Not love as empyrean passion, albeit the cheesy female choir supplied w/ typical elated 70s banshee song implies otherwise. Love as bodily anamnesis that pushes accursed, latent saps to bloom during a jet spring of awoken, flooding mud, as if a token that χημία (erotic chemistry or not) originally comes from the "black earth" of Nile deluges and being "cast together" (by destiny or mechanics, who knows?). Treacherous
"Don't be ashamed of me when you're facing God, Nazareno," said Evil - Evil with a capital E, the Evil-in-a-religious-sense that the film slowly empties of content until it's fit to blow away on the Pampas wind, until animal and man are joined again in one flesh, one soul and the Edenic redemption is complete. Favio is a very tactile filmmaker and his music, imagery and montage are as unsubtle as they are vital.