“Memory is our best weapon,” says Valentina Miranda, a young student and fierce activist, when interviewed by veteran documentarian Patricio Guzmán about the massive protests that united the Chilean population in 2019, leading to the redrafting of the country’s longstanding constitution. Her concise but truthful statement in turn encapsulates what the director has pursued his entire career behind the camera by immortalizing the present so it’s not forgotten.
The intergenerational exchange between Miranda and Guzmán is one of many in his organically comprehensive and elegantly galvanizing new non-fiction piece “My Imaginary Country” (“Mi país imaginario”), which debuted out of competition at the Cannes Film Festival earlier this year.
Film opens on a melancholic note with footage of joyful crowds celebrating Salvador Allende’s victory in the 1970 presidential election. Soon Guzmán’s voice reminds us that, only three years later, a coup d’état would install dictator Augusto Pinochet in power. The master filmmaker’s soft-spoken yet pointedly poetic narration expresses his profoundly personal relationship with the sociopolitical changes that Chile has endured throughout his life.
Half a century later, Guzmán traces the spark that ignited the social outburst of 2019 to the government’s decision to raise the subway fare. The move was a shameful attack on young people who were already economically poor and without any career opportunities. It also added to their anger at the system that perpetuates inequality. People took to the streets with a righteous fury on October 18, that year.
One conversation at a time, Guzmán explores the motivations and commitment of those on the frontlines fighting vicious policemen to make their voices heard. A young mother wearing flowers on her protective gear learns there are no hierarchies to the movement. It is only individuals who unite to demand dignity from those in authority. On October 23, 2012, 1.2 million Chileans took part in the largest demonstration that the South American nation had ever seen.
Testament to his curiosity as a storyteller, as Guzmán investigates the macro issues, he also pays close attention to those details that may seem irrelevant, but that expand our spiritual understanding of how this breaking point injected renewed hope into the Chilean citizenry.
Some passages are centered on rocks used by protesters to stop police from entering their territory. Closeups of the asphalt chunks in various sizes, which are taken directly from the ground by the dissidents, give them an almost mythical appearance as the noble ammunition for the people. Others pay attention to the liberation chants or the rhythmic sounds made by saucepans as makeshift wardrums. Guzmán observes them all.
As Guzmán enlists a chorus of speakers from distinct walks of life to provide insight, it doesn’t take long for one to notice that he features chats with women only, as a way, perhaps, for his film to reflect the crucial role they had in these earth-shattering events.
They include a first responder who notes that 400 people lost eyes due to the authorities’ brutality, as well as several intellectuals, indigenous Mapuche linguist Elisa Loncón and Sibila Sotomayor, one of the four members from the feminist collective “Las Tesis”Who created the poem? “A Rapist in Your Path,”This song became an anthem condemning patriarchy throughout Latin America and the globe.
A notable overlooked perspective is the one of the soldiers and police officers who used violence unjustified on the civilian population. They had zero empathy for their subjugated. Maybe such a veteran does not exist, but is it too farfetched or naïve to believe that in the aftermath of the October 2019 turning point, some of those uniformed men could have reconsidered their position as instruments of terror? One can only wish.
At 81 years old, Guzmán is one of the most preeminent visual historians of his country’s recent past. It is admirable that he humblely acknowledges and celebrates the achievements of young people, who fuel this inspiring chapter. He sees in them the inspiration for transformation. Chile is experiencing an unprecedented moment, even his own reflections as a survivor after two decades of exile.
As the movement bears fruits in the form the integration of new perspectives in the decision-making process. He mentions the importance of the National Stadium in his doc. This location has been featured in many of his works. Once used as a concentration camp by the Pinochet regime where Guzmán was imprisoned, in 2020 it served as polling place for a referendum to do away with the dictatorship-era constitution.
“My Imaginary Country”It is as much about the causes and results of a collective awakening seeking a better future than it is about an artist who allows himself to hope for the homeland that has always been his main focus. Now that a version of the democracy he fantasized about — and which was abruptly taken away from many generations — might finally cross from the realm of the impossible into a realistically actionable plan, Guzmán thanks the youth for the miracle.
“My Imaginary Country”Icarus Films opens September 30 in select US theatres