It isn’t a whole lotta fun, reviewing an underwhelming film whose intentions are in the right place. But it must be done. So here goes: “Un Traductor” is directed by two first-time filmmakers, Rodrigo and Sebastián Barriuso, and tells the story of their father, Malin. Here played by Rodrigo Santoro, Malin was a professor of Russian Literature in Havana at the time of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster.
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The film opens in 1986 Havana. Fidel Castro is moving to strengthen Cuban-Soviet relations, so when Chernobyl occurs, the Cuban government takes in tens of thousands of victims for treatment in Cuban hospitals. Malin, along with the few other Russian Lit professors in Havana, is drafted by the government to act as a translator between the Russian-speaking Chernobyl victims and their Cuban medical professionals — and Malin has the distinct misfortune of being assigned to the children’s ward. At first he can barely endure witnessing the children’s suffering. He attempts to quit, but is informed in no uncertain terms that he has no choice in the matter (he’s told to take it up with Fidel). Soon, Malin begins to develop relationships with individual patients and takes it upon himself to improve their lives.
It’s unfortunate that “Un Traductor” isn’t better than it is. There’s something heartwarming about the fact that Malin’s sons felt so strongly about their father’s incredible story that they made a feature film commemorating him. Not to mention the fact that the film has a realist anti-Castro message of the sort that can only come from those who have personally been affected by authoritarianism’s ill effects. Or that it features some truly gut-wrenching sick-children scenes (seriously, this movie could be called “Sick Kids: A Sundance Movie”). But the bottom line is this: the movie fundamentally misunderstands where the inherent drama lies in Malin’s story.
The filmmakers oddly focus “Un Traductor” on the wrong points of conflict. They gloss over Malin’s struggle against the Cuban government (considering the fact that Malin is being portrayed here as primarily a strong-willed character, he caves far too quickly when told that he has no choice but to work at the hospital). The translators rarely — if ever — butt heads with the doctors, even though they clearly have opposing agendas. The film bizarrely ignores these fascinating elements of Malin’s true story in favor of a melodramatic throughline about Malin’s marriage to contemporary art curator Isona (Yoandra Suarez), with the idea being that Isona resents Malin for being more invested in the sick kids in the hospital than his wife and child. The way it’s presented is difficult to believe — Isona comes across as extremely unreasonable, even selfish, most of the time — and it isn’t especially interesting.
Late in the film, the Barriusos shoehorn in some unearned material about the disastrous effects of Castro’s political leadership, including food scarcity, petrol shortage, and the government cutting its citizens off from their bank accounts. It’s handled clumsily, like much of the rest of the film, yet it still makes you wish the Barriusos had focused their movie on more interesting things than their parents’ marital issues.
These are weighty issues we’re dealing with, but the film feels weightless. With few exceptions (there’s an evocative shot, late in the film, of Havana’s citizens riding bicycles through the streets due to the petrol shortage), the cinematography is flat and uninspired, the children’s personalities mostly indistinguishable, and the central marital conflict a distraction from the more intriguing parts of Malin’s story. To add insult to injury, a piercingly earnest score by Bill Laurance dogs the film throughout, making sure you know exactly what you’re supposed to be feeling at every beat in every scene.
You get the sense, from most of the film’s performances, that the Barriuso brothers aren’t exactly actors’ directors. Their actors tend to be as flat as their imagery, and while Santoro is fine as Malin, his primary characteristic is simply “handsome.” The standout performance in “Un Traductor” actually comes from Maricel Álvarez as Gladys, a nurse who works the children’s ward with Malin. Álvarez is the only actor here whose performance seems like it’s out of a better movie, as if she showed up to set every day not needing much direction at all, having put actual thought into her character and performance. (This is obviously conjecture.)
The concept behind the film is sound, but it probably it shouldn’t have been directed by Malin’s two sons. And it definitely shouldn’t have been their first movie. But while the intentions behind “Un Taductor” were admirable, there’s just not much to recommend here. [C-]
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