SummaryAmidst the devastation of post-crisis Spain, mother (Ale Ulman) and daughter (Amalia Ulman) bluff and grift to keep up the lifestyle they think they deserve, bonding over common tragedy and an impending eviction.
SummaryAmidst the devastation of post-crisis Spain, mother (Ale Ulman) and daughter (Amalia Ulman) bluff and grift to keep up the lifestyle they think they deserve, bonding over common tragedy and an impending eviction.
Ulman’s black and white freshman feature is an absurdly and assuredly packed jack-in-the-box that’s short, sweet, and, incidentally, a quirky sharp, vainglorious commentary on these post-crisis, Robinhood Redditor times.
The frequently complicated relationship between mother and daughter has fostered plenty of cinematic investigation, but El Planeta easily distinguishes itself as a uniquely meta and universal addition to the canon.
Leo and María — and, judging from their on-screen rapport, Amalia and Ale as well — spin on a wavelength where their irrational lifestyle and coping mechanisms are logical to their comprehension; we are only lucky to be invited to visit this two-people planet for a short while.
Shot in black and white with some quirky wipe transitions thrown in (haven’t seen the classic page-turning wipe in a while), El Planeta orbits around an aesthetic and sensibility rooted in Eighties indie films. But mother and daughter have a comfortable chemistry that surpasses the deadpan material.
As a fully-fledged statement, El Planeta wavers about as much as it succeeds. As observational comedy with a bit of bite, it signals good things for Amalia Ulman as a filmmaker.
The plotting is haphazard and laced with meandering detours that don't always pay off, but there's a distinctive voice in the deadpan humor and poignancy in the story's collision of aspirational self-delusion with blithe resignation.
It would be wrong to call El Planeta a comedy, or drama, or even that wretched if useful term dramedy. It’s a slice of life, the life belonging to Gijon.