (Benjamín Naishtat, 2018) (Patreon)

It's often a dicey proposition when a highly experimental filmmaker aims for greater accessibility. But it doesn't have to be, and Rojo, the third feature from Argentina's Benjamín Naishtat, proves that a radical artist can maintain his unique sensibility even while aiming for a wider audience. Of his earlier films, History of Fear displayed a rigorous, at times even rigid formal approach, and El Movimiento seemed infused with the radical spirit of Glauber Rocha. One can observe elements of both of those tendencies in Rojo, although they are combined with other stylistic and genre maneuvers, to produce a film that contains multitudes but nevertheless hangs together.

The film takes place in the mid-70s, "in the Argentine provinces." The first act, which opens with a static shot of a two-story home being looted, has the feel of the Michael Haneke of Caché, and this early part of the film culminates in one of the most jarring character introductions I've seen in quite some time. Like a self-contained one-act play, the scene in the restaurant is the one that will initially have people talking about Rojo, even though it is eventually subsumed into the overall texture of the film. Provincial attorney Claudio (Dario Grandinetti) is waiting for his wife at a table in a crowded restaurant, and an angry stranger (Diego Cremonesi) demands that Claudio relinquish his table. Claudio does, but then gives the man a very public dressing-down, which provokes a tragic chain of events.

What is truly unique about Naishtat's approach is the way that, after a three-month ellipsis, very little seems to come of the dramatic act. We see Claudio being smug and petty, his wife (Andrea Frigerio) tolerating him, and their daughter Paula (Laura Grandinetti) going about her business as she dates a rather milquetoast boy, and practices for the school dance recital in which she is dancing the lead. Meanwhile, Claudio's friend wants to involve him in a shady deal which will allow him to purchase the abandoned home seen in the first shot. 

Many of these subplots amount to "nothing," in a strictly narrative sense, and it is only with the arrival of a famous TV detective, Sinclair (Alfredo Castro), that something resembling a police procedural kicks in. But even this is of limited interest to Naishtat. As we discover gradually, through both side business and Claudio's general attitude, the right-wing military coup is coming, and Rojo is more invested in capturing an ambiance of fear and entitlement, creeping dread and friendly fascism. People can be simply disappeared -- this is the start of the Dirty War -- but everyday life goes on as normal, for most. (It's the classic gambit. "I have nothing to hide, so why would I worry?")

In its form, Rojo resembles Kleber Mendonca Filho's Neighboring Sounds, in that it offers a broad mosaic of a society in transition. But unlike that film, it positions one clear protagonist at its center, a morally compromised individual who is perceived by all around him as a pillar of probity and moral judgment. As Sinclair tells Claudio in the desert in the final act, a change is coming, and in the end, it's not what you do or don't do that counts. It's what you can live with.