“When you want to film a fire, you need to be in the place where the first flame is produced.” So says the disembodied voice of Patricio Guzmán as he recalls a piece of advice received early in his filmmaking career by his mentor, French multimedia artist Chris Marker. In this case, the fire is the Estallido Social, a series of colossal protests and riots that started in the capital city of Santiago and rapidly spread across Chile at the end of 2019. The flame — an increase in the subway fare — was the final nail in the coffin of ongoing social injustice that led the country to a thunderous breaking point.
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Curiously, it was also an increase in the cost of public transport that kickstarted what is known as the Journeys of 2013, a similar series of civil protests that saw millions of civilians take the streets of cities across Brazil. “It’s not only about the twenty cents,” said the many banners held by protesters. The riots took place a mere few months before the country prepared to welcome some of the world’s wealthiest and most powerful at the 2014 FIFA World Cup. The celebration of multimillion investments in stadiums doomed to obsolescence was a painful blow to those struggling to afford basic human necessities.
The similarities between the two social movements are briefly brushed over in “My Imaginary Country” (“Mi país imaginario“) a documentary about the Chilean uprising. Guzmán’s latest film was produced a whopping 50 years after the director’s debut, “The First Year,” which chronicled the first few months of the government of Salvador Allende. A professional chess player reflects on what she believes will come from the civil movement, picturing the best scenario as a new Constitution made by and for Chileans. The worst? An inflated sense of patriotism that leads to dangerous nationalism. She dares not address the elephant in the room — or rather, the elephant in the neighboring country — but her nightmare responds to the name of Jair Bolsonaro. These fears perfectly encapsulate what can happen when the system weaponizes social injustice to lead the masses to believe that equality will permanently erase the mythical idea of meritocracy.
Guzmán dwells on the horrors of dictatorship to analyze how the Estallido Social came to be. As a young man, the filmmaker was made a prisoner under the terrifying regime of Pinochet. The memories of those nefarious days flood back to his mind as the camera approaches the National Stadium, an almost permanent fixture in his films. The massive arena — which once served as his prison — has been turned into a polling center for a national referendum on a new Chilean Constitution. The poetry of such development is not lost on Guzmán, who lingers on feet walking through the walled-up cabins where a ballot awaits. A potpourri of espadrilles, sneakers, and sandals stands for the heterogeneity of people who unite in hope.
As time goes by, masks worn to protect from the dangerous threat of tear gas merge into masks worn to defend against a deadly virus. Protesters transform into political leaders as the streets give way to government buildings; those who suffered from silence are finally given a platform to speak. The memories of police brutality echo in these spaces, shared by those who vividly remember the fear of leaving your house to the very real possibility of no return. Tears are shed by a photographer left blind in one eye by a bullet that should have never left the barrel. “Cameras played a fundamental role in this revolt,” she remarks as Guzmán travels through each detail of her poignant pictures. In them, acid smoke envelops a distressed woman, fire burns in shades of black and white, and statues stand still above those whose lives depend on perpetual movement.
Despite all the sorrow from the ever-present trauma of young lives lost or permanently scarred, “My Imaginary Country” drips with the contagious thrill of hope. Thousands of women chant poetry in unison, bravely pointing their fingers at the men who have long silenced them. They feed on one another in anger-fuelled camaraderie; they are a mighty unit determined to ensure those who come after them should never taste the bitterness of violation. Indigenous people dedicate each victory to their ancestors, who were continuously and blatantly denied the fundamental right of validated existence. As newly-elected president Gabriel Boric takes the stage to address the nation that placed upon him precious trust, it is hard not to be moved by the electric rawness of hope. [B+]
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