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 There are documentary filmmakers who are purists, believing in a... | There are documentary filmmakers who are purists, believing in a
strict non-participatory ethic of allowing events to unfold
organically before the camera despite their recognition of the fact
that a camera's presence necessarily alters subjects' behavior. Then
there are those that in light of this recognition believe that, since
the line is a fine one to begin with (particularly considering that
even scoring can constitute editorializing), decide to stretch this
boundary to better engage the viewer. Tactics used to achieve this –
dramatizations, shot choreography, for instance – can be seen in many
documentary efforts from Errol Morris' "The Thin Blue Line" (symbolic
representations of abstract ideas) to Fernando Truebas' "El Milagro de
Candeal" (pre-arrangement of some shots and interviews).
Taking creative license with these options can showcase skill and
imagination (or lack thereof) in a filmmaker. Cordelia Dvorák's
unusual documentary, "¡Bailar para vivir!," uses a seemingly
fictional shoemaker (unlike the other characters, his comments and
acting are scripted and we never see his face, but the credits list
him as an actual cobbler) by the name of Maestro Francisco Esparza to
narrate the story of 11 Mexico City residents between the ages of 16
and 85 whose passion for dance has the welcome side-effect of enabling
them to transcend perceived limitations in their jobs, their ages,
their insecurities and socioeconomic situations. With a fiery passion
for dance, the shoemaker tells us the story of each of the dancers as
he repairs their shoes (and if you are a stickler for continuity, they
are the actual shoes worn in different scenes). But there is a
difference between using a narrative device as a tool and as a
structural crutch; as engaging, visually gratifying, even inspiring,
as the film is overall, Dvorák seems to have fallen into the snare of
latter. Although her main characters successfully illustrate the power
of dance, aside from Esparza's guidance, the film's parenthetical
social commentaries about the state of Mexico and character threads
that are either not sustained or tangentially introduced late in the
film compromise its structural integrity.
Guided by years of dance experience, Esparza infers from his clients'
shoes, not only their technique, but also their preferred dance forms.
So begins the introduction to Bailar's main characters, accompanied by
an energetic tango-tinged soundtrack from Erando González that is
reminiscent of Glover Gill's work for Richard Linklater's "Waking
Life". There are Nancy and Francisco, teenagers blessed with a
preternatural ability to express the grace and style of dance in all
its forms, including their favorites, mambo, tango and danzón, despite
formal training. We meet a tall, skillful devotee in Don Miguel, a
priest who sublimates his desires and fears into a kind of meditation
he finds in dance. We meet Maestra Emma, a dance teacher who believes
that dancing prolongs life, and Paquita and Ricardo who have been
married and dancing together for 70 years and embody Emma's
contention. There is an assortment of other characters including
Andrés/Andrea, a pre-operative transsexual who dances in nightclubs
(whose performances we never see); a cabbie; children at a school; the
streetsweeper that opens the film; and Hector and Florentino, blind
brothers who play music around the city (whose story presumably
prompted the second portion of the film's full title, "Stories of
Life, Stories of Dance, Musicalized Stories"), but their stories are
not consistently sustained. As we follow the dancers through their
contrasting daily lives, we explore the characters' relationships to
their world, to their art and to each other, and as a result, dance's
potency as a panacea is slowly revealed.
The film climaxes at the weekly Saturday dance at the Plaza del Danzón
in the Plaza Ciudadela where dance enthusiasts of all ages gather
together in their best outfits and shiniest shoes to share in their
affinity. It is a meeting for the dancers and also for the entire
community, regardless of class or creed: it is a market, a picnic, an
outdoor game room and a playground. As satisfying as this moment is,
it is a false ending, and the film moves on to another landmark dance
venue, Café La Habana. But by the film's actual end, it is easy to
believe the dancers' assertion that communion in dance is great
practice for creatively responding to anything life may bring. |
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