'Totem' Leaves An Everlasting Memory
Lila Avilés's Totem is a melancholic look at how those we love are gone far too early and the memories we try to make for our children before they pass. The title Totem refers to the things we leave behind for our loved ones. What do we give someone who we know isn't going to make it? A totem is more than an object. It's a special moment we form for our children, parents, aunts, and uncles. In this film's case, it's a party that's thrown for an ailing man. Lila Avilés's film is a loving homage about a daughter giving to a father who is no longer going to be with his family soon. Lila Avilés makes a film about the fragility of childhood. Childhood is special because kids are meant to be shielded from the harsh world that is adulthood. But adults can only do so much to defend their children from reality.
The film's protagonist is Sol (Naíma Sentíes), a young girl who's consciously aware of the positive posturing her family is doing for her. At the same time, Sol maintains a smile to appease her mother and relatives. Everyone knows what's going on around them. Tonatiuh (Mateo Garcia) is dying. There's no hope of him getting better, so it's better to live with the facts. For an adult, that's an easy but painful concept to grasp. But as a child, it may not be so simple. The everlasting effects of death affect us all differently. How that's represented in the film is through a group of relatives living through the different stages of grief together in one big family party being thrown for Tonatiuh. With the whole family coming together, relatives clash. Everyone is trying to do a special thing for Tonatiuh while their feelings come leaking out. Luckily, they never let Tonatiuh see it himself, as everyone must put their best face on for him.
Although the film is primarily focused on Sol, it also centers on all the family members. Everyone is residing at the grandfather's house for the big fiesta. The grandfather himself is a therapist who's not as clear-headed as you would think an aged psychiatrist would be. He lashes out often at his family and is, by many definitions, a grumpy old man. With the aid of a digital voice assistant, Grandpa most likely suffers from lung cancer; it's no wonder why he's so moody. Characters like Grandpa feel very real. We see beyond his voice box to look at a fully formed person, flaws and all.
Most of the time is spent between Sol and her mother, Nuria (Montserrat Marañon). The two share an unbreakable bond. They talk about complicated matters that only a mother and daughter can discuss. Sol asks her mother if her father doesn't care for her anymore. The reason she asks is because she can't visit her father, who's preparing with his nurse to see everyone. He's in no condition to pop his head out of his room, as he's barely able to shower or walk. Nuria is trying to protect her little girl from seeing her father in such a sickly condition. But how much can you really hide? When someone you love is dying, you can't unsee it. Those who were once lively are a feeble version of themselves, barely able to hold onto the life they still have. Nuria reassures Sol that her father loves her more than anything in the world and thinks about her constantly. The exchange is simple, like many of the moments in the film.
Writer/Director Lila Avilés makes a movie based on memories. Every moment is held with a tedious restraint to make you soak in the occasion. Most scenes are shot with a single camera, rarely cutting, allowing the audience to slowly embrace the atmosphere. Avilés creates an unflinching work of art that's celebratory, tragic, and unforgettable. Lila Avilés doesn't get melodramatic with her script or direction. The exchanges between characters are real and lived in. It's all helmed by a commanding cast. Most films about a dying father would be drowned in tears. Avilés gets into the quieter moments, allowing slow cinema to beautifully play itself out, avoiding the louder moments of sorrow.
The film wouldn't work without a young, sensational lead. The degree of subtlety placed in Naíma Sentíes' performance is sublime. She must act a lot through her face, as she doesn't say much, but what her face says speaks volumes. Sol doesn't know what her future will bring once her father passes or how everything will change. We can only see the concern in her eyes. In one particular sequence, the camera holds on to Sol's expression as an evergrowing ominous score washes over the scene. We know through Sol's disposition that everything is not going to be okay. Yet, she'll have to adjust to change. As tragic as it may be. Totem is a deep, transparent look at being forced to grow up even when everyone wants to keep their children's childhood safe. Sol's family goes out of their way to make a memorable moment for Tonatiuh. Even as his death is imminent, the family chooses to celebrate his life. Not only are they trying to create a comforting moment for Tonatiuh but for Sol to remember as well.
Totem opens in Chicago at the Gene Siskel Film Center on February 9.
