Ten films in Catalan, Basque and Galician to discover on platforms


Ten films in Catalan, Basque and Galician to discover on platforms

The new Audiovisual Law is at the center of a pulse between ERC and the Government, as the latter needs the support of the Catalans for the General State Budgets, which has turned filmography quotas into co-official languages ​​in the current battlefield. After agreeing that there would be a minimum emission percentage of 6% for films shot in Catalan, Galician and Basque, the Government agreed that could not impose quotas to platforms not based in Spain, such as Netflix. Only services, of lesser implantation, such as Filmin, FlixOlé or Atresmedia Player would be affected. However, these systems already have an extensive catalog in the minority languages ​​of the State.

Here are ten titles shot in Spain in languages ​​other than Spanish that indicate the excellent quality of some filmographies, younger like Galician or more established like Catalan, that require the long reach of the platforms to reach a wider audience to discover them . All of them, available at a click.

His extreme arrogance and a constant desire to provoke They have made the name of Albert Serra (Girona, 1975) better known to the public than his cinema would allow. The reason is that Serra has developed a filmography as cold and demanding as it is partially disdained by the great spots in our country, whose triumphant tour of all kinds of festivals is not enough to make it more common to know who he is before being able to identify any of his films . Fortunately, there are almost all of them in Filmin.

From such award-winning titles as History of the meva mort until The death Louis XV, going through his revision of the Cervantine myth, Honor of cavalleria (2006) delves into the day-to-day life of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza with an aridity reminiscent of Bresson or Pasolini, which ultimately reinforces the contrast between the hidalgo's delusions and the disappointing world around him. Honor of cavalleria It is Serra's second feature film, and a good way to delve into the work of one of the indispensable authors of European cinema.

Jon Garaño, José Mari Goenaga and Aitor Arregi form Moriarti Produkzioak, a company that has brought Basque cinema to the fore. After the success of Loreak in 2014 —and being The infinite trench Shortlisted for the Oscars in 2021—, Moriarti's recognition has reached the extreme of being designated by Disney + to develop the platform's first Spanish series, centered on designer Cristóbal Balenciaga.

Handia, meanwhile, swept the Goya 2017 thanks to its technical side. Based on the true story of Miguel Joaquín Eleizegui Arteaga, the 'Spanish Giant', it addresses the relationship of two brothers. At the end of the First Carlist War, Martín (Joseba Usabiaga) returns to Guipúzcoa and discovers that Joaquín (Eneko Sagardoy, Goya for Best New Actor) has become a gigantic man, and they both devise a plan to enrich themselves. This takes them on a journey across Europe, where selfishness he will want to impose himself on brotherly love.

At the beginning of the past decade it was agreed to frame within the 'Novo Cinema Galego' the creations covered by a defining change in the policies of the autonomous government, which promoted a more risky cinema and allergic to commercial inertia. Movies like You are all captains, by Oliver Laxe, inaugurated the fundamental coordinates: delight in the landscape, attention to silenced realities, calculated confusion between fiction and documentary ... although, as in any movement, there would always be a loose verse.

Andrés Goteira presented Dhogs (2017) in Sitges to great applause. Shortly after, he would run into a similar reception at Madrid's Night Festival, where he won the Paul Naschy for Best Film and the Vincent Price for Best Actor for Carlos Blanco. East thriller Surrealist mood begins with a woman (Melania Cruz) having her last drink in a luxurious hotel when, from one moment to another, she finds herself involved in a spiral of violence that is as incomprehensible as it is fascinating, which perfectly exemplifies the possibilities of a cinema Galician called to demolish any comfort zone.

During the last Malaga Festival, the Mallorcan Agustí Villaronga presented The belly of the sea based on a story by Alessandro Baricco. It was one of the most applauded films of the contest, winning the Golden Biznaga among five other awards, and assuming a new milestone in a trajectory of great wealth and wide concerns, which goes back to a debut as unclassifiable as Behind the glass. In 1987 Villaronga shot a disturbing fable set in the Second World War, subscribing to a spirit of pushing the viewer against their limits that did not waver even in what may be his most famous film.

We talk about Pa black. In 2010, Villaronga freely adapted Emili Teixidor's book —including elements from other of his works— to peer into postwar rural Catalonia, and weave a coming of age from the experiences of the young Andreu (Francesc Colomer). Andreu finds two corpses in the forest and, faced with the murder charges that hang over his father, who belongs to the Republican side, he sets out to solve the mystery.

What Handia, Errementari —Which was released the same year, 2017— is set bordering the end of the First Carlist War. After the Basques have been defeated by the Elizabethan army, a government commissioner named Alfredo Ortiz (Ramón Agirre) arrives in a town in Álava with the purpose of investigating Patxi (Kandido Uranga), a lonely blacksmith who is attributed multiple crimes. However, nothing he could have deduced prepares him for the truth: the blacksmith has the devil himself locked up in his house.

The short filmmaker Paul Urkijo Alijo made his feature debut with an exciting (and passionate) adaptation of Patxi Errementaria, Basque folk tale that was already nourished by indigenous folklore in 1903. Wanting to honor all this cultural compendium, Errementari It is spoken entirely in 19th century Basque from Alava, generating a strangeness in the viewer amplified by the satanic horror, the dense atmosphere and spectacular special effects that were nominated for the Goya.

Although nuanced with the passage of time, the custom of this for going back to the Civil War and examining the wounds that separate us has never ceased to be a widespread topic around Spanish cinema. And nevertheless, the mutations that it has been going through have managed to enrich this heritage, proposing dissident speeches. It has already been spoken of Pa black in line with Catalan geography, and Longa noite It is an equally surprising look at the case of Galicia, marked by the specifications of the Novo Cinema Galego.

That is, we cannot expect from the film by Eloy Enciso (released in 2019) a pedagogical desire, but rather a visceral immersion in rancor and forgetfulness, materialized in the return of the Republican Anxo (Misha Bies Golas) to his hometown. Distributed by Numax - flagship of this Novo Cinema -, Longa noite describes the protagonist's loneliness among literary fragments by Max Aub or Rodolfo Fogwill, inserting it in a spectral environment marked by Franco's repression and anguish towards the future.

In 2015 four young filmmakers from Pompeu Fabra University joined forces to develop their final degree project. The project by Laia Alabart, Alba Cros, Laura Rius and Marta Verheyen was tutored by the filmmakers Isaki Lacuesta and Elías León Siminiani, and was entitled Agata's friends. His approach was simple: collect the experiences of four twenty-somethings played by Carla Linares, Marta Cañas, Victòria Serra and Elena Martín, the latter character who gave the film its title and captured their point of view.

Martín had already done several jobs as an actress, but Agata's friends put her on the national map, leading her to star in a short as acclaimed as Suc de Síndria of Irene Moray and to carry out a directorial debut no less acclaimed, Júlia Ist. All thanks to the enthusiastic reception of this collective film, which speaks of youth and maturity from a closeness as lucid as it is beautiful, and collects with miraculous detail that moment where strengthening a personality can imply the reeling of affective ties.

The most awarded film of the last Goya edition - five technical awards out of the eight nominations to which it aspired - is presented as an absolute triumph when it comes to squeezing a budget bordering on the meager. Pablo Agüero wanted to recreate the witch hunts that ravaged Spain in the seventeenth century, and for this he decided to center the plot in the Basque Country in parallel to developing a claustrophobic and suffocating approach, where montage turned out to be the best tool to describe the suffering of the alleged witches.

The inquisitor Rostegui (Álex Brendemühl) arrests Ana (Amaia Aberasturi) and her friends under the accusation of being concubines of the devil. Then begins an anguished interrogation, full of manipulations and torture, through which he takes shape a fierce metaphor that identifies the witch as a revolutionary subject. The final sequence, dedicated to the aforementioned coven, contains some of the most suggestive minutes of our recent cinema.

We do not leave the witches aside, although in this case it would be more appropriate to call them meigas. Novo Cinema Galego's attention to rural areas and the conflicts that can be found in it — before which Or that burns, of Laxe, would be erected as a probable culmination - they do not have why neglect folklore, nor the irruptions in it from a kind of magical realism where color and atmosphere are outlined as the most intuitive allies.

Lúa Vermella It investigates the fantastic memory of Galicia based on ghosts, red moons and monsters, with the women played by Ana Marra, Carmen Martínez and Pilar Rodlos as protagonists. The trio tirelessly searches for Rubio, a sailor who disappeared in the middle of the journey, walking through a world suspended in time and cemented by the courage of Lois Patiño, who after succeeding with the documentary Costa da Morte it was consecrated in 2020 with a much more mysterious and esoteric work.

Less than a decade has been enough for Carlos Marqués-Marcet to become one of the most complete filmmakers of the national scene, thanks to a trajectory that alternates the short with the television and the fiction with the documentary. The days to come (2019) can be understood as the end of the trilogy that begins 10,000 KM Y Mainland, based on the extended role of David Verdaguer - present in a film as essential to Catalan cinema as Estiu 1993- and their increasingly intimate submission to human bonds.

Unlike the previous titles, however, The days to come it completely blurs the barriers between reality and artifice, something that can be seen from the fact that Verdaguer and María Rodríguez Soto are a couple beyond the cinema, and the film was shot during the nine months that their pregnancy lasted. What may be the best Marqués-Marcet film, therefore, offers a detailed portrait of the relationship faced with its litmus test, without this having to exclude moments of sublime and transcendental beauty.

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