by John Villeneuve
During the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s Argentina endured a multitude of military coups d‚Äô√©tat (minus the short Per√≥n period that lasted a few months in 1973-1974). Under the stronghold of the military junta, corruption was rife, no more so than in the judiciary, where loyalty to the top brass kept you safe, and may even allow you to commit the most egregious of crimes and walk away free. It is within this milieu that Argentina’s Foreign Film submission, The Secret in Her Eyes, takes place.
Told through a series of flashbacks, the film opens in the present day. A retired criminal justice officer, Benjamin Esposito (Ricardo Darin), is in the process of writing a novel about a thirty year old unsolved rape and murder case of a young school teacher. But before he can continue, he hopes to get the cooperation of the judge, Irene Hastings (Soledad Villamil), who was once his secretary, but who later became his boss, his confidant, and so much more. From there, the film zigzags through time between two love stories: one, the unrequited love of two colleagues, the other, a relationship destroyed by a horrendous murder.
But at the core of the film is the mysterious whereabouts and fate of the killer, who hangs over the proceedings like a dank towel. Unlike most thrillers, where the murderer is not revealed until the final moments, The Secret in Her Eyes unmasks the culprit, supposedly, at the midpoint, in two incredibly powerful scenes. The first involving his capture in an enormous, crowd-filled stadium—-which left me shaken—-and the second, in an interrogation room where the formidable Judge Hastings concocts a faux insult aimed at the detainee’s narcissism, hoping that he will reveal a vital clue that will prove his guilt. And boy does he ever (to those who have seen the film, I urge you to not disclose what transpires). However, because the psychopath is a loyal egg to the junta (he spies upon and unveils liberals and communists), he is released, to the extreme dismay of Esposito, Hastings, and the victim’s husband. Together, they each unravel in their own different ways.
Director, Juan Jos√© Campanella, is no stranger to the Academy. His film, Son of the Bride (El hijo de la novia), was nominated in 2001 for Foreign Language Film. But here, he has a much more difficult task. Keeping all of the elements of romance, mystery, thriller, and action, spinning like so many plates without dropping one is difficult, and Campanella succeeds almost completely. He does so by letting his themes of memory, secrecy, loss, and obsession take center stage. By doing so, it becomes clear that everyone involved in this investigation will be trapped in a melancholic, arid past, stunted to the possibilities available only to those who have learned to let go. Hence, there is a sadness, a psychic scar, that permeates Campanella’s film that anyone with a heartbeat will recognize.
Initially, when I saw this film at TIFF, I didn’t think it would have much of a chance at a nomination if submitted by Argentina. My mind is beginning to change on that point. Why? Because much like Guillaume Canet’s earlier film, Ne le dis √† personne (Tell No One), Campanella’s film, too, tends to linger, to take up residence in the subconscious like a houseful of ghosts. And for a film about wanted and unwanted memories, the conundrum of their coexistence is clear, yet desultory. The solution and/or equilibrium lies with the rememberer. In essence, this hazy message may prove to be as unforgettable as Velcro for a, generally, myopic jury.