‘City without a dream’: reality, fiction, mix? Unaware of all this | Cinema: previews and reviews

I recognize that the title of this film, or documentary, or whatever any viewer wants to call it, is evocative and poetic. Very disturbing City without sleep. I am also overwhelmed by critical references to its beauty and authenticity. I don’t doubt the second. I believe that what I see and feel is true, there is no manipulation of the viewer, it is fiction, or a documentary, or both at the same time. But that doesn’t mean I’m passionate or moved by the material created by director Guillermo Galoe. I do not doubt the veracity of the gypsy community, and at the beginning a Muslim family also appears, all inhabitants of Cañada Real, an irregular settlement near Madrid which lacks several fundamental things to survive with dignity, such as light and natural water. I have never visited such a harsh place, but I know people who have passed by looking for food for their battered veins. In other words, hard drugs. And also because of the circumstances of his work. And they say the outlook is bleak.

Here the script or reality (I’m not clear what was already written and what was improvised) focuses on the move that a family born and raised in Cañada Real is about to make to an officially protected house. They have always worked in the scrap metal trade and should move to a more habitable place. But for some of them this means an emotional tear. They believe they will miss many essential things. The teenager who is the protagonist believes that when he leaves there his clean air will be extinguished, there will no longer be room for his beloved dogs, he loves the place where he survived. Or lived. He loves the world he grew up in. And not even his grandfather, a stubborn and legendary scrap metal trader, accepts the transfer.

And the seedier side of that place also appears. Houses protected from attacks and where horses, crack, those things that bring so much prosperity and ruin are piled up. And the zombies appear in contact with the needle and with very drawn expressions. And the old women of the tribe who tell ancient legends to their families and to anyone who wants to listen to them. Also a creepy girl, smarter than hunger. He’s my favorite character. And the director uses the elements at his disposal and creates a certain atmosphere.

My problem is that I need something more. And I don’t understand. My mood doesn’t change during the screening. I enter the same way I leave. Nothing that particularly moves me. That everything seems or is real, that they are filming a piece of reality, I don’t consider it the essential value of cinema. I’m willing to believe lies if I can get involved in what they tell me.

I understand that the sociological values ​​that some documentaries and films exalt are fundamental for certain viewers. And that they cause a stir in territories as suitable as film festivals. I feel distant and not at all passionate about this very truthful testimony. Maybe what I like about cinema is letting myself be hypnotized, not looking at the clock at any time, feeling inside what they tell me. In any case I prefer movies to real life. And here neither one nor the other seduces me.