TIFF 50: Finding hope in "The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo"

by Cláudio Alves

Gazes, whether averted or confrontational, flirtatiously elusive or probingly direct, have been one of the cornerstones of queer desire on screen. In the 21st century, the state of post-New Queer Cinema has only exulted their role, almost codifying certain gestures across a plurality of artistic expressions that may, otherwise, appear to have very little in common past their shared LGBTQ+ label. In this regard, it's almost inevitable to find a picture like Diego Céspedes' The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo. Chile's official submission for the 98th Academy Awards and this year's Un Certain Regard champion ruminates on the transgressive essence of a queer gaze, transforming it into a conduit of infection in what, at first glance, strikes the viewer as an allegory for the AIDS crisis. Things are not what they seem, however…

Let's start at the beginning. Once upon a time, in the Atacama Desert, a mining community endured the arid landscape without any women in sight. This pit of male loneliness wouldn't remain so for long, as Mama Boa came to town and brought her drag children with her, everything changed. Bound, not by blood but love and solidarity, her menagerie of trans performers with animal names thrived. For a while, miners and queens lived in peace until, one night, Yovani saw Flamingo at the canteen's drag revue. Dazed by her beauty in pale makeup and a rhinestone crown, her smile, he followed the siren into the pitch-black night.

Indeed, he crawled to her, a devoted acolyte to a goddess shining silver by moonlight and glitter sparkle. It was under that same moon that they consummated their passion. And, as love grew between them, so did his shame. Eyes glowing and erupting, an impossible ejaculate bound them in an uncertain ecstasy. Tragically, their little death became prologue to the real deal, a sickness that soon spread through the community. Miners call it the plague, and everyone knows that to catch it, two men must regard each other. If they are in love, their gaze will generate a malady that rots bodies away from the inside out.

Well, this logic falls apart when you consider that these are not bonds between men, but between transwomen and their beloveds. But, hey, it's 1982 and, in everyone's defense, even Mama Boa's girls call themselves "maricones." This state of affairs is how little Lidia understands what's happening around her. She's Flamingo's adopted daughter and our entry point into Céspedes' debut feature, its strange world and western-styled fantasy. Magical realism is always easier to swallow when it's filtered through the prism of a child's subjectivity, so one can't fault the director too much for this choice. 

Nevertheless, one wishes he'd explored the character's potential beyond this strict function. As it stands, Lidia is an odd fit for the narrative she putatively commands, and the film tends to improve tenfold whenever Flamingo or Boa take her spot as the viewer's guide and subject. Instead, they're often reduced to objects of fascination, shot for maximum phosphorescence, like divas in Old Hollywood movies. Those divine creatures whose close-ups enjoyed the blessings of soft focus, Vaseline smear and gauze veiling. It's beautiful, if distancing,

The titular role, in particular, is rather mirage-like, diffuse to the point where it works better as mystery than person. At most, she's a maternal archetype that beckons a daughter's grief, her dreams of bloody vengeance and impossible reunions. This wouldn't be a problem under the right circumstances. After all, not every narrative film needs to be character-driven or should even entertain such notions. But The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo is built around marginalized identities at a time when their dehumanization in the eyes of mainstream society took an especially vicious turn in the form of an epidemic some cruel folk saw as cosmic justice.

Which brings us to the fact that, first impressions aside, Céspedes isn't actually working up an allegorical fable. The idea of a loving gaze being the point of contagion is apocryphal, born out of superstition and folksy reasonings motivated by the cowardice of men who can't accept their attraction to trans women. As it turns out, The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo is most incisive when dissecting male hypocrisies in its various violent variations. Take the film's most memorable passage - a couple's secret meeting in the local pond. It's staged in a ravishing yet dispassionate master shot. The camera is impotent, aesthetic restraint feeling like shackles holding us back as erotic reverie sours into tense playfulness into outright brutality.

When death first comes to town, it doesn't arrive in the form of pestilence. Instead, it's transphobia, the cruelty of Man on full display for all to see, even little Lidia. How could this happen? How can the world keep on going? Yet, life goes on, and we either live or fall by the wayside. And why should one waste such a gift? Amid the tragedies of prejudice and disease, there's still space for joys beyond belief and logic, for love to blossom and be confirmed in blood and semen and unholy matrimony. And trust that one smile from Paula Dinamarca's Boa is enough to make one a believer in miracles. Her loving gaze will convince even the most cynical among us to allow themselves the alms of hope.

At TIFF, The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo will have its second public screening on Thursday, September 11. It's part of the festival's Centrepiece section.

Comments

[Skyler Clooney]

This review really captures the Pips NYT tension between beauty and brutality in the film, and it makes me curious to see how Céspedes handles that balance on screen. The idea of the gaze as both danger and salvation feels powerful and heartbreaking at the same time.