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From Holy Wednesday to Easter Sunday at the 18th-century plantation, a wry colonial analysis in the Pontecorvo manner (Queimada). Religious murals behind the opening credits give way to doors slammed open in the slave quarters, the Count (Nelson Villagra) drops by the bustling mill to marvel at the spectacle of black brew leading to white sugar. He feels a void, "a maze of darkness" within, and tries to feel it with piety—twelve slaves are brought to his table, though not before he ostentatiously washes their feet. (The evangelical paternalism of the sacrament is cracked by a ticklish outburst as cold water hits a servant's toes.) A swift, handheld camera outdoors, rigid zooms at the dinner chamber for a rectangular composition with the master at the center, casting himself as Christ. "This is for you," he says to his captive audience, who take his anecdotes with a grain of salt and a chuckle. The key to happiness is not freedom but suffering, so goes the parable, the Savior's blood and flesh excite the curiosity of the cannibal guest: "So did they eat Him or not?" Full of wine and with peruke askew, the Count dozes off on his throne as the recalcitrant runaway slave (Samuel Claxton) recounts his own tale of decapitated Truth. African japes and songs season the debate, once sober the master has no recollection of his promises (cp. City Lights), uprisings and executions follow. "You get the moral?" Tomás Gutiérrez Alea's trenchant historical-political revue, where a wooden cross is dedicated to a ruthless overseer and insurrectionary consciousness rises from the ashes of rationalized oppression. Viva Zapata! informs the final montage. With Luis Alberto García, Silvano Rey, José Antonio Rodríguez, Mario Balmaseda, Idelfonso Tamayo, Julio Hernandez, and Manuel Puig.
--- Fernando F. Croce |