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We all think we're supposed to love John Sayles. He's often referred to as the "thinking man's indie filmmaker." His pictures are "films," not "movies." They are communications of liberal feelings in a novelistic, rather than cinematic, manner. Why are his films deemed important? Because they are made outside the system, because they deal with personal subjects, because they supposedly carry an intelligence that doesn't insult the audience with the silly preoccupations of Hollywood. Because they deal with issues: labor strife in Matewan, big-city corruption in City of Hope, Texas justice in Lone Star. Because they boast fine actors of all races who spend more time on their lines than in the makeup chair. And, most importantly, because Sayles cares. Though these are all admirable and potentially fascinating facets to a work, they are not the sole secret to a film's success. A good script with a well-paced story, inventive techniques and visual potency are also helpful. It is nice that he cares, but, regrettably, Sayles often thinks in words rather than pictures--and not very interesting words. Men with Guns is no exception. Set in an imaginary Latin American country during political strife, and written entirely in Spanish and Indian dialects, Men with Guns is a political allegory with easily identifiable characteristics. It stars the excellent Argentinean actor Federico Luppi as Dr. Fuentes. The story is, at first, fascinating: Dr. Fuentes, an idealistic, recently widowed physician unaware of his country's political realities, wishes to restore a purpose to his life. Intending to visit past students whom he proudly (and, as far as he knows, successfully) trained to treat impoverished Indians in remote areas, Fuentes takes off in his nice car, in his nice clothes, into the lovely Mexican landscape. He is met with ugly realities. Through the wanderers he picks up along the way, the philanthropic Fuentes learns more about what kind of place he sent his students. An embittered soldier (Damian Delgado), an abandoned boy born of rape (Dan Rivera Gonzalez), a priest (Damian Alcazar) and a mute rape victim (Tania Cruz) tell their stories to the doctor, and piece by piece, he puts together the horrific fate of his students. In these stories of horror, told via flashback, the fleeing figures become symbols of violence, lost faith, innocence and silent plight, and Fuentes becomes the guilty, rich liberal. Fuentes' position is underscored by crass American couples who keep humorously popping up. But this actor and subject deserve more. Though Luppi has a charismatic and wonderfully understated presence on screen, he, along with the others, cannot save the picture from its obviousness. Forced to utter trite and sometimes embarrassing dialogue, Sayles' characters become less human and more sledgehammer. |
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