This year, the “Proxima” program at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival, which is still finding its identity due to its newness, has embraced the documentary aesthetic through multi-genre cinema. Yet, there were only three purely documentary films, and, intriguingly, all of them focused on the body. They explored how the body experiences death, turning into stone (Lapilia), how it undergoes a biological gender transition (Trans Memoria), and how it endures unbearable physical trials (Night Has Come [Vino la noche]). The theme of the body, so strong and resilient yet fragile and breakable under life’s challenges, is indeed extremely relevant these days.
It is known that Peruvian director Paolo Tizón began Night Has Come, his debut documentary, with just 500 dollars in his pocket. Whether this reflects a dire situation in the Peruvian film industry or that the project was too risky to fund is unclear, and hegemonic European audiences in Karlovy Vary are likely not deeply immersed in this context. At the same time, Tizón provides the viewer with zero context and plunges directly into the action instead. The film begins with parachuting recruits, capturing moments of freedom and tranquillity in a long take aimed at the soft sky, which will soon be juxtaposed with the harsh earth.
The director goes to the VRAEM region, where cadets are trained to fight against armed groups and drug cartels, as per the film’s description. In reality, we see only freshly-shaven young men, newly turned 18. Their bodies are weighed and measured, offering a voyeuristic moment to observe their transformation from independent youths into property obeying a commander. At this stage, it’s hard not to recall Claire Denis’s Beau Travail, a film that still inspires young directors today. However, unlike Denis, this voyeurism is less aesthetic and much more a masochistic exposé, impossible to enjoy.
In synch with the training course’s progression, the director intensifies the visual exposure of the bodily trials, which the camera experiences alongside them. True to its title, the hardest moments happen at night, culminating in the toughest challenges. The cadets truly engage in a fierce struggle against the natural elements of the Peruvian landscape, an inevitable confrontation they are compelled to provoke. They are drenched in icy water, compelled to endure the searing heat of fire, forced to press forward against the relentless wind, and continuously push themselves up from the unyielding earth. The camera, favoring close-ups and dynamic shots, righteously follows their faces striving to fight this artificially created battle with an invisible opponent. They are united by a common goal: to finally pass this unbearable course, as unbearable as the depiction of their bodily suffering.
On this night, a certain catharsis occurs, forcing the viewer, along with the soldiers, to challenge the audiovisual orientation. The screen fills with deafening explosions and chaotic voices until the aural form becomes more unbearable than the visual. Together, the recruits exist without a single body, becoming a collective entity, supporting the film’s idea of not highlighting a single protagonist.
The observational shooting style not only literally places the viewer in the ranks but also metaphysically brings a fear that transforms into exhaustion. Tizón masterfully captures moments when the cadets become accustomed to the camera and begin to open up to it, and each other too. In the dark barracks under very uncomfortable conditions, the characters mentally return to the real comforts they left behind. Some talk about romantic relationships, while somebody admits he still sleeps with his mother in the same bed as a kid. These moments, predominantly in the first half of the film, disarm us and draw us closer to the soft stories and characters, starkly contrasted by their resilient bodies. This is the most disarming subject in the film, as the director manages to approach not just the bodies of the characters but also their souls, slightly revealing their personalities, fears, and weaknesses. Thus, the film is built on these constant binary oppositions, particularly the “masculinity-weakness” pairing, a sense of straightforwardness that reminds us this is a directing debut.
This symposium of remarkable closeness to the subject which is far removed from individualism, the absence of socio-political contextual frames, and an ultimate play on the obvious binary oppositions—together these serve as a rare case where such a paradigm of characteristics just enhances the film. The universal idea of the collective young body, so resilient on the surface yet very fragile inside, metaphorically describes the destiny of hundreds and thousands of young souls participating in armed conflicts right now. In these varying intensity wars worldwide, young men on the front lines, their bodies enduring pain for others, inevitably want to be weak. Night Has Come reminds us that youth is an integral part of brokenness, risking to disappear in battle as a whole.
Sonya Vseliubska
Edited by Robert Horton
© FIPRESCI 2024