Pras on World Films: CHICO AND RITA

Chico & Rita movie posterSpain’s “Chico & Rita” was one of the biggest surprises of the 2012 Oscars by winning a nomination for best animated feature. In the 11 years since the Oscars introduced an award for Best Animated Feature, the category has been dominated by children’s movies, often with computer-animated pandas, penguins and ogres at their center. This one a little different.

The film depicts a nearly operatic romantic tragedy, involving a lifelong affair of the heart between two Havana musicians telling a distilled version of the 20th century history of jazz in about 90 minutes.. With irresistible Latin jazz, the animated feature captures seductive pre-Castro Cuba as it tells the story of a singer Rita, a promising young singer with a smoky voice and Chico, a piano man and their on and off romance over the years as they rise to fame. The attraction is strong and mutual, not to mention powerfully erotic, especially for a cartoon. But personal and professional jealousies intervene as the story moves forward, and as its protagonists’ advancing careers take them from Cuba to New York, Paris and Las Vegas, swept up by forces that alternately throw them together and keep them apart. The story is told in flashback from Chico’s current lonely life, and Rita’s equally cheerless existence. A subtext of race — Chico and Rita, both Cubans of African descent, must also deal with discrimination and exploitation as they pursue fame, fortune and artistic fulfillment – lends the film a somber grounding in reality.

It begins in Havana of 1948 in the pre-Castro years when rich Americans jetted down for entertainment, and Havana was a hotbed of jazz and Afro-Cuban music, where luxurious clubs, casinos and hotels have created a Caribbean entertainment mecca, mostly controlled by American gangsters and corporations.

There are two journeys here: Rita is a shooting star, soon heading to New York alone with a record contract. Though her vocal chops get her there, her beauty soon has Hollywood calling. Chico is making a name for himself too. The New York club circuit is his ticket out of Cuba.Their mutual problem is that Chico is unfaithful by nature, and although Rita is the woman he loves, when he’s not with the one he loves, he loves the one he’s with. Rita is two-timed once too often and sets off on her own — a mistake, because when they’re together, they have a taste of stardom, and when apart, a tendency to self-destruct.

In a fluid scene – in one night Chico (who hasn’t got a gig tonight, so he’s out on the town hitting the clubs) gets his first glimpse of Rita, sidling into a spotlight, closing her eyes and purring “Besame Mucho” into a mic at an open-air club. Instantly smitten, Chico follows Rita to the Tropicana Club. The owners piano man is sick, and when Chico is recruited to fill the empty piano stool, it’s clear how talented he is, and in no time at all, he and Rita team up to win a talent contest on a radio station and a lucrative contract. They even have a hit record, masterminded by a breezy con man named Ramon, who dedicates himself to managing them. Life takes them to New York and a hit record, but the faithless Chico loses Rita to the company of a slickster Yankee named Ron, who gets her a few good bookings before she blows a Vegas gig by being drunk onstage.

“Chico & Rita” is an animated valentine to Cuba and its music. Rita’s songs are performed by Cuban singer Idania Valdés, the daughter of Buena Vista Social Club’s percussionist Amadito Valdés. Chico and Rita also mingle with real-life legends like Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonius Monk and the great Cuban conga player Chano Pozo, a crucial figure in the era’s mixing of styles and genres.  Pozo died a violent death in Harlem in 1948, an event that injects a jolt of surreal gangster brutality into “Chico & Rita.”

The movie was directed by Fernando Trueba, a filmmaker responsible for the  2000 documentary on Latin/Cuban-jazz “Calle 54”; Javier Mariscal, a Spanish artist and designer; and Tono Errando. Mariscal also created the film’s bold modern look. Cuban musician Bebo Valdés, one of the featured players in “Calle 54,” handled the music, scoring and composing. He also stepped in to perform Chico’s musical numbers. Bebo Valdés, the great Cuban-born pianist, composer and bandleader (now 93) is also the physical and biographical inspiration for Chico. Valdés worked for years at Havana’s Tropicana Club, and both played for and orchestrated songs for the likes of Woody Herman, Dizzy Gillespie and the many other jazz greats whose stylings grace the movie’s soundtrack.

Mariscal uses the color palette to set the mood as the star-crossed pair make their way through various cities: We see Havana in its pre-Fidel days of big spenders, New York in the heyday of jazz, Paris when foreign musicians were hot, Vegas in its early golden years. Architecture, neon signs and big classic American cars are all done with brio and abandon. Havana is rich with strong colors on an earthy background, New York is monochromatic, Paris is almost as gray, Hollywood is dry and desert bright, Las Vegas awash in neon and night.

“Chico & Rita,” is a reminder not only of the aesthetic vitality of hand-drawn, two-dimensional animation, but also of the form’s ability to provide entertainment and enlightenment for adults. A costume drama or a documentary would not have been as charming or as surprising.The music however, is really one of the stars of this film. It truly works to transport you to another place.

CHICO AND RITA:      Directed by Fernando Trueba, Javier Mariscal and Tono Errando; written by Mr. Trueba and Ignacio Martínez de Pisón; animation direction by Manolo Galiana; edited by Arnau Quiles; music by Bebo Valdés, songs performed by Mr. Valdés, Idania Valdés, Estrella Morente, Freddy Cole, Jimmy Heath, Pedrito Martínez, Michael Phillip Mossman, Amadito Valdés, Germán Velazco, Yaroldi Abreu and Rolando Luna; produced by Christina Huete, Santi Errando, Martin Pope and Michael Rose; released by GKIDS and Luma Films. In Spanish, with English subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 34 minutes. This film is not rated.

WITH THE VOICES OF: Limara Meneses (Rita), Emar Xor Oña (Chico) and Mario Guerra (Ramón).

Pras On World Films: THE RED SHOES

Moira Shearer in “The Red Shoes” (1948)

  The evolution of The Red Shoes began in the 1930s, with a plan for a Nizhinskii biopic starring Paul Muni and Charles Laughton, and, later, a romantic melodrama intended as a vehicle for Alexander Korda’s wife, Merle Oberon (whose dancing would have been performed by a double). War intervened, and the project resurfaced afterwards with renewed vigour – without Korda and Oberon, who had split up, and with real ballet stars in acting roles. The project retained strong echoes of the Ballets Russes, in particular the Dyagilev-inspired rôle of Boris, and in a plot echoing some of the personal and professional conflicts sparked by the marriages of Dyagilev’s protegés Vaslav Nizhinskii and Leonid Myasin/Massine. The latter even appears in the film as Grigorii ‘Grisha’ Lyubov, thechoreographer and character-dancer. And the Polish girl who had assisted Nizhinskii with his choreography for Sacre de Printemps makes a cameo appearance as herself: Marie Rambert, one of the founding mothers of British ballet.

The plot is deceptively simple, but contains layers of symbolism and depths of characterisation which – combined with its visual and musical richness – make it one of the greatest films about Art. Vicky Page, a beautiful and gifted dancer from an aristocratic family, is discovered by Boris Lermontov, director of a famous ballet company. He recognises in her a kindred spirit, capable of rising to great artistic heights, and sharing his own profound sense of vocation.

Boris is convinced of Vicky’s commitment when he sees her dance the rôle of Odette in Lac des Cygnes one rainy afternoon in the Mercury Theatre. This shabby, under-equipped place is the home of the Ballet Rambert: it has no orchestra, the music being provided by a faulty gramophone. But it is a true temple of the art, presided over by a woman who worked with Dyagilev and Nizhinskii. Vicky’s ecstatic performance there proves to Boris that she has the potential for greatness.

Boris also engages Julian Craster, an enthusiastic music student who contacts him because his tutor Professor Palmer had plagiarised the score of the company’s latest ballet from him. Boris dissuades the boy from taking this further and publicly humiliating his tutor. He shrewdly observes that surely “it is far more disheartening to have to steal than to be stolen from“: a lesson in magnanimity and nobility.

In Paris, Julian is soon commissioned to work on a ballet based on Hans Christian Andersen’s macabre fable The Red Shoes. Meanwhile, Boris sacks the scatterbrained but loveable prima ballerina Irina because she is “imbecile enough to get married” – something he regards as incompatible with true dedication to dance. We are taken through the progress of the ballet’s creation to its successful first performance.

But as a result of working together on the ballet, Julian and Vicky become attracted to each other. Boris, with boyish enthusiasm, has already been sharing with Vicky plans for her future in all the great rôles. He has commissioned Julian to work on a new ballet for her, La Belle Meunière (thematically, surely a nod to Le Tricorne/ El Sombrero de Tres Picos, the ballet which Massine choreographed for Dyagilev, with music by de Falla, about a miller and his beautiful wife). He books dinner – rather than an expression of romantic interest, it seems more likely (given his character) that this is to tell her about this new project especially for her – something special, exciting. (After all,The Red Shoes had been in gestation before she and Julian joined the company, with a score by a South American composer.) But Vicky cannot be found. She is not even at Grisha’s birthday party – but, as Ivan and the others reveal, has gone off for the evening with her lover… Boris is profoundly disappointed: she’s let him down, let herself down. He had thought he had recognised in her a kindred spirit. It’s also just a few months since Irina’s dismissal: having just got a new leading-lady, he’s going to have to go through the same again… After a quarrel, he dismisses Julian, and Vicky decides to leave with her lover.

The main characters agonise over their choices. Boris wants to punish Vicky’s failure to live up to the commitment she had at first professed, but he knows that she could still become a truly great dancer – so he cannot let his bitter disappointment ruin her career completely. His better instincts triumph, after an inner struggle dramatised in the mirror scene. The only contractual restriction he places on her is over The Red Shoes: that ballet belongs to the company, and no-one else will dance it again. He seeks out and re-engages Irina, who has been living a glamorous but superficial life as a socialite, and has missed her old friends. She stars again in the company’s new season, touring the world.

But Vicky is unhappy. Once married, she becomes frustrated at the stifling of her own talent, while Julian is preoccupied with writing an opera, Cupid & Psyche. It is based on the Classical myth of the secret lovers Cupid and Psyche, who overcome the hostile plots of his mother Venus: is this how he sees his conflict with their parent-figure, Boris? For Julian, Vicky is an inspiring muse, not an active artist in her own right. We see her getting out of bed to offer emotional support as he works through the night. (She and Julian have twin beds – perhaps a comment on their relationship, rather than ’40s film censorship: after all, in a similar scene in Dangerous Moonlight (1941), Carol got out of a double bed to find Stefan at work.) She frets over her pointed shoes, stored in a drawer. Some, pointing to the scale of the apartment, argue that this scene may be less a naturalistic depiction than a dramatisation of Vicky’s perception of her situation. On the other hand, the size of the interior and the grand piano may suggest that she and Julian are dependent on her aristocratic family, perhaps living in a wing of her aunt’s mansion. She will later say that she has been continuing going to class, and has danced some roles, but evidently nothing major; and the satin shoes in the drawer – including a red pair – are her souvenirs of her time with the Ballet Lermontov, not her practice ones.

As Vicky, Moira Shearer, the Dunfermline-born ballerina, has a touching charm in heracting and dances magnificently. Her appealing screen presence combines glamour and youthful innocence (she was only 21 at the time of filming)


Austrian actor Anton Walbrook (Adolf Anton Wilhelm Wohlbrück, 1896-1967) is passionate, imperious and ultimately heartbreaking as Boris Lermontov. The fact that he wasn’t even nominated for a Best Actor Oscar is a disgrace. (It’s sad that this great star of German, British and French film is now somewhat neglected outside Powell & Pressburger/Max Ophüls/Thorold Dickinson fandoms – although he was the subject of a commemorative exhibition, The Most Beautiful Man in German Film, at the Gay Museum in Berlin and Düsseldorf Film Museum in 1997). The ballet scenes (especially the Heckroth-designed Expressionist Red Shoes itself) have a strong visual appeal, and Vicky’s story is dramatic enough. However, it is Boris who is the moral centre and soul of the film. If, as a viewer, you can’t engage with him and his idealism, The Red Shoes is not going to ‘work’ for you on anything but the simplest level. I’ve encountered this in some on-line reviews: people who see him as some sort of negative authority figure because he places Art above heterosexual ‘romance’. Sorry, kids: Boris – a profoundly good and wise character of a kind one rarely meets in films – is right. Julian is such a two-faced, arrogant, callow little ingrate, it’s difficult to see how anyone could side with him: it was all I could do not to reach through the screen to slap him when he sneers about ballet being “a second-rate form of expression” to the man to whom he owes his career! Mind, locking him in a broom-cupboard with a looped recording of Le Sacre de Printemps and Les Noces might be more appropriate as a punishment: “Second-rate? Tell that to Stravinskii, sonny!” (Marius Goring deserves all credit for playing such an unlikeable ‘romantic juvenile lead’: a music-school Angel Clare. It’s a splendid piece of acting, equal to his foppish French heavenly Conductor in A Matter of Life & Death.)

The Red Shoes vs Black Swan  (A Blog Post)

The similarities between Black Swan, which was released earlier this year, and The Red Shoes, directed by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger and released in 1948, are obvious. Both tell the story of talented young women engaged as ballet dancers, both relatively unknown, who are suddenly propelled to the limelight as prima ballerinas, dancing the principal role in a new ballet for their respective companies. In Black Swan’s case, a bold new reworking of Swan Lake, and in The Red Shoes, a brand new composition also called The Red Shoes. Loosely based on the fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen, The Red Shoes tells the story of a young girl given a pair of red shoes by a mysterious and sinister cobbler, which, as soon as she puts them on, possess her and make her dance uncontrollably until she dies from exhaustion.

Black Swan shows Natalie Portman’s character, Nina, who, having been a minor member of her ballet company, attempt to unburden herself of her self-consciousness and attain a near impossible level of excellence expected in her new role, while at the same time dealing with her fragile mental state which is exacerbated by her overbearing mother, herself a failed ballerina, played to an often frightening intensity by Barbera Hershey. In The Red Shoes, Vicky Page, played by Moira Shearer, is a relatively minor dancer in the Lermontov Ballet company, and is thrown in to the limelight when her director, Boris Lermantov, chances to see her dance in a small, run down hall somewhere in London in front of a handfull of people. She is offered the lead in the new play, The Red Shoes, and it is a resounding success, as proudly exhibited to the viewer in a magnificent, and completely hallucinatory and Fellini-esque fifteen minute sequence in the middle of the film.

Nina struggles with her new role; she is precise in her delivery of the part of Odette, the angelic White Swan, but, in the eyes of her director, Thomas, played brilliantly by Vincent Cassell, passionless, restrained, and lacking in the sexual energy he sees as essential to the part of the Odile, the Black Swan. Vicky’s adaptation is smoother, although conflict soon manifests itself when she falls in love with Julian Craster, the young, up-and-coming composer of The Red Shoes.

Both women suffer the machinations of manipulative directors; Leroy is passionate and lecherous towards Nina, whereas Lermontov is an ice cold Russian exile, who fires Julian from the company once he finds out about their relationship, believing Vicky’s love for him compromising to her art. Vicky leaves also, in solidarity with her lover, leading Lermontov to sink in to a depression, believing no one else capable of dancing The Red Shoes but Vicky. She eventually returns, without the knowledge of Julian, and agrees to dance. However, moments before she is due to go onstage, Julian turns up, and, incensed at her betrayl, demands she choose between their love and the ballet. She chooses the ballet, he storms off, but as she is walking down the long corridor to the stage, wide-eyed before the camera, the red shoes she is wearing, representing her conflict between love and art, carry her off, and she runs out of the building and commits suicide by jumping from a balcony. In an equally dramatic parallel, Nina is broken by her fragile state of mind, and unwittingly stabs herself during the intermission of the opening night, then completes the second half to rapturous applause, and dies on stage.

The material likeness of both stories are obvious, but what is more important is the believability of the principal characters in their adaptation from obscurity to the unbelievable pressure of performance, and as both films adopt the familiar story-within-a-story formula, attention must also be focused on both Natalie Portman and Moira Shearer in their performances. The idea is to see the ballet in the film through their eyes, as we are seeing the film through our own eyes.

Black Swan opts for a simple psychological thriller angle, showing Nina’s struggle with her role through the prism of her faltering mental health. Vicky’s adaptation to her role stands on Moira Shearer’s performance alone, without the aid of any psychological gimmickry, and in many ways that is enough. Moira Shearer herself was a professional ballet dancer, a rising member of the Sadlers Wells Ballet, and The Red Shoes was her first film. It shows, and, as brilliant as she is, her nervousness and innocence is obvious, especially during conversational scenes, where she spends most of her time staring in to space when she is both listening and talking. Her nerves and earnestness are translated perfectly through Vicky, who through a quiet, although shaky at first, dignity confronts her own impending stardom. In comparison to this genuine manifestation of both a character and an actor/dancer’s response to art, in both Vicky Page and Moira Shearer’s response to ballet and film, the conflict of Black Swan seems artificial and forced, resting on the psychological angle alone.

The Red Shoes was a bold film for the time, a jump in to near fantasy when realism owned post-war cinema, and was a testement to art over real life. As Michael Powell later reflected, “For ten years we had all been told to go out and die for freedom and democracy; but now the war was over, The Red Shoes told us to go out and die for art.”

In the tragic endings to Black Swan and The Red Shoes, both Nina and Vicky lose their lives to their art; Nina after sacrificing her mind for it, and Vicky after sacrificing love.

As a side note, it is interesting to note the response of the ballet world to both films. Upon its release, The Red Shoes was celebrated as an accurate portrayl of ballet, as well as during filming when several ballet critics were given access to sets. With its later popularity however, it began to be criticised as portraying ballet in a cliched and negative light. The attacks often bore a resemblance to the condemnation by other art forms of early cinema, laced with ignorance and disdainful of the medium as a whole, which, in 1948, seems a bit of a stretch. Moira Shearer herself later attacked the film also, although this seems mostly from exasperation with the technical side of filmmaking; during the dance sequences she was only allowed to dance for short periods at a time, often having to repeat the same thirty seconds of dance continuously, and it took some time for her to adapt back to the structure and technique of a full ballet.

The response from ballet to the release of Black Swan was, by comparison, caustic. Critics saw it was portraying dancers in a negative light, as ruthless, selfish, and egotistical. Not entirely unfair claims, although I have no idea how cut-throat ballet dancers might be having spent little time with any, but it is no stretch to imagine competition in companies to be fierce. Reactions weren’t helped by the portrayl of Nina by a non-ballerina, and the dance scenes were attacked as amateurish (which, by their own definition, they obviously were) and the subsequent claims by a professional dancer to have performed some of the dance scenes only added to the controversy.

As a modern art form, ballet is distinct in the way it seems to be disdainful of publicity, and often actively hostile when it receives any. Following the reaction to Black Swan, various following articles criticised the ballet world for its insularity. These observations were not unjustified, for example, in an age where nearly anything popular to someone has an in-depth article on Wikipedia, the page on ballet, for a major form of artistic expression, is surprisingly short, and goes in to little historical or technical detail. In comparison, the page on the Basque variant of the sport pelota, hardly a pursuit with the same worldwide appeal, is over double the length. But maybe this is a positive attitude for ballet to take, and a perceptive one.

Those in ballet know it is never going to have widespread appeal today, and instead of compromise itself to the cheapening effects of mass culture in an attempt to broaden its appeal, as so many other art forms have done, it closes itself off, and retains its integrity. In refusing to debase itself to a lowest common denominator of pure entertainment value, it refuses to even engage in the arguement on the terms defined by those of mass culture, that of entertainment value itself. In this way its insularity is positive, and it can remain a pure art form. Of course, the attention ballet has received from the recent release of Black Swan will be unwelcome to many of those who wish it to remain anonymous from mass culture, and they will be hoping the momentary popularity will fade like many Hollywood-inspired fads.