Clara Sola | Little White Lies
3

Anticipation.

An intriguing Costa Rican character study which explores the human bounds of spiritual belief.

3

Enjoyment.

An amazing central performance, but too insistent in the way it delivers its themes.

2

In Retrospect.

In the end, the metaphor gets in the way of the emotion.

Nathalie Álvarez Mesén’s debut fea­ture explores reli­gious oppres­sion and sex­u­al desire through a Cos­ta Rican wom­an’s mys­ti­cal awakening.

In a green, rur­al back­wa­ter of Cos­ta Rica, mid­dle-aged Clara (Wendy Chin­chilla Araya) is in arrest­ed devel­op­ment. She lives in a seclud­ed for­est with her hyper-reli­gious fam­i­ly, yet her bur­geon­ing sex­u­al­i­ty is stim­u­lat­ed by every­thing from soap operas to soil. And all this is under­scored by a hodge­podge of ref­er­ences to the Vir­gin Mary.

It’s a film apt for cur­rent socio-polit­i­cal climes, as the ver­dant beau­ty of nature is framed as a cure-all for woes, and it’s where Clara finds solace. Nathalie Álvarez Mesén’s film remains slight­ly dis­tanced through­out, rak­ing back the sand of her imagery but nev­er real­ly dig­ging deep. The film treats its sub­jects as Clara’s fam­i­ly do her – at arm’s length.

And yet, the fever­ish and fer­al per­for­mance by Araya drags the film back from oper­at­ing as a wispy metaphor. For Clara, every noise or voice offers an eerie reminder of her real life, and pulls her back from this wak­ing dream. Clara is always on the precipice of erup­tion; her sim­mer­ing exas­per­a­tion is just wait­ing to trans­form into bub­bling hell­fire. This works as a metaphor for the film as a whole, which is always reach­ing towards its ideas and themes but nev­er tru­ly grasp­ing them. Iron­i­cal­ly, for a sto­ry about a woman who strug­gles to express her­self, the film tan­gles itself in knots with its ill-defined ideas.

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