About the Film
Is an execution bullet aimed at the head of a dictator, or a noose around his neck, enough for genocide victims to really take revenge? The narration of The Weeping Woman (La Llorona) moves dramatically towards other realms, full of sorrow, healing and discontent with Guatemala's bloody history. It believes that the political injustice will not be erased, as the wailing of the victims will not end, no matter how the times of oppression pass, or change the faces of their leaders.
This is an excellent political film, devoid of any ideological fanfare or rowdy prejudices. It prudently blends bitter facts and confessions with magical metaphors of dates and people. They manifest as retaliatory spirits haunting the retired General Enrique Monteverde—a pseudonym of President Efraín Ríos Montt, accused of organizing massacres against indigenous people—after 30 years, crying bitterly, without seeing or meeting each other.
The film begins with a scene of prayers by a family hoping for a criminal to deflect punishment, and ends with a black shot in which we hear a woman shouting in anguish: "my children!" Between the two, voices encircle the characters and their reincarnations with constant wailing, cheers, songs, intense dialogues, and sharp suspicion, all surrounding the confined space the film rarely escapes. It turns into a prison for individuals who have to pay for the welfare they received over the corpses of people who sought their rights and dignity. The young mother Alma, one of the massacre hostages, exploits her employment as a maid at the palace besieged by the protesters, demanding to punish the criminal general, in order to achieve personal justice that will not accept forgiveness. The blood of her two children—who drowned in front of her eyes—will not go to waste, and the echoing threats of murderers, screaming at her: "we will kill you," will not fade out. Bustamante’s film is an intertwined testimony carried out with visual richness and glorious drama, and packed with shocking cinematic ideas about a despotic tyranny surrounded by provocative noise. It is complemented by abundant scenes of water, blessed by a closing song that speaks to the "crying woman" with a spell, inviting her, saying: "Wash your sorrow with the blessed river water, turn your sadness into serenity, and your dawn into dew."
Ziad Al Khozai
