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Domenica, 22 Febbraio 2004 19:12

La virgen de la lujuria (English Version)

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Ignacio "Nacho" Jurado (Luis Felipe Tovar) is the waiter in the cafe, of indigenous descent, given to masturbation with his collection of pornographic photos and to singing tunes from Gilbert and Sullivan's Mikado. "Defer! Defer to the Lord High Executioner!" he sings--the song of Koko, a lowly tailor who became the feared state executioner, a fantasy of the ordinary man empowered...

The virgin of the lust
Jeremy Heilman

Mexican director Arturo Ripstein’s incredibly lush melodrama The Virgin of Lust makes an ironic statement about a fundamental delusion in the hopes of Communists to lift up the masses. Set mostly in a café in Vera Cruz, the film centers upon Nacho (Luis Felipe Tovar), an unambitious worker who supplements his long days of subservience with masturbation sessions in which he intones repeatedly “Franco must be killed!” That private flirtation with revolution is fantasy enough for him, until one fateful night when he finds Lola, a mysterious and promiscuous political radical who lives so far on the edge that she always seems on the threat of self-destruction. Nacho, who is hopelessly attracted to her but too afraid to act upon his impulses, takes her in, and soon the two find themselves in a masochistic relationship. A swirl of activity forms around Lola that puts Nacho’s desire for complacency up against her desire for massive upheaval. Once expatriates from Spain and revolutionary artists enter the picture, there seem to be more people interested in determining the fate of the common man here than there seem to be common men, but because Nacho can’t respect himself enough to take action to change his situation and Lola can’t dredge up any empowering respect for him, both are doomed. It’s the examination of this political stasis that gives the film much of its humor and power. With the exception of the dazzling opening and closing sequences, which play like old-school coming attractions reels for the rest of the story, the exceptionally long takes and the infrequency of set changes make The Virgin of Lust feel almost stage bound, but perhaps that's because it's better than most homage at being faithful to the material that inspired it. Spanish language melodramas from the forties are the genre being examined here, and from what I understand, they tend to be stagy and filled with overripe symbolism. Ripstein doesn't betray that, but his movie has enough sense to realize the limitations of that treatment. Because of changing standards of what's acceptable on screen, he's able here to include the text that the subtext once had to mask (mostly sex and anti-Franco sentiment), and that frankness makes this sexually charged material a lot sexier. Perhaps more surprisingly though, instead of feeling redundant the style that once hid the subtext only further intensifies the text. The balance between the two remains complementary throughout, so the presence of a supposedly antiquated style rarely feels at odds with the contemporary explicitness, but in his final statement on the interplay, Ripstein outdoes himself. The final act of Virgin, finds him retreating back into artifice to show that, under the right circumstances, sometimes melodrama can actually effect change in the drama of “real life” and it’s with that impressive application of his technique that the director provides the best possible defense of his choice to revive the style.


by Jeff Johnson

"Well, that was weird, even for Ripstein," said an old woman as I walked up the aisle to the back of the theater, still shaking my head. I allowed myself that, wary as I was of such displays after sitting through a 140-minute film punctuated by the exaggerated exhalations of the guy next to me in row four. Right before the festival, my glasses disappeared, so I squint a little at subtitles, and the screen truly brings me larger-than-life stories this year. About five years ago, I saw my first Arturo Ripstein film, Divine, at the SFIFF. To say I was captivated is to put it mildly-the film was like nothing else I have seen. It described, in rich color and even fuller shade, a sex cult which received messages from God via cinema (in particular, a reel-to-reel of The Ten Commandments), and through the beeps of a hand-held electronic game. Ripstein and his scriptwriting collaborator (and wife) Paz Alicia GarciadùÆgo offered a marvelous, transporting lunacy layered with degraded philosophy-and they seemed to be telling the truth, providing a manifesto of film in film. All the while, they commented (often irreverently) upon Mexican culture, in particular issues having to do with indigenous peoples and their relationship to modern society. I looked for other Ripstein movies, but found them only in subsequent years at the SFIFF. No One Writes to the Colonel, a melancholy beauty (with cockfighting!) based on the Gabriel Garcia Marquez story, gave me another glimpse of Ripstein's dark carnival of the human soul. Such Is Life, a retelling of the story of Medea (complete with Greek-style chorus), was his first feature shot on video, and though it didn't grab me the way the others had, neither can I forget its meta-narrative pranks (including a running commentary on the movie, offered by ubiquitous television sets), nor the defiant depiction of a woman in hell, killing her babies onscreen. Which brings me to Virgin of Lust, which is more like a disorienting purgatory for the viewer. Absurdist political satire is combined with a torturous, one-way love affair that dooms a sad, lonely waiter to ever greater misery and alienation at the feet of a merciless, broken-hearted whore. The practically incomprehensible storyline involves a fantasy plot to murder Franco; a wrestler who dresses like a fairy and fucks like a satyr; and an opium junky who claims to have been, among other things, a countess, revolutionary, trapeze artist and betrayed assassin. Wooden characters are brought partially to life by acting that relies on typecast. The plot thickens, then flakes away to nothing. Throw in shared hallucinations and lip-synched musical routines, and a return to Ripstein's oily palette, and you have a pretty mess that somehow manages to be a bore. Ripstein and GarciadùÆgo's usually savage, insightful humor fails to cast any light, and the world view they present here seems mean and pointless. Is this purgatory, or something worse? Hell is a beautiful, dark place where nothing touches you.


The virgin of the lust
Arthur Lazere, San Francisco, CA

Virgin of Lust is a complex, multileveled film from veteran director Arturo Ripstein (Such is Life, No One Writes to the Colonel). It's very different from the character-based stories about the Mexican underclass which have been the norm in his other films exhibited here, but that observation is made with a caveat--since Ripstein's films inexplicably fail to attract North American distributors, seeing them is a matter of the chancy good fortune of catching festival screenings. Virgin of Lust centers on political themes of colonialism, classism, and revolution, couching them in the form of a parable utilizing melodramatic conventions of film noir and opera. Much of it takes place in the art deco Cafe Ofélia in Vera Cruz of the 1940's, filmed in saturated tones of ochres and browns, with other colors largely bled out--the movie has the look of an old sepia photograph. Ignacio "Nacho" Jurado (Luis Felipe Tovar) is the waiter in the cafe, of indigenous descent, given to masturbation with his collection of pornographic photos and to singing tunes from Gilbert and Sullivan's Mikado. "Defer! Defer to the Lord High Executioner!" he sings--the song of Koko, a lowly tailor who became the feared state executioner, a fantasy of the ordinary man empowered. The owner of the cafe, Nacho's boss, Don Lázaro (Julián Pastor), berates him and calls him names like "half-breed." Don Lázaro, though born in Mexico, asserts his Spanish lineage and is a supporter of Franco. Ripstein allows the character a kinder side as well; his relationship with Nacho (master/servant; colonialist/native) involves a degree of trust, perhaps even affection.Enter Lola (Ariadna Gil), a beautiful, opium-addicted, heavy-drinking hooker who is carrying a torch for Gardenia Wilson (Alberto Estrella), a masked professional wrestler who has used her and cast her off. Her passion for Wilson is a totally sexual one, but he cannot abide her clingy neediness. Lola goes beyond amoral; she wallows in her addictions and she's assertive in her independence; she also longs for another life, one in which she would be free of her demons. Nacho falls hard for her, but she's not interested in love-making with him; their relationship becomes a sexless, teasing, sado-masochistic affair, Nacho willingly submitting to the humiliations to which Lola subjects him (and later getting off by fetishizing her lace glove). Lola feels trapped by Nacho's love, just as Gardenia feels trapped by hers. Also hanging out at the cafe are a group of Spanish Republicans; the civil war has been lost and Franco is in power. Constantly bickering among themselves, they plot to kill Franco, leading Nacho to fantasize about killing Franco himself, not so much for political reasons as a way of establishing himself as a hero, as someone of importance worthy of being loved by Lola. One of the Republicans, Gimeno (Juan Diego), calls himself Mikado; he's a photographer who is shooting a series of tableaus of revolutionary scenes, from Spartacus to the French Revolution. (Gardenia is one of his models.) He also dabbles in porn for the money. Ripstein opens his film with a series of short scenes, accompanied by action or dialogue titles in graphic styles that call to mind movie trailers of the 40's. He uses the titles again at the conclusion (prior to the plain credits). From time to time during the film he has his characters burst into song, more operetta-like than operatic. Lola at various times makes claims to being a Russian countess, a revolutionary, a circus star. There's a black-and-white sequence showing Nacho's dream of Lola becoming his slave, a role reversal. Virgin of Lust, then, is a highly stylized fantasia on themes of power. Taking a cue from his apprenticeship with Buñuel and layering it with a Mexican political sensibility, Ripstein demonstrates here a new level of vision and accomplishment. In creating this elaborate entanglement of roles with multiple, idiosyncratic dramatic devices, he has left behind, at least for the moment, gritty neo-realist drama, creating a grandly-scaled allegory that is at once fascinating, captivating, and utterly audacious.


La Virgen de la Lujuria ("Virgin of Lust")
(In competition, Upstream) Mexico

Mexican auteur Arturo Ripstein ("Deep Crimson") combines the Mexican wrestling film, Gilbert & Sullivan, old time Hollywood coming attractions, Franco/Republican politics and the musical for a unique offering with glossy style and a plodding pace. Just as I was noting that the film felt like 'a musical without the music,' four actors break out into song at the 60 minute mark. Ignacio "El Mikado" Jurado (Luis Felipe Tovar, "The Mexican") is a Mexican waiter who blindly loves Lola (Ariadna Gil, also appearing in "Bear's Kiss"), a heartless prostitute who is in turn with a famous wrestler who spurns her affections. Beautiful production design and terrific performances can't make up for the slow route to the inevitable conclusion, although the political backdrop provides a most amusing method for El Mikado to win the woman of his dreams. Mexican director Arturo Ripstein creates a near surrealistic world that revolves around a Native American waiter named Nancho (Luis Felipe Tovar) who has an unrequited love for a local prostitute, Lola (Ariadna Gil). She disdains Nancho, but will readily accept his gifts and attention while lusting after the masked wrestler named Gardenia who spurns her attention. This little "romance" takes place during the time of Generalissimo Francisco Franco establishing his stranglehold on Spain. The story consists of many layers and travels down many paths with Nancho's unrequited love for Lola; her disdain for him and everyone else (except for masked Gardenia); the arrival of Spanish anarchists who sit around the café talking a good fight over the overthrow of Franco but are, in fact, just talk. The look of the film is crisp and looks great. The introduction of musical numbers well into the film's runtime give it a disjointed feel while the "coming attraction" sequences give it a funky style. The techs are stronger than the story and its structure but some solid acting garners "La Virgen de la Lujuria" a B.


SAN FRANCISCO - "Virgin of Lust," director Arturo Ripstein's long, repetitious parable about Mexican identity, culture and ethnicity, isn't likely to bring even hard-core fans of the director to the art house boxoffice. Ripstein sounds his themes and exhibits all his tricks in the first half-hour, leaving the remaining two hours to drag on for what seems a millennium. The director has exhibited a competent craftsmanship in films such as 1978's "Place Without Limits" and 1996's "Deep Crimson." But in "Virgin of Lust," Ripstein strives for the holy grail of Art and achieves only artiness. The film begins energetically, with intertitles that introduce the film's characters as if we were about to watch some lurid operetta or melodrama. "The Man!" screams the screen, as we're shown our protagonist, Ignacio "Nacho" Jarado (Luis Felipe Tolivar), a servile Mexican waiter. "The Woman!" the frame wails, as we see our siren, Lola (Ariadne Gil), the lusty Spanish whore Nacho discovers passed out behind the bar one morning. Nacho is, of course, instantly smitten with this opium-addled vixen and offers her his upstairs pad for recuperation. She, however, clamors for Gardenia (Alberto Estrella), a masked Mexican wrestler. All this is set to the overture from "The Mikado," an obsession of Nacho's. (His other obsession: masturbating to pornography while wearing a lace glove and cursing the Spanish dictator Francisco Franco.) Nacho's boss, Don Lazaro (Julian Pastor), who has pretensions of being full-blooded Spanish, belittles Nacho, his mixed Mexican blood and his devotion to this strumpet who doesn't return his love, only occasionally allowing him to lick her feet. (Lazaro counsels Nacho to avoid "reaping pity," a recurring phrase.) Into this flammable mix (that never combusts) walks a quartet of Spanish Republican anarchist refugees. They argue incessantly about how to accomplish the revolution but can only agree that before anything, Franco must be killed. The leader, Gimeno (Juan Diego), shares Nacho's love of "The Mikado" and comes to be called "Mikado" himself. In Ripstein's view, Nacho is the soul of Mexico, desperately striving after the love of the harlot Spain (Lola), who in turn pretends to be both German and Russian. (Nacho's love for "The Mikado," a British work that appropriates Japanese culture, echoes this.) Lola loves a mystery figure (the wrestler) who goes to Hollywood to be a star (and fails). The impotent refugees are all talk with the notable exception of Mikado, who stages and photographs large revolutionary set pieces. All is envy and unrequited desire and self-hatred. Only Art (Mikado's photography) can transcend. The 1940s setting is lovingly recreated by production designer Antonio Munohierro, and Ripstein's roving, lurking camera peers into his characters' lives. Cinematographer Esteban de Llaca works in sepia tones with frequent lurid washes of red and green. But as the film grinds on, even the careful design work turns blah.


La Virgen de la Lujuria
(México/España, 2002)
por Alex

México, los años 40. Ignacio, “El mikado”, es un camarero solitario del café Ofelia, donde su vida fluye sin que nada ocurra, y donde su única distracción son sus fotos, su colección de pornografía... Esto hasta que Lola entra en su vida y, como ella afirma, le condena a sufrir, pues Ignacio sería capaz de todo por ella... hasta de matar a Franco.La propuesta no sonaba mal: un México de los años 40 y un entorno de exiliados españoles en medio de una pasión por una prostituta, y era mejor aún si pensamos en que –pese al cliché de la prostituta- se trata de una historeia inspirada en un cuento del valenciano Max Aub (en un contexto de credibilidad local en una utopía como la presentada) y si sumamos algo de nostalgia personal asociada a esa adolescencia en donde viví algo de ese entorno de exiliados e hijos de exiliados (en México)... ¿El problema? Digamos que me arrepiento de haberme arriesgado y de creer que la propuesta bastaba... Comencemos. No, no soy fanático de Arturo Ripstein, ni de su esposa Paz Alicia Garciadiego (su guionista de cabecera) pero le concedo el tener cierta habilidad para narrar miserias y desgracias, para mostrar tonos devastadores, y para recrear entornos dolorosos de sólo mirar (Principio y Fin, por citar un ejemplo). Pese a esto, la verdad es que por más que quiera hallar justificantes para no destrozar esta película, no tengo muchas opciones, y no sólo me atrevo a calificarla como una de las peores que he visto este año (y en muchos años, digamos), y me permito decirlo con tal soltura porque esperaba más de una cinta de Ripstein, de una propuesta de tono fantástico y, ya cayendo en el extremo, hasta de una cinta mexicana en cartel...¡Vaya desperdicio de recursos! Con la única excepción de ciertos toques de espejos como juego visual, y de una ambientación (de interiores) bien llevada (la de exteriores no me gustó nada, si es que eso puede considerarse “exteriores”), la historia no vale el costo de la entrada, no vale las más de dos horas que dura, y no vale estas palabras con las que le describo...¡Qué desilusión! Y qué mal sabor de boca, y qué desperdicio de tiempo y dinero...¿Quién le dijo a Ripstein que los planos largos son un recurso en un entorno tan cerrado? ¿quién enseñó a balancear –mal- el steadycam al operador? ¿quién diseño tan pobremente la estética y narrativa? ¿no se da cuenta el director de que si se trata de una historia de dos países (limitándola al mínimo) se necesita más que un juego de luchadores para hablar de una época?, ¿cómo es posible sacar tan poco de gente de la talla de Luis Felipe Tovar?, ¿cómo es posible explotar tan poco la sensualidad real de Ariadna Gil? , ¿por qué era necesario el tono musical tan simple?, ¿hasta cuándo aprenderemos a tener un audio decente?, ¿quién le dijo al director que el audio debía ser tan mal manejado en las canciones?, ¿quién le dijo que el steadycam era de autor y no le daría tonos de aprendiz o estudiante de cine? ¿en verdad tenía que salir como español Daniel Giménez-Cacho? Señor Ripstein: ¡vaya presunción y auto-complacencia! ¡qué vergüenza de cinta!, ¡qué pésimo logro!... ¿Lo peor? Les garantizo que no faltará el crítico "ocurrente" que dirá que esto es cine de autor, cine de arte, una obra maestra, y que dirá que Ripstein ha logrado una fábula emotiva y plena de nostalgia... Sólo para fanáticos y creyentes extremos de Ripstein, para quienes tengan como fetiche unos guantes bañados en café con leche, o para quienes de plano no puedan evitar el tratar de lamer los pies de Ariadna Gil...Vergonzosa, de esas en las que la ley debería cubrir el caso y devolverte la entrada, y darte algo extra para el mal sabor de boca... Comentarios para esta columna que quiere le devuelvan el dinero de la entrada...
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Aridiana Gil.

Born in January, 1969, daughter of a prestigious lawyer, she grew up studying singing, dancing and the violin. She even appeared occasionally singing with her two brothers in a group called "Matamala" ("Bad Kill"). At 17 she appeared on the cover of an avant-garde Catalonian magazine, and from there she began working in local theatre companies and later on local Catalonian TV channels, including giving Spanish language classes on Canal 33. It was here she caught the eye of Bigas Luna, which led to Luna, her first film, and thus her future was set. It was in 1991 that she became well known in the film Amo tu Cama Rica, a comedy with Javier Bardem, consolidated a year later in Fernando Trueba's romantic comedy Belle Époque, starring Penélope Cruz. However her better and more serious roles appeared from the mid-nineties onwards, and she showed she was able to take on the most difficult parts, most notably in Malena es un Nombre de Tango and Lágrimas Negras. She also had time to do a few theatre productions in Catalonia, such as Chekhov's "The Seagull," among other plays. She has a daughter, Violeta, named after her character in Belle Époque, born from her romance with the scenery-maker and also director David Trueba, brother of Fernando. She is extremely interested in working in Iberamerican cinema and has already worked in Argentina. To date she has shown she is an extremely versatile actress, such that she is known here in Spain as the actress for "impossible roles." Much now depends on whether she can be offered the right parts so that she can continue to develop as a serious character actress. Fille d'un avocat prestigieux, Ariadna a étudié le chant, le violon et la danse, avant de débuter comme mannequin à dix-sept ans, dans le magazine d'avant-garde V.O. À la même époque, Bigas Luna la remarque et la fait tourner dans Lola. Elle intègre l'Institut de théâtre de Barcelone et participe à quatre films qui passeront inaperçus. En 1991, Emilio Martínez Lázaro la choisit pour Amo tu cama rica, qui la révélera sur le grand écran, mais c'est un an plus tard qu'elle atteindra la consécration avec Belle époque, de Fernando Trueba, dans lequel elle incarne une jeune femme homosexuelle, directe, forte et sans concession. En 1994, elle récidive avec Martinez Lázaro dans Los peores años de nuestra vida, et l'année suivante, elle se met dans la peau d'une héroïnomane dans Antártida, de Manuel Huerga. Sous la direction de Vicente Aranda, elle joue le rôle d'une jeune fille innocente lâchée en pleine guerre civile dans Libertarias. Elle joue aussi aux côtés de Victoria Abril et Ana Belén avant de trouver un de ses meilleurs rôles, d'écorchée vive, dans Malena es un nombre de tango. En 1997, elle tourne dans une coproduction franco-espagnole de Jacques Weber, aux côtés de Penélope Cruz et Emmanuelle Béart, Don Juan. De son amour avec le réalisateur et scénariste David Trueba naît une petite fille, Violeta. Son parcours s'orientera par la suite vers le théâtre (La Gaviota, de Chejov et Salvats, d'Edward Bond), tout en poursuivant sa carrière au cinéma. En 1998, elle est la protagoniste de Lágrimas negras, le film posthume de Ricardo Franco. Visage emblématique et incontournable du nouveau cinéma espagnol, Ariadna Gil nous donne l'image d'une actrice capable de changer de registre avec une aisance déconcertante. Pourtant, son naturel, l'expression de son regard, la classent dans la famille des jeunes femmes indépendantes au fort caractère. A son actif, le Goya de la meilleure actrice pour Belle époque (1992), un rôle qui lui a également valu un prix décerné par la revue Fotogramas et le prix de la Generalitat de Catalogne. En 1995, elle est finaliste aux trophées de l'Académie du cinéma pour Antártida. A noter également un prix d'interprétation au festival de Valladolid pour sa prestation dans Lágrimas negras.


Tan enigmática y lejana como la distancia que marcan esos ojos achinados y esos rasgos dulces y exóticos; tan diáfana y cercana como esa sonrisa a veces tímida y escurridiza, a veces franca y abierta, pero siempre arma imposible de resistir. Así de igual y distinta a la vez se nos aparece, sin hilo ni laberinto, nuestra barcelonesa Ariadna, esta chica bien y mal, hija de abogado ilustre y hermana de rockanroleros veteranos (esos legendarios Brighton 64 con los que, en alguna ocasión puntual, ha llegado a hacer pinitos corales... en catalán), pero, por encima de todo, arte y belleza en conjunción y equilibrio. A sus treinta y pocos años (nacía en enero de 1969), Ariadna Gil ya puede contemplar con una cierta perspectiva la que ha sido hasta ahora una carrera cinematográfica bien medida y calibrada, con las dosis necesarias del riesgo que se requiere para crecer y de la solidez precisa para asentarse. Y una carrera que, aunque algo ralentizada en los últimos años por mor de circunstancia tan determinante como la de su maternidad (es madre de una hija cuyo padre es su compañero sentimental, el director y guionista David Trueba), muestra una progresión imparable, acumulando sin prisa pero sin pausa, una buena colección de títulos señeros. Su irrupción en la escena cinematográfica nacional con un papel protagonista (dejando aparte, por su condición de mera anécdota, su debut adolescente en la Lola de Bigas Luna (1985), y tras trabajar en varias películas que no trascendieron del ámbito de su Cataluña natal), se producía en 1991, con Amo tu cama rica, de Emilio Martínez Lázaro (director con el que pocos años después, en 1994, habría de repetir en un papel de corte muy similar, en Los peores años de nuestra vida, constituyendo el vértice del triángulo a cuyos lados se situaban Jorge Sanz y Gabino Diego). Su personaje de la fresca y desinhibida Sara, un ángel pícaro de pelo a lo garçon y rostro hipnotizante, la catapultó a la primera línea de presencia y la convirtió en la gran esperanza blanca, la nueva promesa femenina del panorama fílmico de nuestro país. Una promesa que no iba a tardar en cuajar, y consagrarse como esplendorosa realidad, cuando, sólo un año más tarde, Fernando Trueba le reservaba un hueco en el cuarteto filial de la oscarizada Belle epoque, y, además, le reservaba el que, muy probablemente, y dentro de la ligereza del dibujo de los personajes, constituía el único con alguna arista destacable: el del "chicazo" Violeta, lesbiana machorra e irredenta cuya única "desviación" será la de ese memorable revolcón que tras el baile en las fiestas del pueblo se marcará con un hilarantemente travestido Jorge Sanz. Ariadna solventaba con nota no sólo esa secuencia, sino toda su interpretación –por lo demás, poco compleja-, y accedía, gracias al tremendo éxito de la película, al estatus de primerísima estrella. Portadas de revistas, reportajes en las primeras publicaciones de la prensa generalista, entrevistas en radio y TV... Un frenesí imparable que, sin embargo, y pese a lo tremendamente desestabilizador que podía resultar, no le iba a hacer perder la cabeza. Huyendo de los encsasillamientos a los que su tan amable perfil físico la podían haber confinado, no quiso convertirse en la gran reina de la comedia romántica (un trono cuya corona podía haberse ceñido, sin excesiva dificultad) y, poco a poco, iría ofreciendo registros más variados y difíciles, con incursiones en aventuras de mayor margen de riesgo: su papel de María, una drogadicta al borde del precipicio en la ópera prima de Manuel Huerga, Antártida (1995) –además, con un look tremendamente agresivo y de un punto premeditadamente feísta-, o su protagonista de Malena es un nombre de tango (1996) –la adaptación que de la novela homónima de Almudena Grandes compusiera Gerardo Herrero-, un personaje cuyo recorrido de edad (no sólo físico, sino, sobre todo, mental) también le exigía un notable esfuerzo de adaptación progresiva, suponen buenas muestras de esa tendencia, que habría de culminar en el que probablemente constituye el punto álgido de su carrera interpretativa, que es su trabajo como la protagonista –Isabel- de Lágrimas negras (1998), la obra póstuma (y testamento fílmico) de Ricardo Franco; ese personaje, con una locura tan particular, capaz de inspirar a un tiempo ternura infinita y repulsión irrefrenable, no era nada fácil de amarrar en todos sus matices, y Ariadna Gil lo bordó gracias a una entrega ilimitada y unas dotes que quizá nunca como hasta ese momento había exhibido (ni había tenido motivo para hacerlo) de forma tan espectacular. Ciertamente, también hemos de reconocer que, tras Lágrimas negras, sus diversos papeles de protagonista (o, al menos, los de mayor repercusión comercial) no han resultado excesivamente afortunados: ni su Amanda Castro, estrella venida a algo menos que menos, de Obra maestra (2000) –película que contaba con una premisa argumental y unos elementos a su disposición tan estimulantes como fallidos resultaron su desenvolvimiento y desenlace, y en la que Ariadna termina, como todo lo que la rodea, naufragando, pese a los esfuerzos de su David para que así no fuera-, ni su Anita de El embrujo de Shangai (2002) están a una altura acorde con los momentos más estelares de su trayectoria, y no nos hacen sino desear que lleguen para nuestra chica ocasiones más propicias. Llegarán, desde luego, porque cuando no faltan ni talento ni belleza, sólo es cuestión de paciencia y oportunidad, sin necesidad de forzar la máquina ni dar saltos al vacío. Ariadna Gil ya ha demostrado con creces cuales son sus capacidades, y si hay dos elementos que siempre han sobrado en su agenda, ésos son el divismo y las prisas. Piano, piano...
Letto 2147 volte Ultima modifica il Mercoledì, 23 Maggio 2012 12:45