To keep a promise made to her dying mother, a young woman goes off in search of her father, a womanizer she has never met. Along the way, she soon learns that he is dead. But that doesn’t change her plans – she still intends to find him.
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Cilaos begins as a melancholic search for a father, perhaps for revenge. When it is revealed that the father, called The Mouth, is dead things take a sociological turn. This sense is underpinned by the blaxploitation style this short is shot in. Finally, the short ends in a frenzied, nihilistic, Freudian realization of masculine adulthood.
I loved the use of song in this short. The first two were so mesmerizing and touching. However, the third song in the final scene of the short, really threw me for a loop though. Restrepo and Mazloums's cinematography really helped add to the whole motif. The angles, framing, and the lighting were the finishing touches that made the film so great.
¿Has escuchado alguna vez la voz que pide venganza? ¿Has oído los gritos furiosos de la sangre que hierve? Como cadenazo en los dientes, como escupitajo de fuego, este corto de Restrepo se enciende y jamás se convierte en ceniza: su incandescente imagen late en cada cuadro del mismo modo en el que lo hacen los personajes que circulan, contando un cuento al mismo tiempo que cantan, cantando al mismo tiempo que viven.
This definitely is something else. A strange and mysterious place where where music and poetry meet. It's nostalgic, dreamy, and surreal - I guess this is why the 1970s stylisation feels so natural and honest. The ending is pure visual poetry. The short film format feels like a natural choice.
I saw this one yesterday, somehow didnt impress me that much. But it stuck to my subconscious. The music is absolutely fantastic, the drumming, the voice of Christine Salem . I had to see it again, and I could hear the music for hours.
The poetry and music of this film fuses together as one. It's impossible not to feel that this actually is a film from the 70s, rather than a retro ode to the blaxploitation of the past. It starts off fairly modestly, then it explodes in such a short space of time, into a rhythmic, transcendental mediative film that beats of the past, with the foresight of future. I dare anyone not to be at least a little mesmerised.