First Look: Buenos Aires Visual Review
The journey home is often the hardest part. For Mariano, an Italian doctor, returning to Argentina is not merely a physical transit; it is a confrontation with a history he sought to escape, a place where he endured brutal treatment and now seeks to deliver testimony against the perpetrators.
This intense drama unfolds as the nation navigates the delayed process of legislative justice following the brutal military dictatorship that ravaged the country in the 1970s. Mariano, a man driven by idealistic political convictions, found himself caught in a harrowing trajectory that would define his life: in July 1977, he was forcibly taken to the Olimpo Garage, one of the harshest military camps, where he spent two years and forty-eight days.
The film, directed by Marzo Bechis, revisits the setting of his earlier thriller, allowing the viewer to witness the psychological toll of this history. Rather than focusing on the events of the past, Bechis zeroes in on the growing anxiety that grips Mariano as he prepares for an upcoming trial.
Upon landing in Argentina, the doctor is isolated with other victims, and his physical reaction to the environment mirrors his internal turmoil. His words are hesitant, reflecting a profound detachment from the collective national grief, underscoring the difficulty of bridging the gap between personal suffering and national memory.
The narrative observes how witnesses grapple with recounting their experiences. Those who have endured trauma often develop defense mechanisms, detaching painful memories from physical reality. For first-timers like Mariano, the courtroom feels like another twisted mirror of the camp: unknown, and therefore, terrifying.
Bechis uses the visual language of the film to amplify Mariano’s fragile mental state. Fabrizio La Palombara’s cinematography skillfully shifts between the regimented austerity of legal settings and the dizzying frenzy of an unstable mind. Swirling staircases and mirrors amplify Mariano’s paranoia, often flashing with body-shaking flashbacks—sewage and prison blocks intertwine with the starkness of the legal proceedings.
These stylistic flourishes help cut through the somberness of traditional legal drama, allowing the protagonist’s trauma response to tell its own compelling story. The film explores the murky lines that separate a victim from an enabler, posing a difficult, unanswerable question about accountability in a world of cruel voyeurism.
In a striking reflection of the political reality, the production was made without support from Argentina, with southern Brazil standing in for Buenos Aires on screen. This context underscores the film’s powerful message: while the legal process unfolds, the reality of the history that torments the characters looms heavily over the hope of resolution.
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