Beauty, horror, sadness -- life! -- in Tatiana Huezo's masterful doc THE TINIEST PLACE

The beauty is front and center for all to see -- in some of the most brilliant, colorful, gorgeously-framed photography I've witnessed in some time (it's by Ernesto Pardo); the horror and sadness comes through the film's narration, as denizens of once and future village of Cinquera -- decimated during the 12-year Civil War that swept El Salvador beginning in 1979 -- tell the tales of the fate of their relatives, friends and neighbors. Life, in all its expansive, rich and befuddling glory, is what you'll mostly likely feel by the end of this documentary from Mexican filmmaker Tatiana Huezo (shown below) and which is part of the First Feature Film Program of the Centro de Capacitación Cinematográfica of Mexico.

The irony of THE TINIEST PLACE  (El lugar mas pequeño), a generally quite un-ironic movie, comes via the disjunction of the visual and narration. We rarely see a person actually speaking to us. Instead s/he is engaged in some activity -- fishing, cooking, cleaning, building, making art -- and the words fly by as we watch the gorgeous countryside or verdant jungle. Initially I found this combination oddly jarring but eventually quite welcome, for if we got a consistent dose of the tales told here (which become increasingly dark) while staring into the sometimes tortured faces of the tellers, it might prove too much to bear. Either that -- or we'd feel the kind of unpleasant, in-your-face cliché that we too-often witness from filmmakers & TV reporters who evidently believe that rubbing our faces in the suffering of others will prove just the ticket.

Instead, Ms Huezo's more interesting combination makes us aware -- of the place, the people and the situation that existed during the 1980s, as El Salvador's Civil War literally wiped some small villages off the face of that country and even off its official maps. (If a city doesn't exist, then neither, it would seem, does its horrible history of politically-motivated murder.)  As gorgeous as is the photography here, just as fine is the narration provided by Cinquera's citizens. In language that, as translated, seems both plain and poetic, simple but lovely, we are told of what happened here and to whom and what it meant.

We hear a lesson about a priest and the placement of a chair. "When one frog sings, they all sings," a woman tells us and then does a damned good frog impression. A man who bemoans his inability to drink coffee explains what we get from books (there was, at the time of filming and probably now, no TV nor Internet in this village), and the fellow's reasoning seems as original as it is thought-provoking. Another describes his own quiet insanity: dreams of machetes followed by the uselessness of his life now. There is a wonderful subtlety to many of the stories -- of children used as wartime messengers, of the importance of having several names, and how and why these names can suddenly change. The tales sneak up on you, but few hit you with terrible force until we finally hear of the time toward the end of the village, as what left of the community tries to hide in a hard-to-reach cave. Then come the stories of death, after which, seeing the photos and names of the dead seems a fitting memorial.

After the war, one fellow explains, it was particularly difficult to deal with the feeling of "no trust." But Ms Huezo's movie ends with a quiet and genuine praise of life. An activity like a marching band suddenly gives off  a thrill of intense pleasure, and the birth of a calf seems both poignant and hopeful. One fellow, a fisherman, has the best line, one that all societies might take to heart: "An organized people, a people with memory, is more difficult to oppress."

The Tiniest Place will not open until one week from tomorrow, Friday, August 19, at the IFC Center here in New York City, and will also have a one-week run in Los Angeles at Laemmle's Sunset 5 theater, beginning September 2.  (We hope it will open elsewhere, eventually). It's yet another in this year's near-constant line-up of terrific new documentaries.

Bratt brothers' LA MISSION opens: conventionality raised to a high level indeed

When a movie, especially a small independent film, appears conventional in its approach to the material at hand, our critical establishment has a tendency to dismiss it. This is too bad, particularly where a movie like THE MISSION is concerned. Written and directed by Peter Bratt (shown below) and starring his brother, the better-known Benjamin Bratt, the film is indeed conventional in some ways.  It tells the tale of a Latino widower who labors as a San Francisco bus driver (the film is set in the city's Mission district, which has a long and storied Hispanic past) who is raising a good-looking and popular teenage son.

Rather than dwell on plot development (and spoil one of the movie's initial surprises), let's talk instead about why the conventional is sometimes a smart way to let a film unfurl.  This will bring in a wider audience, of course, but also, if the movie is handled well enough, it can allow that audience the opportunity to grow a bit.  If you are able, as has been filmmaker Bratt, to write dialog quite well -- sounding off-the-cuff but also specific and often amusing -- and to effectively link one theme (Hispanic machismo) to another (violence against women) to another (homophobia) until everything is not just connected but very nearly inextricable, then you are doing your job very well.

Further, when you are able to create a scene involving the movie's leading "villain" (at least as close as the film comes to having such a character) and then make that scene so powerful that it upends our very notion of "villain" and forces us, as it does its main character, to re-think and re-feel to the point of actual change, this, I submit, is plain wonderful movie-making.  As good as so much of Bratt's dialog is, this climactic scene is done without a word being spoken and is all the better because of it.  This is powerful, meaningful stuff, and in no way any longer merely "conventional."

Filmmaker Bratt has also done a fine job of casting his film, beginning with brother Benjamin (above) -- an actor I've always enjoyed, who is as good here as he has ever been.  From his initial scene driving the bus, we know the character is a decent guy.  But soon we see him struggling with his macho aspect, where women and gays are concerned.  Bratt's struggle -- one step forward, two steps back -- is handled very believably, with the actor using parts of his emotional self that I don't recall his showing us till now.

In addition to the angst on display, we also get a lesson in "lowrider" car culture -- which is fascinating fun. And the supporting cast -- from Erika Alexander (above) as Bratt's neighbor and possible love interest to Jeremy Ray Valdez (below) as his son "Jes" -- is first-rate. If the symbolism gets a little heavy at times, the emotional power the film wields never slackens. By the time the end credits roll, you'll have lived through quite a journey.

La Mission opens this Friday, April 9, in New York City and throughout the greater Los Angeles area, and in  San Francisco the following week.  Click here for all theaters and playdates thus far.