LA MUJER DE MI HERMANO is a bad movie that manages, through stylish visuals, neat transitions, lush electronica used as mood music, and a deliberate plot pacing, to look better than it is. Story-wise, it would have been better off set anywhere between the Fifties, because technically it's akin to the much better FAR FROM HEAVEN in melodrama, or even when this type of movies came into vogue during the period going from the late Seventies into the early Nineties. How and why it's situated in the present, and even more so, that its story got through the datedness that bogs it down is a mystery, but then again, Latin America is still in a mire of its own ultra-conservative values -- men are supposed to be macho; women who take charge of their own life are seen as little more than "zorras" in heat, and everything happens in a very hush-hush way. So for a Latin American public, the premise of LA MUJER DE MI HERMANO may work perfectly; on the other hand, it falls into an ugly "Splat!" of epic proportions on this side of the Rio Grande.
Much of it has nothing to do with its denouement, which to a degree may even then be somewhat forgivable. Its failing, and Achilles heel, is based squarely in the trite language -- both on a visual and written level -- that tries to tell an intelligent story but has nothing to hold on to. For example, we're told that Ignacio and Zoe have been married for ten years, and that's okay. What is not, and where the story's implausibilities begin to show, is that in those ten years, they've fallen into a predictability where Ignacio can only have sex on Saturdays and prefers business traveling than being with Zoe. Ten years is a long, long time for Zoe not to notice the 500 pound elephant sitting placidly in her sleek, minimalistic and uber-contemporary living room. Maybe it's those twenty grapes she has a penchant for. Then again, Dorothy Parker wrote a story called "Too Bad", where a married couple of seven years suddenly separated. No one knew why, but once we went inside the marriage, we saw that these two had absolutely nothing in common, not even enough for small talk. We never find out their mechanics, but it's still a pretty funny story.
This, however, is a story that takes itself seriously. Adding to the fact that Ignacio and Zoe have strange marital arrangements is the presence of Ignacio's studly brother Gonzalo. Gonzalo and Ignacio are estranged as presented in exclamation points early on at a family lunch. Zoe, do-gooder that she is, contacts Gonzalo and tries to make amends. He sells her a painting, and Ignacio hits the ceiling. Fifteen minutes are spent mulling and arguing over this painting as if it had some symbolic meaning. No sooner than this happens that Zoe is confiding deep secrets to Gonzalo as if she'd known him all her life, and a phone conversation implausibly makes its way to Ignacio's ears, but all he can do is throw the darned painting into the pool and seethe. More unremarkable events take place: Zoe also confides in who we're led to believe is her best friend, Boris, a stereotypical nellie. Conversations between Zoe and Boris are built to make us understand more will come out of their friendship, but that doesn't happen. The same can be said when Zoe makes Gonzalo prove to her he hasn't had sex with other women, or when in a repeat scene, she makes Ignacio promise her he hasn't had sex with men. It's all tease and fake promise.
So with all this teasing going on, it's not a surprise as to why LA MUJER DE MI HERMANO looks good, but is quite bad. It begins with the misnomer of its title which would have Gonzalo the main narrator of the story, and ends by its sheer quaintness that never decides where it wants to take its characters and leaves them muddled in its telenovela roots. At least for a debut film from Ricardo de Montreuil, it's not a flat-out failure. It sells glossy images, attractive leads that would be at home in daytime soap, the presence of a veteran actress (Angelica Aragon), and that's all there is to it.
Much of it has nothing to do with its denouement, which to a degree may even then be somewhat forgivable. Its failing, and Achilles heel, is based squarely in the trite language -- both on a visual and written level -- that tries to tell an intelligent story but has nothing to hold on to. For example, we're told that Ignacio and Zoe have been married for ten years, and that's okay. What is not, and where the story's implausibilities begin to show, is that in those ten years, they've fallen into a predictability where Ignacio can only have sex on Saturdays and prefers business traveling than being with Zoe. Ten years is a long, long time for Zoe not to notice the 500 pound elephant sitting placidly in her sleek, minimalistic and uber-contemporary living room. Maybe it's those twenty grapes she has a penchant for. Then again, Dorothy Parker wrote a story called "Too Bad", where a married couple of seven years suddenly separated. No one knew why, but once we went inside the marriage, we saw that these two had absolutely nothing in common, not even enough for small talk. We never find out their mechanics, but it's still a pretty funny story.
This, however, is a story that takes itself seriously. Adding to the fact that Ignacio and Zoe have strange marital arrangements is the presence of Ignacio's studly brother Gonzalo. Gonzalo and Ignacio are estranged as presented in exclamation points early on at a family lunch. Zoe, do-gooder that she is, contacts Gonzalo and tries to make amends. He sells her a painting, and Ignacio hits the ceiling. Fifteen minutes are spent mulling and arguing over this painting as if it had some symbolic meaning. No sooner than this happens that Zoe is confiding deep secrets to Gonzalo as if she'd known him all her life, and a phone conversation implausibly makes its way to Ignacio's ears, but all he can do is throw the darned painting into the pool and seethe. More unremarkable events take place: Zoe also confides in who we're led to believe is her best friend, Boris, a stereotypical nellie. Conversations between Zoe and Boris are built to make us understand more will come out of their friendship, but that doesn't happen. The same can be said when Zoe makes Gonzalo prove to her he hasn't had sex with other women, or when in a repeat scene, she makes Ignacio promise her he hasn't had sex with men. It's all tease and fake promise.
So with all this teasing going on, it's not a surprise as to why LA MUJER DE MI HERMANO looks good, but is quite bad. It begins with the misnomer of its title which would have Gonzalo the main narrator of the story, and ends by its sheer quaintness that never decides where it wants to take its characters and leaves them muddled in its telenovela roots. At least for a debut film from Ricardo de Montreuil, it's not a flat-out failure. It sells glossy images, attractive leads that would be at home in daytime soap, the presence of a veteran actress (Angelica Aragon), and that's all there is to it.