Cumbia is the only fundamental constant in “Magic Farm,” the sophomore effort by Argentine-born Spanish filmmaker Amalia Ulman, a sweeping and biting satire about odious, privileged Americans adrift in a remote rural Argentine town. The group of foreigners works for a Vice-like media company dedicated to exploiting unconventional stories from around the world to create sensational video content. The latest target of their cultural mining operation is Super Carlitos, a flamboyant singer known for wearing bunny ears, who resides in the town of San Cristóbal. Unbeknownst to inept producer Jeff (Alex Wolff, of “Hereditary” fame), a place with that name could be anywhere in Latin America.
With the same uncomfortably dry sense of humor she displayed in her debut feature, “El Planeta,” in which she and her biological mother played a financially struggling mother and daughter, Ulman casts herself as Elena, the camerawoman and performer. There's an inevitable metatextual quality to her character, as Elena explains that she was born in Argentina and raised in Spain, hence her accent. The perpetually aggrieved hostess, Edna (Chloë Sevigny); Justin (Joe Apollonio), the gay sound technician who's in love with the friendly, burly hotel receptionist (Guillermo Jacubowicz); and, for a brief part of the trip, Edna's partner and production manager, Dave (Simon Rex in a cameo), complete the peculiar gringo group.
Director: Amalia Ulman
Writer: Amalia Ulman
Stars: Joe Apollonio, Camila del Campo, Guillermo Jacubowicz
Realizing they've traveled to the wrong San Cristóbal, Jeff sets about inventing a new story involving a religious cult with the help of locals, specifically Popa (Valeria Lois) and her daughter Manchi (Camila del Campo). Interactions with the locals, oblivious to the outsiders' true motivations, lead to some of the most hilarious scenes: Popa discussing her romance with a French movie star is laugh-out-loud worthy. But when the Americans, and even Elena, find themselves alone, preoccupied with their personal conflicts in the north, "Magic Farm" becomes momentarily dull, even for a work that relies on discomfort for its abrasive comedy.
"Magic Farm" operates with a refreshing visual anarchy. When cinematographer Carlos Rigo Bellver isn't behind the camera, the device is sometimes mounted on a dog or horse, creating a disorienting, grounded feeling. The film is also framed by shots, likely filmed with a 360-degree camera, that distort the image for a hallucinatory effect, as if announcing the distorted arrival and departure of these visitors. Ulman, Bellver, and editor Arturo Sosa carefully conceived striking transitions, which appear fluid in their execution, but also deliberately striking.
The tone of “Magic Farm,” as well as Ulman’s artistic intention, is deeply reminiscent of the trenchant, cross-cultural work of Chilean filmmaker Sebastián Silva, particularly films like “Crystal Fairy” and the more recent “Rotting in the Sun,” which chronicles the behavior of clueless, sometimes insufferable gringos in Latin America. Ulman’s gathering of a cast of relatively well-known actors and placing them in an environment where they feel out of place creates a fascinating dissonance. Among the images Ulman creates, which might otherwise not have existed, are those of Sevigny walking down a dirt road in this small Argentine town while a dance-inducing electronic cumbia blasts loudly.
Ulman’s character stands out as someone with ties to the country, who speaks the language and understands the cultural nuances. This is also evident in the writer-director’s use of music and the careful inclusion of details such as the bold banners with humorous messages that adorn the streets. It takes someone with a connection to Latin America, however tenuous, to expose the ignorance, righteousness, and stupidity with which certain segments of the American population interact with countries south of the border. Trapped in their self-centered vicious cycle, the group completely ignores the true story of the toxic pesticides that have become a serious health problem in San Cristóbal. Ulman's clever writing makes this information crystal clear to the audience.
On screen, Elena remains an enigma, never explicitly stating her loyalty to either side, to neither of which she fully belongs. Does she feel closer to the people of the country she left as a child or to the coworkers she spends so much time with in New York? Another version of "Magic Farm" might have been more incisive about her place in the equation and her feelings about her work ethic. Instead, Ulman doesn't make her role the most conscious exception and lets the experience unfold with Elena as a mere complicit spectator. On the other hand, the film itself confirms Ulman's, the filmmaker's, position.
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