Charcoal

It’s hard watching somebody suffer. Irene’s father, Firmino, has been bedridden and barely conscious ever since he suffered a stroke. The nurse who come to check on his breathing says that there’s basically no chance of him getting better. So she visits her priest to ask if God wants him to suffer or if He wants him to die. it’s complicated, says the priest, but he welcomes her pledge to donate a bit more, telling her that the Church has been struggling financially – as the camera pulls back to show the beautifully appointed building in all its splendour.

With nowhere else to turn, Irene (Maeve Jinkings) is easily persuaded to make a deal. The problem with her father will be taken care of. In return for this, and for what to them is a significant amount of money, she and her family will play host to criminal kingpin Miguel (César Bordón), who needs a place to hide after faking his own death. Enough time need to go by for people to forget him, explain the people who arrange the deal, and then he can retire to an island. In the meantime, he will share a room with young Jean (Jean de Almeida Costa) and keep out of sight.

The stereotypes of sophisticated drug kingpin and naïve rural dwellers are turned on their heads in Carolina Markowicz’s lively deadpan comedy, which screened as part of the 2022 Toronto International Film Festival. Rather than playing it as a straight culture clash, Markowicz introduces farcical elements as it emerges that country life is anything but simple, explores the clash of masculine egos between the privileged mobster and Irene’s much more temperamental, frequently inebriated husband Jairo, and observes Miguel’s gradual disintegration as the waiting game becomes more Kafkaesque.

“Are you a paedophile?” Jean asks Miguel on arrival, and, having been assured that that is not the cases, gradually becomes his friend and confidante. Flashing the cash at school, where the Coca-Cola is on him, risks inviting difficult questions, but he is the first to note the difficulty posed by the guest’s cocaine addiction, and happy to betray his parents’ secrets in casual conversation. These include the lonely Irene’s crush on Miguel, which seems to be based more on daydreams about a glamorous criminal lifestyle than anything else. If she isn’t getting much attention from Jairo, that’s because his interests lie elsewhere, and Miguel’s presence isn’t the only thing he doesn’t want the neighbours to find out about.

Village life is steeped in religious tradition. Markowicz scores her film with hymns, which often end abruptly. When Irene has doubts, she remembers that God teaches forgiveness. Although the satire, here and elsewhere, tends to be unsubtle, it still works thanks to the investment made in character. Everybody here feels real, and there’s room to root for each of them, despite their manifold flaws. For most of the running time, the film is warm and light-hearted, despite viewers’ steadily growing awareness that it might end in bloodshed. Its blackly comic moments pack more punch as a result, and the film is more effective in putting across the underlying messages that we never really know what our neighbours are up to, and that organised crime and general disorder thrive because everyone has an interest in bending the rules.