CULTURE-ARGENTINA: Shoestring Films a Threat to Hollywood

By Marcela Valente Reprint | | Print |

Marcela Valente

BUENOS AIRES, Sep 21 2001 (IPS) - Argentine filmmakers Julio Midú and Fabio Junco churn out four feature-length movies a year – at a cost averaging 140 dollars each – in Saladillo, a town of 30,000 people. Their films draw more than 500 viewers to the only local theatre, a much larger audience than Hollywood films attract.

The secret to their success is not in the quality of the films, which are made using a digital video camera that is still being paid for. The key is the cast, consisting of some 100 residents of this farming town who sometimes play specific characters, and sometimes play themselves.

“Can you imagine? My grandchildren get excited about coming to see me (in the films), even though I only play a small role,” said Alberto Ortalli, an 81-year-old retiree who is participating in this cultural movement that has changed the pace of life in Saladillo, a town 200 km from Buenos Aires.

With each premiere, the locals pack the theatre. As each character appears on screen, there are laughs, applause, jeers and all kinds of commentary, which sometimes makes it difficult to follow the plot. If any of the actors appears in skimpy clothing it is impossible to hear the dialogue, said Ortalli.

There are also those who head to the theatre to see how their house, car, horse or tractor looks on the big screen. “That’s my dog!” shouts a boy excitedly as he jumps out of his seat, proving that the dramatic climax is often concentrated in the characters, not the plot.

One of the actors, Miguel Salinardi, another pensioner, recounted that after playing a wealthy entrepreneur married to a much younger woman who has affairs with several other men, he could not walk down the street without someone yelling ‘cornudo!’ (cuckold) at him.

Now it seems the spectators only see their neighbours as film characters, agreed the actors. The chance to temporarily changed one’s identity and fate is leading more and more Saladillo residents to ask the directors to include them in the next film, even if only in a small role.

Each debut of a Midú-Junco film is a revolution in Saladillo. In contrast, the showing of Hollywood’s “Planet of the Apes”, by director Tim Burton, was a flop there this month. The Saturday night premiere drew 26 moviegoers, and just one person bought a ticket for the Sunday showing.

In 1995, Midú, now 26, wanted to pursue a career in filmmaking but did not have enough money to study the art in Buenos Aires. He instead asked some of his neighbours to participate in filming a television soap opera, which was broadcast locally on Sunday nights for two years. As an indicator of its popularity, it achieved higher ratings than football matches.

Midú himself took on the leading role. His female co-star, an adolescent from Saladillo, had been promised there would be no scenes of “physical contact” – in an attempt to prevent town gossip. The love scenes proved upsetting to the actress’s mother, however.

When the soap opera became successful, Junco, now 31 and also a resident of Saladillo, approached Midú about future collaboration on film projects. The two participated in a script-writing course in Buenos Aires and subsequently dedicated themselves to filming another TV series as well as feature-length films.

The two have already released four films and have another four in production, with costs that have yet to surpass 160 dollars per movie.

Some of their cost-saving measures include using a motorcycle to film travelling shots, instead of the rails used in filming major productions, and supporting the overhead microphone, which is wrapped in a sock to filter out the sound of the wind, using a broomstick.

If an ambulance or a police car is needed for a scene, or if a specific décor would give just the right touch, the people of Saladillo mobilise to provide it.

Midú and Junco point out that they do not want government support for their projects. “We’re fine working as we are,” asserted Midú as he rejected the assistance the municipal government has offered now that this “movement” is really beginning to take off.

They get by with what they already have on hand. If more light is needed on the set, the headlights of the truck the directors drive are sufficient. If not, we would have to get a different vehicle, they explain.

“Here, the butcher plays the butcher, the hospital is our hospital, the nurse is the nurse and the police play the police,” says actress Guillermina Saggion, 38. “I would never do this as a real job,” she quickly adds.

But Midú and Junco’s endeavours have shaken up the lives of several of the actors. “I discovered passion,” said Domingo Mascatelio, a 49-year-old bricklayer. He is trying to convince the directors to put him “in a kissing scene.”

Film production is concentrated during the weekends when the actors are free from their normal work routines. Filming does not come without some risks, as actress Veronica Marasca discovered, reporting that a slap in the face she received from her fictional husband hurt for several days.

Even though the actors try, it is difficult to act as if they had been trained professionally, and that is what makes these films unique. “Sometimes we have to record several takes because someone will call another by their real-life nickname instead of the name of the film character,” Junco pointed out.

Midú walked with a limp for a time after filming a simulated motorcycle accident that turned out to be more real than the directors had intended. “We don’t use doubles or dummies. When someone gets run over, they get run over,” he said.

A much smaller tragedy was the loss of Marasca’s t-shirt to stains after using ketchup to simulate the blood of a fatal wound to the chest.

The Saladillo actors agree that the experience of working on the films has built a stronger sense of community while allowing them to discover their own hidden talents, and to forget – even if only briefly – their own problems as Argentina suffers a profound economic crisis.

“I never imagined I would act in a film,” says Germán Gómez, a farmer from the area. “I don’t know if I am any good, but I do it with so much energy that I don’t care,” he smiles.