Tag Archives: Jayro Bustamante

Broken Wing

Rita

by Hope Madden

In 2019, filmmaker Jayro Bustamante traced a history of state-sanctioned horrors exacted on Guatemalan women with his superb supernatural tale, La Llorona. With his follow up, he mines far more current history to uncover troublingly similar horrors.

Rita is a fairy tale told from the perspective of the titular 13-year-old (Giuliana Santa Cruz). As Rita tells us in the beginning, her story—like any fairy tale—is true, but it didn’t happen exactly this way. Remanded to a state-run institution for girls, Rita describes the palace she believed would be her sanctuary, but it was run by ogres and witches.

The girls in the shelter are divided into cliques, each with its own costume. The fairies are very young; the dogs are wild and muzzled; bunnies are pregnant. There are also princesses and star lights. Rita is an angel.

It’s one way in which Bustamante—like the world at large—defiles images of innocence linked with girlhood. But the filmmaker never veers from his protagonist’s perspective, and to her, the inmates are mystical creatures, each type with its own power, each transcendent no matter the evil.

The young cast, exclusively newcomers, impresses with every character’s unseasoned choice, every child’s brutish and childlike reaction. Their wisdom feels unforced, never the product of a screenwriter needing to provide exposition. Santa Cruz is stoic, her character interior, while Alejandra Vásquez’s Bebé is charmingly blunt, Ángela Quevedo’s Sulmy is tenderly optimistic and Isabel Aidana’s La Terca is protective and gruff.

No one’s fully dimensional, but fairy tale characters never are. Bustamante’s dialog blends childlike inexperience with tragic notes of experience in ways that feel right at home in this polluted playground.

Because Bustamante’s film never leaves the grimy physical reality of Rita’s world, Rita leans closer to Issa Lopéz’s Tigers Are Not Afraid than del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth, but all three recognize the toll of systemic oppression on the most vulnerable and powerless.

Rita, though it barely qualifies as true horror, is a tough watch, especially because it is based on true events. It’s moving and debilitating at the same time, but it’s a beautiful and powerful work.

Cry Little Sister

La Llorona

by Hope Madden

Another timely Shudder original plays upon the madness that can creep into a period of lockdown. The righteous anger of a population, the chanting and signs, corruption in the government—that all seems pretty of-the-moment, too, but this isn’t Portland. This is Guatemala, and if you think the context seems familiar, you should hear the title: La Llorona.

But co-writer/director Jayro Bustamante’s indigenous horror bears little resemblance to Michael Chaves’s middling 2019 effort (which was partly salvaged by a solid-as-always turn from Linda Cardellini). Instead, Bustamante retools the Latin American ghost story of the weeping woman to spin a yarn of righteous vengeance.

La Llorona takes us inside the home of a war criminal (Julio Diaz). El General’s home is on lockdown since his conviction was overturned. Angry Guatemalan citizens, and especially members of the Kaqchikel people most terrorized by his bloodlust, protest outside the door all hours of the day and night.

Inside, the General, his bitter wife (Margarita Kenéfic), their doctor daughter (Sabrina De La Hoz), her daughter (Ayla-Elea Hurtado), and two female servants (María Mercedes Coroy and María Telón) begin to crumble under the tensions.

Bustamante’s film is a slow boil as interested in those who’ve tacitly accepted evil as it is in those who’ve committed it. What goes unsaid weighs as heavily as what happens in front of us. Impressively, this is also the first horror film in decades to make truly effective use of a dream sequence.

The fact that justice, however slowly, comes in the form of generations of women is understated perfection.

Justice springs from compassion, which requires empathy—which sometimes depends upon courage and selflessness. No tears necessary.