The many fans of philosopher-filmmaker Terrence Malick (To the Wonder, The Tree of Life) will find the same provocations and rewards in the films of Mexican iconoclast Carlos Reygadas (Silent Light, Battle in Heaven). Intentionally indistinct plots, cryptic characters, an unflinching eye for human crimes against nature (and, inevitably, other people) and an overriding urge to capture the in-the-moment experience of being alive — theirs is the allusive poetry of alienation in the age of globalization and global warming. Unexpectedly and counterintuitively, Reygadas and Malick transpose Michelangelo Antonioni’s existential urban angst to the exurbs, and beyond.
Reygadas’ latest, Post Tenebras Lux (translated from the Latin as After Darkness, Light), opens with a lengthy sequence of a very young girl (the filmmaker’s daughter) alone in a muddy open field of cows, dogs and donkeys. Playful exploration gradually turns to apprehension, and cuteness evaporates in dusky foreboding. Reygadas may merely be setting a story in motion with a tease of mystery, or elegantly encapsulating the universal experience of childhood exuberance and innocence sanded away by disappointment, betrayal, and everyday worry.
The girl, Rut, lives comfortably and happily with her father, a self-assured architect named Juan (Adolfo Jiménez Castro), her quietly unsatisfied mother Natalia (Nathalia Acevedo), and her cheerful brother Eleazer (played by her real-life sibling). They live in a beautiful modern house weirdly situated in the middle of nowhere, which encourages us to consider class differences long before they manifest themselves.
The fact that Reygadas filmed in and around his own home, and cast his children, may lead the viewer to assume that Post Tenebras Lux is at least partially autobiographical. The movie sure doesn’t feel that way, though, largely because Reygadas’ location-shifting, non-chronological approach allows ample space to apply one’s own interpretation of events. Even scenes that might be drawn from his own experience, such as a barbed conversation among adult cousins at a wedding reception, are shot with the objectivity of documentary.
The antithesis of the noise-saturated summer blockbusters, Post Tenebras Lux is a movie in which individual sounds — the ignition of a chainsaw in proximity to trees, for example — or stray lines of dialogue are mildly terrifying. There’s an undercurrent of repressed and explicit violence (dogs are the preferred target in two shocking sequences) that is mitigated by familial affection and by the earnest aspirations expressed by rough-hewn men at an AA meeting.