I came to La Antena rather in spite of myself, expecting a poor man's Guy Maddin with a Doctor Who-like story and a string of references to classic films which I would find either fun to spot or annoyingly derivative. Why go to see a second-rate pseudo-old film when I could be watching a genuinely archaic one? Fortunately, La Antena doesn't attempt to convince its viewer that it's a lost masterpiece from the past – rather, it's self-acknowledged position as a fake old film, complete with fake projector sounds, is but one weapon in the arsenal of a film about fakeness. And fakeness is something which interests me rather a lot.
The story is, as expected, trite, managing to be both predicable and unfathomable, the what-do-you-mean-it's-not-symbolism laughably crude and the characters intentionally simplistic (self-parodied in what seems to a law that a nurse must always wear something on her head which is white with a red cross). But I'm a shallow enough person that while I would have appreciated a more gripping narrative and, while I get the joke, more variation in the costumes, it is the surface layer, that which Norman McLaren and Piotr Kamler's films can consist completely of, which I am primarily concerned with and in that respect it's a rather "me" film which equals Laloux in its number of short film-like playful asides, though not in working them into one story. And that's not even to mention the Gone with the Wind-style silhouettes.
But where am I going with this? La Antena is not so much a film to be watched as it is one to be listened to. Whatever can be said of the visuals (those who have never seen a silent film praise them for being like nothing they've ever seen; those who have dam them for being like every one they've ever seen), the soundtrack is excellent. Still not wholly original, but while originally can aid excellency it's not a requirement for it – specifically, it sounds like a fully-realised version of Umebayashi Shigeru's promising but too repetitive score for Wong Kar-wai's 2046, with the songs incoporated into the wider soundworld and hints of Goldfrapp at their most Morricone-esque. The whole point of La Antena, and what should be its selling point but isn't as it's as hard to describe as it is delightful, is it's chicken-and-egg symbiosis of sound and image – sounds such as car horns and gunshot are accurately rendered by orchestral instruments, but are simultaneously part of the music, integrated in its rhythm. Even stranger than that, it also works the other way round, with instruments that are symbolic of particular emotions being shown on screen when used (this, combined with the Bulatov-esque superimposed rather than intertitled text, make it operate like one of the zanier manga and anime such Ôran Kôkô Host Club with their comedic use of speech bubbles, arrows and "hammerspace," though Sapir attempts to use these techniques even in more sombre moments – doing so to varied levels of success). The whole film plays, whether or not it was actually made as one, and is best appreciated as a conversational exchange between director and composer (perfectly symbolised within it by the typewriter prologue and epilogue) which goes beyond anything I've experienced in either a real silent film or one fitted to existing music, and I almost feel sorry for the former (whose background in music promos makes sense) being reduced to quoting from Fritz Lang and, less forgivably, Tim Burton while the latter is soaring high above him by the end. That's not to say that Sujatovich doesn't engage in some in quoting as well – a siren-like song, central to both the story and my enjoyment of it, is a direct amalgam of Irving Berlin's "Let's Face the Music and Dance" with the half-human, half-theremin screams of "Lovely Head" – but there's a more pleasing level of restraint, and more interesting integration, where the music is concerned (a couple of things even mirror the surprisingly moving revelations in the abstract narratives of such films as McLaren's Around Is Around). Music is, by its nature, perhaps also helped by being more able to reproduce the original rather than to only craft paler imitations of it.
So, La Antena's few but unusual strengths make for an enjoyable trip to the cinema despite, sometimes because of, its numerous weaknesses and its protagonists, a family themselves, of sorts, make it particularly suitable for those with intelligent children (i.e. able to read subtitles and not be disturbed by non-sexual nudity) of about 9 and up. It seems that it didn't get its BBFC rating quite in time for the cinema release (my local decided to slap a 15 on it for safety) but the DVD cover image clearly shows it to be PG. Distributed in the United Kingdom by the quirky named Dogwoof Pictures, the actual prints (of which there seem to be only two in the country) are still making their way around cinemas, however… A list of venues is on the film's MySpace page but it's an incomplete one so, as usual, checking myfilms and the Web sites of your local cinemas is advised (Google Maps can be used to find these).
And mentioning Gone with the Wind (which I should take some stills of sometime to demonstrate the epicness its landscapes and frocks alike) – now, my distaste of Vue Cinemas is so pronounced that I'd normally avoid even copy-pasting the name, but I felt it worth mentioning that they have the impeding opportunity to earn an uncharacteristic gram of respect with the "Movies that Matter" season of classic features from the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer and Warner Brothers archives, of which Gone is set to be just one.
Current music: Isabelle Antena, of course.
