10/04/2025 - Manuel Abramovich creates a shared cinematographic utopia in which his characters experiment with new and liberatory forms of community living

Croma, a movie directed by Argentine filmmaker, artist and director of photography Manuel Abramovich and presented in a world premiere within the Visions du Réel Festival’s Burning Lights section, allows us to dream about a tolerant and cathartic world without limits, a world in which we can lose ourselves and find ourselves all over again. Two years after Pornomelancolía [+see also:
film review
trailer
interview: Manuel Abramovich
film profile] - a fiction film revolving around a Mexican sex-influencer who appears nude on camera for her numerous followers - Croma sees Martin Abramovich depicting a reality which turns into a collective utopia through the power of film.

Against an unremittingly green backdrop, children and then adults are successively questioned about their gender identity (and far more). A decisive yet empathic off-camera voice asks the protagonists a series of questions, creating a kind of cinematographic confessional where they can finally speak about profound truths repressed for far too long. What does it mean to be a man, a woman or a trans person? Have you ever felt like a monster? How do you think society sees you? Tell us about a romantic relationship you’ve lived through. These are just some of the questions asked, which morph into a storyline through which liberatory, anti-normative, parallel realities interweave.

The children’s hesitation, their mutism in the face of questions which they don’t know how to respond to, helps us to understand just how socially constructed the concept of gender really is, a label which serves to organise and lend structure to the world on the basis of a presumed normality which is the preserve of an elite who don’t accept any form of ambiguity. The timid but incisive responses given by the children allow us to reflect upon the concept of gender performance, the role which each of us plays in a desperate attempt to appear “normal”, conformist and acceptable. The price to pay in order to pull off this feat is great, and the codes and norms which need to be respected are binding, resulting in a kind of self-imposed prison from which it’s hard to escape. From the subject of gender, the questions shift towards the emotional and family baggage the protagonists carry painstakingly on their shoulders. Seared by social injunctions which have long suffocated them, the protagonists of Croma hide inside their deep scars which are very slow to heal.

After an initial section marked by an unyieldingly static camera, scrutinising faces which arguably speak louder than words, the green backdrop which dominates the screen gives way to unspoiled natural decor. This mysterious place on the border between dream and reality is an ideal kind of safe space where the protagonists can experiment with new forms of communication and new ways of connecting with bodies which have been wounded and humiliated, like theirs.

In this utopian space, a kind of “locus amoenus” sheltered from the violence of the world, time seems to have come to a standstill, allowing the protagonists to enjoy a magical interlude revolving around tenderness and sharing. In this sense, film becomes a means through which the protagonists observe one another, and think about how they’d like to be defined (or not defined); to reflect upon their deepest desires, ignoring the impositions of everyday life in which they often wear a mask. Croma sees Abramovich inviting his protagonists to enjoy a profound experience based on sincerity and sharing. He turns his film into a space for collective reflection which comes to life before our eyes. As the director himself stresses, as a result of the current tragic situation in Argentina these emancipatory spaces are becoming increasingly precious and vital, oases in which to take care of oneself and others, and in which to transform and free oneself from the burden of an increasingly standardised society.

Croma was produced by RUIDO (Argentina) and Nabis Filmgroup (Austria).

(Translated from Italian)