MELBOURNE UNIVERSITY FILM INQUIRER

The story of La Uruguaya (The Woman from Uruguay, dir. Ana García Blaya) fails to surpass average. I was eager to review the film after I read its synopsis. “In this abyss between desire and reality, Lucas (Sebastián Arzeno) will discover that neither women nor cities exist to satisfy his fantasies, as this day turns out to be the most unexpected and transformative day of his life”: this last sentence especially hooked me from the start; I expected a surreal, experimental film, with clever psychological mind-games played on the audience.

Ironically, I discovered that La Uruguaya did not satisfy my fantasies. Based on the novel of the same title by Pedro Mairal, La Uruguaya tells the story of Lucas Pereyra – distinguished writer, literary star, husband, father, and another victim of that cruel thing called age. Lucas is approaching 50 and suffering from a midlife crisis. He feels himself trapped in an unhappy marriage, supposedly refusing to divorce his wife for the sake of their young son, “who’s got [him] by the balls”. At the start of the film, Lucas has just received a $15,000 down payment on two novels that he is yet to write. And so we follow him through his writer’s block, and his journey to Uruguay, where he arrives to collect the payment in US dollars so that he can change it to pesos on the Argentinian black market and avoid taxes. Uruguay’s main attraction for Lucas, however, is a young, 25-year-old woman he calls “Guerra” (Fiorella Bottaioli), or “War” in English. He has been obsessed with Guerra ever since their first – and only – salacious encounter at a beach on an earlier trip.

As exciting as it sounds though, I instead found La Uruguaya to be bland and lacking originality in its story, if not its storytelling: the film explores nothing new when it comes to aging male writers facing midlife crises. Its themes of unfulfilled desire are also already well-explored, especially in the post-truth 21st century where many an example exists in film, song, art, and literature about the brutality of reality and the dangers and limitations of fantasy. I myself am a fan of works of introspection, reflection, and philosophical meditation, but even I gradually grow tired of the banalities of life.

Lucas is a typical fool: he is pathetic, clinging to lost youth, excitement, and literary glory. He is almost handsome but his good looks have faded. The film essentially consists of Lucas and Guerra running around Uruguay together, doing everything but sex as Lucas’ hopes of a tryst are constantly thwarted. They drink “the finest whiskey”, get high, talk Batman at a second-hand bookstore, and even get Lucas a tattoo reminding him of his “Irish ancestors”. It would be almost romantic were Lucas not nearly twice Guerra’s age and a married man. As the older lech, he is not a new invention.

It is Blaya’s creative choices which upscale the film. Snippets of Instagram texts pop up throughout the film, between Guerra and Lucas and others, while some scenes are recorded through the lens of a phone. This creates a delightful mise-en-scène which makes Guerra and Lucas’ story look as if it is happening on Instagram – I suppose this can be called the 21st century’s version of surrealism.

More crucially, Blaya decides to make Lucas’ wife Catalina (Jazmín Stuart) the film’s narrator, an addition to Mairal’s novel. Cata narrates her husband’s story with almost tender sympathy, no bitterness. She describes Lucas as “permanently stuck in an endless adolescence”, “in denial of his forties, which happened a long time ago”, and someone who craves his “return [as] the male provider”. However, she cannot bring herself to insult him because she “used to be so in love with him”, even as he becomes “trapped in that day” with Guerra.

In a way, La Uruguaya is indeed a story of how a man becomes trapped in a world created and masterminded by women. We find out that Guerra has her own selfish motives. While, as the one who tells his story, his wife has the final word. Lucas is tenderly farewelled by both women: when he discovers Guerra’s deception they share a hug and a sad goodbye, and he at last divorces Cata on good terms.

What does this say? That Lucas has finally accepted his life as it is. He has even managed to write his novel, titled – surprise – La Uruguaya. “A woman, without knowing it, had given Lucas the only thing he really needed: a topic for his novel.” Whether the women are done with their adventures remains to be seen, but it is unlikely – Cata’s narration turns out to be a long email she sends to Guerra, whom she would “love to meet in person”.

La Uruguaya is not a particularly innovative story or film, but Lucas’ journey does incite sympathy. Several lines in the script are also particularly beautiful and touching. ‘‘Lucas never came to understand what had happened that night. But, when the clock hit midnight, the spell was broken” narrates Cata. Or consider the dialogue between Guerra and Lucas:

“I have no time,” says Lucas.

“That’s your problem. You have no time,” replies Guerra.

My disappointment aside, La Uruguaya makes for a decent watch, but not one I will be making twice.

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The Spanish Film Festival ran recently from June 15th to July 5th in Melbourne, and will be back in 2024 with many more films. This review was produced in collaboration with Farrago Magazine.