The Esoteric Style of Pablo Larraín in memory of the 50th Anniversary of the 1973 Chilean coup d'état

Chilean director Pablo Larraín's first two English-language films, Jackie (2016) and Spencer (2021), revolve around the lives of two women caught amid political turmoil. Larraín chose to diverge from conventional filmmaking approaches, instead employing an abundance of close-up shots and an eerie soundtrack. These elements, combined with his unwavering commitment to capturing striking visuals and settings, bestow upon his characters a unique sense of isolation. Notably, in Larraín's works, the central focus often shifts away from the actual historical events, as he excels at portraying the peculiar and unsettling circumstances that characters find themselves in during a specific era. While Spencer may not have received unanimous acclaim, it undeniably marks the first cinematic portrayal of Princess Diana in such a manner. Larraín's adeptness at crafting an oppressive and suspenseful atmosphere shines particularly brightly in this film. This, perhaps, is where his true forte lies.

The Chilean coup that occurred half a century ago remains an unavoidable subject for Chilean creators. Pablo Larraín's films, Tony Manero (2008), Post Mortem (2010), and No (2012), collectively form what can be referred to as Larraín's ‘Pinochet Trilogy.’’. These films appear to reflect the director's inclination towards quasi-political and historical themes. On September 11, 1973, Augusto Pinochet initiated a military coup, toppling the government of Salvador Allende, thrusting Chile into a 13-year era of military dictatorship. Presently, the essence of this event appears to have solidified. On the 50th anniversary of the coup, Chilean leaders joined their international counterparts in commemorating this significant day, paying tribute to Allende, who lost his life during the coup.

Does this imply that the assessment of Pinochet has evolved into a definitively settled historical matter? The answer appears to be negative. When Pinochet passed away in 2006, the Chief of the Chilean Army delivered a eulogy at his funeral, stating, "Pinochet took on the responsibility of leading the nation during a time of profound crisis. He firmly believed that there was no alternative to extricate the country from this crisis." Furthermore, given the intricate connections between Pinochet, the coup, and various foreign nations such as the United States and Britain, Pinochet's historical standing remains a subject of contentious debate.

In El Conde, Larraín's fourth film on Pinochet, the spotlight is firmly on the dictator himself. However, it's important to note that the film doesn't aim to serve as a strict historical record. In an interview, the Chilean director explained:

"Our nation continues to grapple with internal divisions and the lingering specter of Pinochet's atrocities. Pinochet passed away without facing guilt and as a millionaire. This perceived injustice is a key factor contributing to Chile's ongoing social divide."

Larraín openly acknowledged that the depiction of a military government trial scene in Argentina, 1985 (2022) no longer holds any possibility, as Pinochet managed to evade prosecution successfully. El Conde can be perceived as Larraín's deep concern for Chile's future. By utilizing history as a reflection, his attention naturally gravitates towards the figure of the dictator.

In El Conde, a foundational premise unfolds: Pinochet undergoes a transformation into a vampire. As the story goes, he once served in Louis XVI's army, engaging in bizarre acts like licking the blood of Marie Antoinette during the tumultuous period of the French Revolution. Upon his arrival in Chile, he continued his gruesome practices, involving acts of violence, blood drinking, and bizarre rituals such as consuming people's hearts to sustain his unholy existence. This concept serves as an undeniably explicit and ironic metaphor, infusing the film with the potential to establish a genre that melds elements of humor and horror.

After 250 years of feeding on blood, the vampire Pinochet grows weary of a life devoid of power and yearns to depart from this world. This decision draws the attention of his five children and Pinochet's wife, who embark on a quest to lay claim to Pinochet's legacy and inheritance. The depiction of this issue in the film is relatively dull; the extended dialogues accompanied by serene front-reverse shots can feel sluggish. However, it's worth noting that in the initial 30 minutes of the film, the portrayal of Pinochet is quite striking. He is depicted flying through the air in a cloak, brutally assaulting people with a hammer, and indulging in gruesome acts like consuming human hearts. The film benefits greatly from its captivating soundtrack and Ed Lachman’s masterful black-and-white cinematography, lending it an inherently mysterious and intriguing quality at the outset. The black-and-white visuals, reminiscent of Nosferatu, are exquisitely executed and compelling enough to engage viewers, even without a traditional "plot" to follow. In essence, this aspect of the film presents itself as a more rudimentary counterpart to the work of Christopher Nolan.

Pinochet never physically bit his children, yet in the film, they all become vampires. The nuances of this playful narrative are thought-provoking: it suggests that the influence of dictatorship has permeated even within the family, while the unrelenting fixation on wealth remains undiminished. Intriguingly, there are parallels here with Larraín's own family background: his mother served in the government of the former right-wing president, and his father was a member of the Conservative Party, a group closely associated with Pinochet during that era. Although Larraín has downplayed these connections, in El Conde, his portrayal of Pinochet's family dynamics becomes a subject of self-reflection and serves as a target for satirical commentary.

The persistent British female voiceover narration throughout the film may initially leave viewers perplexed, but as the story unfolds, the mystery gradually unravels. At one point, Pinochet quips, "I enjoy sipping British blood," which might appear as a jest but holds real-world significance. During the Falklands War, Chile stood as the lone South American nation to lend support to Britain. This historical fact underscores the notion that Chile received backing from Britain, the United States, and other countries during Pinochet's dictatorship. Towards the film's culmination, the female narrator discloses that Margaret Thatcher affectionately referred to Pinochet as her "son." This revelation encapsulates Larraín's assessment of Pinochet and that particular chapter of history.

The film also introduces several other characters. The nun tasked with investigating the family's finances serves as Larraín's rather crude allusion to The Messenger: The Story of Joan of Arc, offering a religious perspective on the vampire dictator. Characters like the butler Fyodor appear flat and lacking depth, much like others in the film. El Conde boasts a visually stunning aesthetic and an enchanting atmosphere, characteristics consistent with Larraín's previous works. However, beyond the surface-level satirical elements, the narrative itself proves to be rather unengaging. Around the 50-minute mark, I found myself adrift in the film's direction and the director's intentions, leading to a sense of disconnection during the drawn-out dialogues. While numerous elements are referenced within the storyline, the absence of a robust character foundation and coherent narrative logic means these references end up feeling disconnected afterthoughts, reminiscent of the type seen in Oppenheimer. The intricacy of the text contrasts with the film's lack of narrative coherence, which is particularly disappointing given Larraín's proficiency in crafting visually stunning images.