Review by
Eric Hillis
Directed by: Chema Garcia Ibarra
Starring: Nacho Fernández, Llum Arqués, Joanna Valverde, Rocío Ibáñez, José Ángel Asensio
With his feature debut The Sacred Spirit, Spanish writer/director Chema Garcia Ibarra appears to be cut
from the same absurdist cloth as his compatriots Almodóvar, Buñuel and
Luna. Filming in his hometown of Elche with a non-professional cast,
Ibarra mines laughs from very relatable yet absurd characters, but a
final act pivot into dark subject matter comes off as somewhat
misjudged.
Ibarra introduces us to his film's main players through an initial
series of vignettes. We first meet schoolgirl Veronica (Llum Arqués) as she reads out an essay she's written on the subject of baptism,
which ventures into some decidedly politically incorrect territory.
Veronica's twin sister has recently gone missing, with many of the local
residents blaming the abduction on Romanian organ harvesters. A small
group of ufologists who meet in a real estate office once a week have
another theory. They're convinced that the child was taken by
aliens.
When the leader of the group passes away, its running is entrusted to
taciturn café owner José Manuel (Nacho Fernández), who happens to
be the uncle of the abducted girl. Followed by a mysterious man with an
electrolarynx and a group of strange people handing out Egyptology
flyers, José begins to realise he's at the centre of a conspiracy.
While this plot is slowly unraveling, Ibarra takes the time to paint a
portrait of his hometown that's both loving and mocking. His vision of
Elche is of a place with a tight sense of community, but also riddled
with xenophobia. There's an irony to the latter, as every one of its
residents seems obsessed with appropriating other cultures, from the
aforementioned Egyptologists to José, who listens to tacky '90s new age
CDs mixing Native American chants with dance beats. Nobody seems to
really understand the cultures they're finding comfort in, but it seems
as though this is a Spain desperate to replace Catholicism with
something else. The local TV channel is constantly playing ads made by
charlatans selling get rich quick schemes tied into "the secrets of the
ancients," exploiting the locals' obsession with mysticism. This sense
of cultural misappropriation is exemplified by a needle drop of a cheesy
Iberian cover of The Cranberries' 'Zombie', performed in an upbeat
manner that suggests the musicians have no idea it's a song about the
Northern Ireland Troubles.
The use of non-professional actors works in two key ways here. It adds
to the awkwardness and cringiness of the whole affair, with a cast of
actors who appear uncomfortable in their own skin. But it also makes
The Sacred Spirit a very charming watch. There's an
innocence to the people of Elche portrayed here that may manifest itself
in ignorance at times but also suggests that this is a community so
tight-knit that the whole town is willing to throw itself at the mercy
of a filmmaker who might have easily made them look like fools.
This is exemplified by the central performance of Fernández, as
uncomfortable a screen presence as you'll ever see, but also very
relatably human. When a late twist is revealed, it almost feels like
Ibarra is betraying both Fernández and the character he's playing. The
shift into the darkest of subject matter cruelly sours everything we've
watched play out, a cheap trick played on both the audience and the
small world Ibarra has constructed.
I can't pretend its final act didn't leave me frustrated, but Ibarra
sends us out with a closing shot that is a work of genius in microcosm,
one which efficiently sums up the themes of the film we've just watched
with a ridiculously clever piece of staging and an inspired needle drop.
You'll be adding a certain tacky '90s new age number to your Spotify
playlist.
