Léalo en español
At a time when the cinema is full of cookie-cutter movies, which last exactly 90 minutes, where the viewer knows the moment when the tension increases, when there will be romance or sex, who the bad guys are, and how the action ends, Foremost by Night cleanses and refreshes the palate.
This is not a comedy or even an easy film. In fact it begins with a text by Chilean writer Roberto Bolaño which announces, “a horror story, a story of a heinous crime.” It is that, but not in the sense of horror or fantastic films, but in the sense of the worst kind of monsters, those who roam amongst us.
Vera (Lola Dueñas) is a single woman who gave her son up for adoption in her youth. Over time, she looks for him, simply to find out if he’s okay, without trying to interfere in his life. Spanish authorities tell her that he died at childbirth, but there is no document related to the child’s death or for that matter any document regarding her stay in the hospital. So she decides herself to look for him, with legal, illegal and dubious methods.
Victor Iriarte made an unusual transition in the film industry: he went from being a programmer at a prestigious festival to a feature film director. Before that, he directed shorts and documentaries, Foremost by Night is his feature debut.
Vera’s story is unfortunately based on real events. From the beginning of the Franco dictatorship in Spain in 1939, thousands of newborns were stolen from single mothers, political prisoners, parents with leftist ideas or simply poor. They were handed over – in many cases with financial compensation – to parents sympathetic with the regime, who may or may not know the origins of the children. The practice, with the active participation of Catholic nuns, lasted until 1975. The amnesty law – aptly nicknamed “of oblivion” – made it impossible for families to be reunited. It wasn’t until 2007, with the Law of Memory, that files of circa 30,000 existing cases, according to Judge Baltasar Garzón, began to be put together.
Foremost by Night is not an experimental film — there is an almost linear narration — but rather a mixture of genres. This diversity relaxes the dramatic tension announced at the beginning, but it also allows gives Iriarte the freedom to tell the story in different ways, at different rhythms and in the voices of the three protagonists: Vera (Lola Dueñas) the biological mother, Egoz (Manuel Egozkue) the son and Cora (Ana Torrent), the adoptive mother. With little text and a lot of movement, Iriarte builds an intriguing story that hurts and surprises, with several changes in pace softening the blow.
There are different interesting moments, some with a very original staging, such as when Egoz asks a hypothetical biological mother questions off screen while he is drinking in a bar, and then at the end of a very long take he is seen dancing in a syncopated way. Other scenes are classic, like the small role of an anonymous archivist, personified with sober excellence by María Vázquez (Matria).
Both mothers – biological as well as adoptive – work with their hands. Cora has an artistic profession; she is a pianist. Vera is a stenographer, somewhat practical; but were it not for the condition of anonymity, of almost invisibility that this profession requires, Vera would not have had the tools to find her son. Thus, all hands complement each other: theirs, their son’s and those of other people who play the harp or the piano; the many hands that move in daily work, some in a choreographic way.
The narration is fed by small details like an electroencephalogram, highway signs, maps that stretch out until they become veins in marble or veins in a hand. Curiously, the action ranges from Bilbao and San Sebastián in Spain to Porto in Portugal. The film seems to implicitly involve the Portuguese government in these crimes, despite the fact that there is little historical evidence this.
There are many ways to try to heal historical wounds through cinema. The Official Story by Luis Puenzo showed us a drama, Kathryn Bigelow made an action movie with The Hurt Locker; Pablo Larraín turned Pinochet into a vampire in his satire El conde. Víctor Iriarte avoids melodrama but doesn’t choose a genre, rather a mixture of them with many cinematographic winks. At times the narration speeds up like a thriller, then it turns very lyrical and approaches a poem. There are women dyed blonde who wear leather jackets and high-heeled boots for a robbery; a gun hidden in a printing press, neon lights, filters and masks via the daring camera of Pablo Paloma.
In an interview with the mother of a stolen baby, she says, “I lost my son and if I find him he will be an adult man to whom I gave birth; my son is lost forever.” With empathy and compassion, Iriarte allows Vera to establish a relationship with her son that becomes affectionate and caring. It is the best fate one could wish for such a stolen relationship.
Director, screenplay: Victor Iriarte
Cast: Lola Dueñas, Ana Torrent, Manuel Egozkue
Producers: Andrea Queralt, Valérie Delpierre, Isa Campo, Isaki Lacuesta, Tamara García, Katixa Da Silva, Víctor Iriarte
Cinematography: Pablo Paloma
Editing: Ana Pfaff
Music: Maite Arroitajauregi
Sound: Alazne Ameztoy, Iosu Gonzalez EtxabeProduction Companies: La Termita Films, Atekaleun, CSC Films, Inicia Films, Ukbar Filmes, 4 A 4 Productions
World sales: Alpha Violet
In Spanish
108 minutes
