Fire Will Come. (12A.)
Directed by Oliver Laxe.
Starring Benedicta Sánchez, Amador Arias, Luis Manuel Guerrero Sánchez, Inazio Abrao, Elena Mar Fernández, Nuria Sotelo. Subtitled. 86 mins.
At the last London Film Festival, this was one of only two films that were deemed suitable to be allotted a screening at the Imax Southbank. So the obvious expectation would be that this was going to be quite the thing to see, a visual extravaganza. And the opening scene is really something: a camera moving through a forest after dark and all the tree are falling in front of it. The sequence is beautifully lit, like the nighttime forest scenes in Twin Peaks.
But then we meet our central character, Amador. He's a firestarter, a taciturn firestarter, a selftohimself pyromaniac who's just out of prison and living with his old mum on their farm in Galicia; dreary, wintry, overcast Galicia. We see his daily lot: herding the cow, unblocking drains and being shunned by the locals. It's all very dull, but there is a promise in that title, and like a mantra it keeps you going, Fire Will Come, Fire Will Come, Fire Will Come. But the fire doesn't come, not really, and you wonder what the hell was the point of all that.
Directed by Oliver Laxe.
Starring Benedicta Sánchez, Amador Arias, Luis Manuel Guerrero Sánchez, Inazio Abrao, Elena Mar Fernández, Nuria Sotelo. Subtitled. 86 mins.
At the last London Film Festival, this was one of only two films that were deemed suitable to be allotted a screening at the Imax Southbank. So the obvious expectation would be that this was going to be quite the thing to see, a visual extravaganza. And the opening scene is really something: a camera moving through a forest after dark and all the tree are falling in front of it. The sequence is beautifully lit, like the nighttime forest scenes in Twin Peaks.
But then we meet our central character, Amador. He's a firestarter, a taciturn firestarter, a selftohimself pyromaniac who's just out of prison and living with his old mum on their farm in Galicia; dreary, wintry, overcast Galicia. We see his daily lot: herding the cow, unblocking drains and being shunned by the locals. It's all very dull, but there is a promise in that title, and like a mantra it keeps you going, Fire Will Come, Fire Will Come, Fire Will Come. But the fire doesn't come, not really, and you wonder what the hell was the point of all that.
