Adolfo Arrieta. From the sidelines
Fotograma de Tam-Tam, 1976. CortesÍa: La Casa Encendida.
Always from the sidelines, indifferent to the trends and adulation which film lovers are so prone to lavish, and to the lack of interest of the uninitiated, who do not see his films as a valid option for a Sunday afternoon, Adolfo Arrieta is a filmmaker who belongs on the (in)visible map of European cinematography. However paradoxical it may seem, the father of Spanish underground cinema –and a key figure in the French scene– is always “on the verge” of being (re)discovered in our country. This “on the verge” is entirely irrelevant to Arrieta’s work, which is not suitable to play a role in the debate regarding whether film can be considered a popular art or is merely a mass entertainment industry. It is worth noting, as Víctor Erice used to say, that film and the film industry are not the same thing, however many links they share, and despite the unconcealed efforts of the market to cause their paths to converge. The work of Arrieta is outside this discussion. In fact, it is outside the two fields, and does not depend on the formula viewer-subsidy-critic.
However unlikely it may sound, at a time when the market dominates everything, the films of Arrieta are free, thanks largely to the fact that he has known when to take risks, even at times when it seemed as though there was not the slightest chance of success. He took impossible risks (Žižek) and, in this way, he made them possible in infinity (Lezama). Because of this, it is fair to describe him as a pioneer.
Franco’s dictatorship was incompatible with freedom, and, consequently, with the work of Arrieta. When the “mendacious illusion” of Spain’s situation became too hard to bear, when even the Imitación del Ángel (1966) was not enough to escape censorship, which violently invited everyone to abandon any projects on which they had embarked, Arrieta decided to move to France, where he began to make the films he wanted.
May of 1968 in France and the related movements it spawned would be the scene to welcome the filmmaker, who paid witness –despite the subsequent social-political reflux– to the important differences, and the freedom, which France displayed in comparison with Spain. Marguerite Duras, Jean Cocteau, Jean Marais and, of course, the city of Paris itself are some of the key figures in the development of Arrieta’s work from that time. In the same way, they were his object of inspiration and influence, as revealed by the traces of Cocteau in the film Le Jouet criminel (1969) and the homage he paid to the Paris of the early 1970s in Las Intrigas de Sylvia Couski (1974).
We mentioned above that Arrieta lives away from the fear of the empty auditorium; without a doubt, he is most concerned with the making of his films. He is not obsessed with the idea of appealing to the mainstream, nor to the (bad) taste of mass audiences. Arrieta, unlike Wenders, doesn’t waste any time pontificating about people’s inability to “understand” cinema. His concern is none other than to continue making films, to be able to set up and capture with his camera a never-ending party taking place in three different cities and in an apartment–all at the same time, according to Vila-Matas– as happens in Tam-Tam (1976).
This month, La Casa Encendida is following the example set by the Enana Marrón gallery a few years ago, becoming another of the places in Madrid which have left that “on the verge” aside to finally recognise the work of Adolfo Arrieta. His latest film, Vacanza Permanente (2006), constitutes, according to the writer and friend of the filmmaker, Leopoldo Alas, “a true creative renaissance”. As viewers, we are freely and permanently invited to witness the endless glow surrounding the wonderful films of Adolfo Arrieta.
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