Azor, an Argentine-French-Swiss film featuring a revolving door of languages and the first full-length feature film from director and co-writer Andreas Fontana, follows the main character of Yvan De Wiel (Fabrizio Rongione), a private banker from Geneva who is visiting Argentina on business and managing the affairs of the Keys De Wiel bank after his partner, Keys, has mysteriously disappeared. The film is set in 1980, a very significant period in Argentinian history, a context necessary for appreciating the many allusions this film makes to class, violence and politics. Yvan has brought his wife, Ines (Stephanie Cléau), an impressive figure and supportive advisor to him, as they manage his bank’s clients and ingratiate themselves in the world of the Argentina elite.
The film is an absolute slow burn, never breaking free of its carefully devised restraints. Sometimes maddeningly restrained, Fontana has chosen to hold back with precise, spare dialogue, with subdued performances from his actors which suggest fluctuating emotions underneath the surface, and with a calm, elegant, sunny series of sets, which exemplify the wealthy bubble the Argentinian upper class live in, one that suppresses and shuts out the rest of the country.
Much of the film’s allusions to unspoken violence, oppression and overall danger may be difficult to place into context without knowledge of Argentina’s history and the ‘Dirty War’ that took place from 1976-1983. The film is set in the middle of this period, when Argentina was ruled by a military dictatorship which killed and ‘disappeared’ an estimated 9,000 to 30,000 people, targeting communists, students, writers and other assumed left-wing activists. With this backdrop in mind, the subtlety of the film takes on a new power and brilliance.
Fontana tightly controls our experience of this world, containing scenes in manicured lawns and estates, in pristine libraries and immaculate living rooms and hotels. The danger is alluded to by an arbitrary arrest of a student outside a car window, conversational allusions to politics, the presence of military checkpoints. The film cleverly suggests danger and tension by leaving out violence or much of the real, outer world. We remain with the rich characters, servants flitting in and out of frame; wealth is maintained despite how much the world crumbles. The cinematography and setting are decadent, scenes filled with bright yellow lighting, suggesting a warmth, brightness and stillness at odds with the violent movement outside of the wealthy walls. Each frame is deliberately arranged, with soft greens and browns suggesting the richness of oil paintings. The costume design is elegant, men dressed in series of immaculate suits and women in tailored dresses. The wooden floors, the fine clothes, the exclusive parties and clubs, suggest a violence in their decadence, in their denial of and complicity with the terror occurring around them. A tour through an elitist men’s club, an allusion to trees built to mirror Versailles on someone’s estate, all allude to colonialism and the weight of capitalism.
The much talked of figure of Keys, Yvan’s missing partner, is a mysterious figure who we never truly meet. He is much talked of, sometimes hated, sometimes loved, and somehow got caught up in the military’s crackdowns. His disappearance and the reactions of the various wealthy clients to the situation increase the sense of danger throughout the film. There are no outbursts of emotion or confession; the performances are well-controlled yet expressive throughout. The main character of Yvan is an intriguingly restrained figure; modest, polite, he clearly struggles with gaining his footing within this society. His goal is to manage the bank he inherited from his own father, a well-respected and ‘stronger’ man, after being abandoned by his partner. His struggle brews under the surface; is he offended by the whims of the rich, or is his pride damaged by his insecure foothold? His wife supports him and pushes him in turn, at one point stating “Your father was right. Fear makes you weak.” Even as Yvan is introduced to the “important” wealthy men of Argentina, his inclusion is still tentative and tense. One frightening conversation with a client who appears to be a notable, wealthy priest, leads to this priest alluding to the current murders as a “cleaning up.”
Azor may veer too much towards even, steady restraint, and some allusions may remain too obscure or vague, depending on the viewers’ preferences or knowledge of history. At times, this subdued approach might frustrate those trying to get a hold of Yvan’s power moves and the motivations of those around him. However, the film crafts a world of subtle tension and escalation that ultimately draws the viewer in, while exposing the ruthlessness of the wealthy during this period of Argentinian history.
Photo courtesy of Mubi
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