Film Review by Julio Nakamurakare, Herald staff.

In cinematic terms, defining film noir as a derivative of hard-boiled narrative (a genre that developed during the Great Depression, although the term "film noir" would only be coined later by historians and film critics) with social ambition, sexual motivation, even aberration, hidden political agendas and corruption at their core, would be evidence of oversimplification.

Hard-boiled narratives contain all these elements interwoven in their textures and at the heart of the matter. Film noir and hard-boiled novels, apart from having these elements in common, are dissimilar in that, by transposing one medium to another (written to visual/aural), the sordid, the corrupt and the avaricious so typical of both genres, are exposed in a more arresting style, recalling German Expressionism and its stark black and white contrast as a reflection of the morals reigning at the time: no shades of grey, everything is either good or evil.

This rather extended introduction is aimed at clarifying how Argentine cinema has been demarcated by film critics, producers, historians and the filmmakers themselves: mainstream vs. non-mainstream (the word "indie," like the expression "film noir," would be formulated in later years).

Argentine director Juan José Campanella (El mismo amor, la misma lluvia / Same Love, Same Rain; El hijo de la novia / Son of the Bride; Luna de Avellaneda / Moon of Avellaneda) has been the subject (not to say victim) of such division and stigmatization by the local intelligentsia, particularly some brand of film criticism which held Campanella's production in contempt for its "weepy" content, favouring instead the more "artsy" and "socially committed" Adolfo Aristarain, idolized to the point of hammering the message into readers' heads should they disagree or even mildly dissent. "C'était un cas d'amour fou ou de haine irrépressible." You know what I mean.

Although his filmography is not abundant in quantitative terms, Campanella has developed an extensive, prestigious career on US television, directing episodes and whole seasons of, among others, the network TV series Law & Order SVU, House MD, and 30 Rock. Campanella, in other words, hit the big time in the US TV market. His screen break took place in Argentina with 1999's El mismo amor, la misma lluvia, the story of a former political/social activist turned yuppie during the Menem years. The film received mixed to mild reviews, very much on account of Ricardo Darín's sterling performance.

Campanella's following directorial effort (Son of the Bride, 2001) also starring Darín, was a commercial hit, but this time critics, in general, treated him more kindly than before. The movie was Argentina's official entry for the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film. But it was still not good enough for Campanella's staunch detractors, who found meatier stuff to chew on when the overly sentimental Luna de Avellaneda was released in 2004. In spite of its box office success, Luna... was mercilessly panned by critics, for it was an easier target for their darts.

Come 2009 and look where Campanella stands. There has been so much hoopla over his last project (El secreto de sus ojos / The Secret of Her Eyes), which opens today, that one tends to believe: a) It's all hype; or b) There must be some truth to it. The first preview held on last Tuesday at the Hoyts Abasto was a clear sign of how much expectation Campanella had created with his latest opus, based on the eponymous novel by Eduardo Sacheri, who co-wrote the screenplay with the director.

To put an end to the sense of anticipation created by cataphoric references, let's spell it out in full: El secreto de sus ojos is a great movie. And there's no need to feel embarrassed by endorsing a Campanella product. El secreto..., indeed, is proof that a movie can be both a commercial hit and an intelligent product at the same time.
El secreto de sus ojos is an emblematic case of this dictum.

COLD CASE

El secreto de sus ojos reunites actors Ricardo Darín and Soledad Villamil, 10 years after El mismo amor, la misma lluvia. Although the latter, in spite of its shortcomings, was worthy of praise, the reunion of the twosome and the director has resulted in - no qualms about it - a wondrous piece hard to find fault with. The same could not be said of El mismo amor..., stylishly crafted and with a gripping story to tell, but with some narrative gaps in it that, to a large extent, diminished the impact of Darín's superb acting.

As is the case with the so-called "cold cases" in police jargon, it took a decade for the threesome of Darín/Villamil/Campanella to come up with an almost impeccable piece of work. El secreto de sus ojos, in anaphoric reference to the hard-boiled narrative genre, is film noir at its purest, at its best, at its darkest and most brilliant.

Darín, whose boyish face and demeanour belie his age (52), plays Benjamín Espósito, a retired court clerk who, after years on the trail of criminals and murderers, finds himself in the uncomfortable position of having to live a peaceful, inconsequential life. This is how, recalling an unresolved murder that took place 30 years back, he decides to write a novel about the disquieting case. Nothing in it will be fictional, fabricated. Espósito needs none of this, for early in his court years he and a team of investigators tried to solve, to no avail, a brutal rape-murder and vengeance story the loose ends of which could never be tied together. The case was filed and laid to rest. Or left dormant, as Espósito's intent to turn his idle days into research and writing brings previously ignored evidence to light.

While handling the case, along with judge Irene Hastings (Soledad Villamil) and court assistant Salvador (comedian Guillermo Francella, virtually unrecognizable in a tour de force performance as an obscure employee who retreats into the dark and seeks refuge in drink), Espósito has them travel 30 years back in time, unwillingly but inexorably so.

MURDER, HE WROTE

Unabated by police haste and ignorance and other ignominious circumstances, Espósito makes the acquaintance of the rape-murder victim's husband, Ricardo Morales (Pablo Rago, also another feat of physical transformation and virtuoso acting). In true film noir style, in El secreto de sus ojos nothing is what seems to be at first sight. There is, for sure, a substantial amount of moral stability, as evinced by the Darín/Villamil/Rago characters, but the concept of stability may be perceived in different ways by different people. Espósito, obsessed with the case, its brutality and apparent lack of motive, goes to uncalled-for extremes to track down the murderer... to no avail. Judge Hastings, on whom Espósito has a secret crush, abandons and soon forgets the case, and so does court assistant Sandoval.

But, as the Darín character ominously says after reviewing the dusty research files, "The past always comes back to haunt you." A sententious statement, but true, both in real life and in hard-boiled narrative and film noir, which are nothing but veritable, merciless reflections of life out there.

YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE

Wearing his usual court outfit - a dark, classic, two-piece suit, white shirt and matching tie - Espósito, toting an overnight bag, hops on a train headed for the small, disquietingly tranquil town where Morales has gone into complete retirement. Rejection, then faux amicality is what Espósito gets from Morales, still grieving the death of his young wife, trying to forge a new life for himself, but clearly unable to. His composure he keeps, but something - his dark, magnetic, all-piercing eyes - have a different story to tell. His loss is irreparable, his eyes (half resigned, half willing to forgive and forget), tell whomever cares to take a deep look into them.

Damaged, irreparably so, those eyes, Espósito guesses at once. By this point, director Campanella and cast, who turn in impeccable, fascinating performances, have so firm a grip on the audience that looking away, trying not to care, becomes nearly impossible. Félix Monti's atmospheric cinematography and Federico Jusid's haunting music play no minor part in this ensemble performance feat, as palpable as the goings on in the storyline and the characters' peripateia.

Writing a novel is Espósito's only interest in unearthing a 30-year-old case, but once he opens the door to the turbulent Argentina of 1974, he finds it impossible to look away. Even if Espósito wants to believe the information he so anxiously attempts to retrieve will go into a book about a real-life case, El secreto de sus ojos - Morales'? Hastings'? - illuminates the kind of apathetic life he has been leading for decades, which he is only now able to confront.

People's eyes, Espósito realizes, are unable to conceal their owners' joy or apprehension. El secreto de sus ojos, stylishly noir in an updated fashion, proves this contention beyond any reasonable doubt.