Movie Reviews
Film Review: “Pepe” — The Afterlife of a Hippo – The Arts Fuse
By Steve Erickson
Pepe is an immense achievement: one of the most formally and politically radical narrative films to turn up on the international festival circuit in 2024.
Pepe, directed by Nelson Carlo de los Santos Arias. At the 2024 New York Film Festival, screening on October 5, 6, and 9.
A scene from the astounding Pepe. Photo: Berlin Film Festival
Pepe sounds like a Netflix docuseries: a chronicle of the stranger-than-fiction fate of a hippo once owned by Pablo Escobar. Thankfully, Dominican director Nelson Carlo de los Santos Arias’ approach is infinitely more adventurous. This is an immense achievement: one of the most formally and politically radical narrative films to turn up on the international festival circuit in 2024. De Los Santos Arias uses the trials and tribulations of Pepe — granted the power of speech in a voice-over delivered in several languages — as an illustration of colonialism. The hippo’s parents were stolen from Namibia and brought to the Americas. But Pepe also works at face value as an exploration of animal rights. It delves into the consciousness of beasts — and the danger of humans misunderstanding it.
The very first shot of Pepe is a white frame. Visually, the only variation we see comes from damage to the film stock; the sound of a helicopter pilot calling out to a Corporal Gonzales intrudes upon the image’s blankness. Then, the hippo introduces himself. Named Pepe, he’s confused that he has been resurrected as a ghost. Caged in Pablo Escobar’s private zoo in his Hacienda Napoles estate, he escaped to the surrounding river (as did most of the other animals) following the drug lord’s 1993 death. What follows is not a straightforward, linear narrative, but a story that takes vast leaps in time and space. A group of German tourists are seen on safari in Namibia. The director De Los follows people and animals down the Magdalena river for brief intervals, moving on to another one after a few minutes. Rejected by Escobar’s menagerie, Pepe is forced to live on his own. One section details the rocky relationship of fisherman Candelario (Jorge Puntillon Garcia), who encounters the hippo while working, and his wife Bethania (Sor Maria Rios). These scenes are the ones where Pepe comes closest to conventional characters and storytelling, but they make up a small portion of the film.
De Los Santos Arias’ style is accomplished and eclectic,to say the least. He’s fond of stationary long shots. Often, the camera position, floated in a river, suggests a hippo-eyed-view, looking quizzically at people. Drones are used for distant, overhead views. On the one hand, the cinematography can be breathtakingly pretty,but Pepe never lets one forget the animal’s feelings of loss –and the military squad that is out to kill him. The calm of an aerial shot of Escobar’s mansion and its surrounding streets, as we watch cars slowly pass, is broken by pilots’ chatter. De Los Santos Arias lets these images play out, moving the camera further back, till he cuts to white. The film’s view of nature leans towards ‘objective’ abstraction; lush shots of the river are stripped of narrative intent. Genuine documentary footage is integrated with staged scenes.
Along with its fascinating visuals, Pepe is a film about language. The hippo speaks to us as a ghost, unable to understand his ability to talk. (Four actors, each speaking a different tongue, represent his voice.) I’ve often wondered: what do animals make of the symbolic value humans place on them? Could they understand it? Would goats be baffled by their association with witchcraft and the devil? Pepe muses on these and other issues. At one point, he gazes at his own representation: he glimpses a cartoon about his life that is being shown playing on a living room TV.
Does all that sound like it could be overly didactic? Pepe might have gone that way. A few scenes are close to being lectures in post-colonial theory. The film works so well because it focuses on the threatening drama of the present moment. Pepe speaks about his own experience and the way he’s perceived: “in their story, I became a monster, an Other that scared everyone.” Brought to the Americas, he’s seen as important only insofar as his story intersects with that of humans (especially one as infamous as Pablo Escobar.) In the end, he’s perceived as a danger, with has some basis in fact, given that his presence endangered local fishermen. Pepe is never seen as a being with a life that matters for its own sake.
Pepe has yet to be acquired by a U.S. distributor. (De Los Santos Arias’ previous film, Cocote, did receive a brief release here in 2018.) American audiences will encounter difficulties with this film: they’ve grown wary of subtitles, let alone the degree of experimentation Pepe embraces with a vengeance. But grappling with its eccentricities is well worth the effort. De Los Santos Arias described his earlier feature, 2015’s Santa Teresa & Historias, as “an anarchic rebellion of multiple narratives, colors and formats…in a drive towards permanent revolution.” Pepe continues that fierce critical critique with a rare combo of formal beauty and political astuteness.
Steve Erickson writes about film and music for Gay City News, Slant Magazine, the Nashville Scene, Trouser Press, and other outlets. He also produces electronic music under the tag callinamagician. His latest album, Bells and Whistles, was released in January 2024, and is available to stream here.
Desert Warrior, 2026.
Directed by Rupert Wyatt.
Starring Anthony Mackie, Aiysha Hart, Ben Kingsley, Ghassan Massoud, Sharlto Copley, Sami Bouajila, Lamis Ammar, Géza Röhrig, Numan Acar, Nabil Elouahabi, Hakeem Jomah, Ramsey Faragallah, Saïd Boumazoughe, and Soheil Bostani.
SYNOPSIS:
An honorable and mysterious rogue, known as Hanzala, makes himself an enemy of the Emperor Kisra after he helps a fugitive king and princess in the desert.
With aspirations of being a historical epic harkening back to the sword and sandal blockbusters of yesteryear, Rupert Wyatt’s seventeenth-century Arabia tale is about as generic and epically dull as one would expect from a film plainly titled Desert Warrior. Yes, there appear to be real locations here, and there are some admittedly sweeping shots of various tribes storming into battle on horseback and camels, but it’s all in service of a mess that is both miscast and questionable as the work of a filmmaking team of mostly white creatives.
The story of Emperor Kisraa (Ben Kingsley, a distracting presence even with only one or two scenes) rounding up women from other tribes to be his concubines, which inevitably became the catalyst for a revolution led by Princess Hind (Aiysha Hart), uniting all the divided clans and strategizing battle plans for flanking and poisoning, is undeniably ripe for cinematic treatment. The problem is that what’s here from Rupert Wyatt (and screenwriters Erica Beeney, Gary Ross, and David Self) is less than nothing in the primary creative process; no one seems to have a connection to Arabic heritage or culture, but they have made a flat-out boring film that is often narratively incoherent.
Following the death of her father and escaping the clutches of oppression, the honorable Princess Hind joins forces with a troubled, nameless bandit played by Anthony Mackie (he totally belongs here…), who seems to be here solely to give the movie some star power boost without running the risk of white savior accusations. Whatever the case may be, it’s jarring, but not quite as disorienting as how little screen time he has despite being billed as the lead and how little characterization he has. It is, however, equally disorienting as some of the other names that show up along the way.
As for the other factions, Princess Hind talks to them one by one, giving the film an adventure feel that fails to capitalize on using beautiful scenery in striking or visually poignant ways at almost every turn; the leaders of these tribes also often have no character. There also isn’t much of an understanding of why these tribes are at odds with one another. This movie is filled with dialogue that consistently and shockingly amounts to vague nothingness. Nevertheless, each tribe doesn’t take much convincing to begin with, meaning that not only is the film repetitive, but it’s also lifeless when characters are in conversation.
That Desert Warrior does occasionally spring to life, and a bloated 2+ running time is a small miracle. This is typically accomplished through the occasional fight scene between factions that also serves to demonstrate Princess Hind coming into her own as a warrior. When the tribes are united in a massive-scale battle, and that plan is unfolding step by step, one certainly sees why someone would want to tell this story and pull it off with such spectacle. However, this film is as dry as the desert itself.
Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★
Robert Kojder
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=embed/playlist
‘4’, the opening track on Richard D James’ (Aphex Twin) self titled 1996 album is a piece of music that beautifully balances the chaotic with the serene, the oppressive and the freeing. It’s a trick that James has pulled off multiple times throughout his career and it is a huge part of what makes him such an iconic and influential artist. Many people have laid the “next Aphex Twin” label on musicians who do things slightly different and when you actually hear their music you realise that, once again, the label is flawed and applied with a lazy attitude. Why mention this? Well, it turns out we’ve been looking for James’ heir apparent in the wrong artform. We’ve so zoned in on music that we’ve not noticed that another Celtic son of Cornwall is rewriting an art form with that highwire balancing act between chaos and beauty. That artist is writer, director and composer Mark Jenkin who over his last two feature films has announced himself as an idiosyncratic voice who is creating his very own language within the world of cinema. Jenkin’s films are often centred around coastal towns or islands and whilst they are experimental or even unsettling, there is always a big heart at the centre of the narrative. A heart that cares about family, tradition, culture, and the pull of ‘home’. Even during the horror of 2022’s brilliant Enys Men you were anchored by the vulnerability and determination of its main protagonist.
This month sees the release of Jenkin’s latest feature film, Rose of Nevada, which is set in a fractured and diminished Cornish coastal town. One day the fishing boat of the film’s title arrives back in harbour after being missing for thirty years. The boat is unoccupied. And frankly that is all the information you are going to get because to discuss any more plot would be unfair on you and disrespectful to Jenkin and the team behind the film. You the viewer should be the one who decides what it is about because thematically there are so many wonderful threads to pull on. This writer’s opinions on what it is about have ranged from a theme of sacrifice for the good of a community to the conflict within when part of you wants to run away from your roots whilst the other half longs to stay and be a lifelong part of its tapestry. Is it about Brexit? Could be. Is it about our own relationships with time and our curation of memory? Could be. Is it about both the positives and negatives of nostalgia? Could be. As a side note, anyone in their mid-40s, like me, who came of age in the 1990s will certainly find moments of warm recognition. Is the film about ghosts and how they haunt families? Could be…I think you get the point.
The elements that make the film so well balanced between chaos and calm are many. It is there in the differing performances between the brilliant two lead actors George MacKay and Callum Turner. It is there in the sound design which fluctuates from being unbearably harsh and metallic, to lulling and warm. It is there in the editing where short, sharp close ups on seemingly unimportant factors are counterbalanced with shots that are held for just that little bit too long. For a film set around the sea, it is apt that it can make you feel like you’re rolling on a stomach churning storm one minute, or a calming low tide the next. Dialogue can be front and centre or blurred and buried under static. One shot is bathed in harsh sunlight whilst the next can be drowned in interior shadows.
Rose of Nevada is Mark Jenkin’s most ambitious film to date yet he has not lost a single iota of innovation, singularity of vision or his gift for telling the most human of stories. It is a film that will tell you different things each time you see it and whilst there are moments that can confuse or beguile, there is so much empathy and love that it can leave you crying tears of emotional understanding. It is chaotic. It is beautiful. It is life……
Rose of Nevada is released on the 24th April.
Mark Jenkin Instagram | Threads
Released through the BFI – Instagram | Facebook
Review by Simon Tucker
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