Films About Home, Leaving, and Finding Your Way Back

This week's newsletter, by critic Alejandro Riera, takes us into Bolivia's indigenous Quechua communities through two recent movies: "Utama" and "La hija condor." But first, he introduces us to Mexican-Palestinian filmmaker Colette Ghunim’s emotional and deeply personal documentary, "Traces of Home."

I saw both "Traces of Home" and "La hija condor" at this year's Los Angeles Latino International Film Festival, and both have stayed with me. "Traces of Home" especially moved me with the way Ghunim brings her parents back to the places they left decades ago, confronting painful memories while also creating the possibility of healing. The film is full of emotion, and I’ll admit I was crying right along with everyone on screen.

"La hija condor" stayed with me for a different reason. Indigenous communities remain marginalized throughout Latin America, so I appreciate movies that center their experiences, particularly when they resist the familiar stereotypes we often see on screen. Alejandro’s piece gets at what makes this film so interesting: It isn’t simply about tradition versus modernity, but about young people trying to figure out where they belong when the pressure to leave can be so strong.

Happy Watching,

— Vanessa

Winner of the Grand Jury Prize in the U.S. Competition at last year’s DOC NYC, Mexican-Palestinian filmmaker Colette Ghunim’s feature documentary debut takes us on a personal journey to find her parents' ancestral homes in Mexico and Palestine. The trip marks the first time her parents visit Mexico City and the village of Safed in more than 50 years. For Ghunim, the trip offers a chance to understand the pain that dislocation has caused in her family. Ghunim uses archival footage, personal photos, animation, and tough one-on-one conversations to confront the past and pave the way for reconciliation.

Playing at the Angelika Film Center in New York, with additional cities to follow.

An elderly Quechua couple must deal with the ravages of global warming on the arid Bolivian altiplano in Alejandro Loayza Grisis’ beautiful and devastating feature film debut. Virginio and Sisi (played by real-life couple José Calcina and Luisa Quispe) make a living herding llamas. A year-long drought has struck the region, and the well in the nearby town has run dry. The arrival of their grandson from the big city serves as a reminder that their days in the altiplano are numbered. "Utama" is not only a story about tradition and the impact of climate change on Latin America’s poorest communities. It is also a story about death: the death of a land, its inhabitants, and a way of life.

Streaming on several platforms, including the Kino Film Collection and Kanopy.

— By Alejandro Riera

Upon first viewing Álvaro Olmos Torrico’s feature debut “La hija condor” (“The Condor Daughter”) at the Chicago International Film Festival last year, I was surprised by how it subtly subverted the tropes of most indigenous-themed movies from Bolivia, Ecuador, and Perú. Yes, it does feature indigenous communities abandoned by their youth in search of a better life in the city, imposing landscapes, and the clash between tradition and modern cultures. But while most of these films are observational, documenting the rituals and daily grind of the mostly elderly inhabitants left behind, “The Condor Daughter” offers a more complex, nuanced portrait of the generational conflicts that drive most of their youth to leave. A second viewing made more evident what should have been obvious on the first: this is a story about the women who embody the teachings and practices of the Pachamama despite a patriarchal system that controls every aspect of their lives.

Ana (María Magdalena Sanizo, who won the Best Actress Award at the Málaga and Guadalajara Film Festivals this year) is the last practicing midwife in the Quechua community of Totorani, high in the Bolivian Andes. She is training her adopted daughter, Clara (Marisol Vallejos Montaños), to take the reins once she can no longer fulfill her role. Clara helps Ana by singing songs in Quechua that soothe the pain of mothers giving birth and usher their newborns into this new world.

The drama opens with one such birthing, staged like a tableau in a room decorated with drapes, and shot with minimal light and warm colors by Peruvian cinematographer Nicolás Wong (“La Llorona,” “I Have Electric Dreams”). As payment, the newborn's father gives Ana a sack of potatoes and Clara a radio. Once she is able to acquire some batteries, the radio becomes Clara’s point of entry to the outside world. Clara’s interest grows when she meets members of an all-women band from Cochabamba who, after hearing her sing while waiting for her mother, invite her to call them if and when she is ready to take that first step.