Happy Land: La Niña Santa

(Originally posted by AJ at Happy Land)

La Niña Santa



One of my interests in film is how directors create space: what do we know of the world the characters inhabit, and how do we learn it? This follows my larger interest in how information is communicated to the viewer throughout the course of the film (what is revealed, what is concealed, what precedes what, etc.).

Most narrative films obey the conventions of Hollywood continuity editing. (There’s an excellent overview of this system in Film Art by David Bordwell and Kristin Thompson, a book that I can’t recommend strongly enough to anyone interested in the formal aesthetics of cinema). Directors who use this style of editing usually break down their scenes into three different types of shots:

establishing shots, which establish the overall setting for the action (e.g., the exterior of a house)
master shots, which present the characters collectively in the established space (e.g., a shot of a kitchen within that house, in which we see one character at the stove and another at the table)
closer shots for specific actions, such as close-ups for dialogue (e.g., a close-up of the person working at the stove, followed by a shot of the person at the table)
In La Niña Santa, director Lucrecia Martel and cinematographer Félix Monti entirely forgo establishing shots (which isn’t too unusual in today’s filmmaking). What’s more notable is that they largely forgo master shots; the film is mostly a series of close-ups and medium shots. Even the broader group shots, and occasional master shots, are very tightly framed.

Besides having a claustrophobic effect, this constrained manner forces Martel to abandon more conventional means of conveying information about the space at large. For instance, several scenes are set at a pool. Late into the film we’re given a master shot in which we can see the water, the poolside, and a balcony-type lounging section. But this comes only after we’ve seen a few scenes set in these three smaller spaces. The shots comprising those scenes are almost all tight close-ups. Other parts of the space are sometimes visible in the background of each shot, but we’re left to infer how these three spaces add up into the larger locale.

A more notable example is a scene in which the Dr. Jano tries to convince Helenita to participate in a bit of theater that will occur at the end of the film. They’re sitting at a table in a restaurant, and their conversation is presented in the manner known as shot-reverse-shot: we look over one character’s shoulder to see the other character speaking, and then “flip sides” to see the reverse. (The camera stays to one side of an imaginary line drawn between the two characters, which is referred to as the 180 degree rule—otherwise the characters would suddenly change the directions they’re facing.)

The shots in Jano and Helenita’s dialogue are very closely framed. As we watch Helenita speak, we hear a character approach and address both her and Jano. A hand then reaches into the frame to light Helenita’s cigarette. The shot flips to the opposite side of the SRS pattern to show Helenita’s back, Jano’s face, and the hand still reaching into the frame. The hand withdraws, and the third character, speaking, sits off-camera to the left (we hear this and watch Helenita and Dr. Jano observe the action). We then cut back to the opposite side of the SRS (Helenita’s face), which allows us to see, on the far right side of the screen, who has joined them.

One way in which Martel compensates for the constricted sense of visible space is through a very rich use of off-camera sound that fills out surrounding spaces. Martel also stages actions in the background of closely framed shots, allowing us glimpses of actions through small corners of frame not occupied by a close-up of a character’s face. The two techniques help create a masterful impression of action happening all around us, a la Altman. (The film is set at a hotel during a doctors’ conference.)

Martel’s strategies are risky and require the audience to work. (The film’s story is also slowly and subtly told, lacking clear conflicts and a good deal of exposition). I counted five walk-outs, and the man to my left checked his watch a half-dozen times. They missed out on one of the most interesting films I’ve seen so far at this festival.

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