Metaphors are like hippos. In both cases, their friendly, fluffy, and undeniably poetic appearance is just an elaborate strategy to hide their true power. The former not only explain the world but, according to the classic dictum of Lakoff and Johnson, they create it, shape it, and even give it meaning. The latter, on the other hand, should instill fear that they do not. They are directly responsible for the highest number of human deaths in Africa and are beginning to be so in parts of South America where, due to the whims of the drug lord Pablo Escobar, they have become a plague.
"Many times, speaking about reality like this, straightforwardly, can be too harsh, even pornographic. Reality is, in certain places, excessive, unbearable, and therefore very difficult to tell in a believable way," comments director Mariana Rondón, and it is not clear if she is referring to metaphors, the havoc caused by hippos, or both at the same time.
Zafari, the latest film by the director who won the Golden Shell at the San Sebastián Film Festival in 2013 with Bad Hair, is essentially a metaphor, almost a futuristic parable, and one of its protagonists is a hippopotamus. It has everything to mislead, to create a world, and ultimately, to instill panic. The story revolves around a community of neighbors locked in their apartment block with a pool. Most of the neighbors have fled. Outside the compound, chaos reigns, and inside, there is absolute scarcity. And emptiness. Right next door, almost like an extension of the neighborhood, is a small zoo. The government has decided to repopulate the understocked, almost abandoned zoos, and a beautiful and voracious hippopotamus arrives there. The tenants of the upper floors, a high house in decline, watch with envy the caretakers, once poor, of the animal. Now, thanks to the friendly yet fierce creature, they are the ones with access to the scarce food available. Here, only the hippopotamus eats regularly.
"We began to see the possibility of a story," reasons the director, "when we read in the newspapers about what was happening in the zoos of Venezuela. I won't reveal much of the plot, but I can say that it was quite terrible and a consequence of a degraded situation. Furthermore, everything related to the motorcycle gangs taking over the streets may seem more fitting for a dystopia, but it is a dystopia all too common in South America."
"There is a lot of fear, storytelling is something people approach cautiously today"
From the first scene, the lines that connect reality with fiction seem as strong as they are not entirely evident. One could say that Zafari speaks like oracles, through clues. "When we planned the film, obviously, we were thinking about Venezuela. Then we ended up filming in Peru, and every time we told the story, the reaction was the same. 'The same thing happened here in the 80s,' they would say. If the listener was Argentine, the same. 'That happened in my country in the 2000s.' In the end, it is a reality that permeates all of South America at some point in its recent history." And what is that reality? "What we see are the consequences of rampant populism that devastates intimate life. In the name of a supposed equality, which is necessary and worth fighting for, a terrifying system based on fear ends up being imposed."
Zafari moves across the screen like a dark prophecy in which the terror associated with the most basic hunger ends up being the only cement of a microsociety on the brink of suicide. The film takes care not to be too explicit or arbitrarily elliptical. At times, the harshness of the images resembles a dream; at other times, the absurdity of the situation can only surprise and even amuse. But it never loses touch with a reality that is too harsh, too real. "All the characters end up being accomplices incapable of making a decision that can be considered ethical. As the wild world appropriates every trace of civilization, emotion, not reason, ends up guiding our actions. And that is when populism arises. That is where we are right now," states the director, edging closer to a political judgment.
The film was screened in Venezuela. Being considered Peruvian allowed it to bypass the mandatory censorship. Now, due to this, the regulations have changed. A committee must review every film, Venezuelan or not, for the slightest hint of criticism against the Maduro regime. This is not the first time that Mariana Rondón and screenwriter Marita Ugás have faced the consequences of speaking differently and refusing to echo the voice of the hippos. Bad Hair was also removed from cinemas in their country. But they refuse to remain silent. "It's not about bravery. I simply want the right to tell my fear," the director affirms.
Her next work, to be shown at the Huelva Festival, is titled It's Still Night in Caracas and adapts Karina Sainz Borgo's novel The Daughter of the Spanish Woman. And indeed, it is also a metaphor.