Crítica: Waterdrop
por Olivia Popp
- Una gota es suficiente para que el embalse estalle en la tercera cinta del albanés Robert Budina, una dura y realista denuncia de la complicidad colectiva en los sistemas patriarcales violentos
Este artículo está disponible en inglés.
Oh, how such terrible things happen in such beautiful places. In Pogradec, Albania, located along the picturesque Lake Ohrid - a UNESCO World Heritage Site shared with North Macedonia - a woman takes a jog in deep concentration, not noticing two people gleefully riding jet skis. One rider pauses for a moment to lob a smartphone into the water, where it quickly sinks to the bottom of the murky lake. That woman is Aida, who must come to terms with the horrifying behaviour of her precious son in Waterdrop [+lee también:
tráiler
entrevista: Robert Budina
ficha de la película], the third feature by Albanian filmmaker Robert Budina. This failure to recognise a crucial act is symbolic of much plaguing the social sphere in Budina’s work (and what he intends to skewer), where cruel and violent acts are purposefully buried in the muck. With a script by Budina, Doruntina Basha and Ajola Daja, Waterdrop has just had its international premiere in the International Competition of the Warsaw Film Festival and is also Albania’s submission to the Academy Awards.
Working for the city government with her husband Ilir (Arben Bajraktaraj), the massively competent Aida (Gresa Pallaska) gets by swimmingly in a highly patriarchal environment, although not without her own financial cut of the corruption. When her teenage son Mark (Paolo Iancu) is accused of sexually assaulting Bora (Xhesika Bizjoni), one of his female classmates, Aida vehemently refuses the possibility. However, as she pursues measures to acquit Mark, she realises her own complicity in this toxic system of violent misogyny and power play. Along with this comes the dramatic unravelling of everything she holds dear: her well-paid job, her husband and her reputation, all at the cost of simply refusing to inflict further damage on the girl and her family.
Budina uses the story of a never-before-seen monster in Lake Ohrid, told early in the film, to illustrate everything evil lurking underneath the surface. In a town where everyone knows each other, the rules are set by the rich and powerful, which, in part, includes Aida - until she’s confronted by a greater force: a deep-rooted, positive feedback loop of patriarchy. Budina’s protagonist is a bit of an antihero from the start: she initially does everything in her power to defend Mark despite the evidence against him. But the fact that the director chooses to tell this story through the eyes of a woman who herself participates in this violence owing to social conditioning before trying to extricate herself makes this a remarkably realist film.
The writers craft a compelling arc, although we rush through many turns in Aida’s tale, which partially holds back the story’s gut-punch potential, even though the overall narrative tracks her evolution with success. The moments that reveal the most tragedy are conversations between Aida and Ilir, which Budina frames up close and very personal, leaving us with the threat of violence between them lingering in the air. With DoP Marius Panduru, the director leans on the more menacing blues and greys of the external environment while creating a clash with the warmer palette of Aida’s home life, mimicking the confrontations she has with Ilir. Many times, bright scenery or outdoor landscapes through windows are overly lit and blown out, as if the sun is straining to break into Pogradec’s dark underbelly while showing the town like it is.
An impressive Pallaska passionately plays Aida with a steely, hardened gaze and a striking intensity as she simply tries to gain some grip on the situation. But, of course, her slimy husband takes a crack at Aida wearing high heels and “tight shirts” as the reason why she’s considered capable. He starts nonchalant but grows excruciatingly patronising in a way that essentially becomes a form of degradation, showing how the apple is poisoned even in what is meant to be the safest of places. The seemingly innocent Mark and his conniving friend Denis (Henri Topi), who is the son of Elvis (Adem Karaga), Aida's and Ilir's boss, are scarcely peach-fuzzed up, their patchy facial hair hiding how they’ve been socially encouraged to behave for a long, long time.
Waterdrop was produced by Albania’s Erafilm, Italy’s Redibis Film, Romania’s Avanpost, Kosovo’s Iliria Film and North Macedonia’s Manufaktura Production.
(Traducción del inglés)
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