HOLA MEXICO FILM FETIVAL: The opening scene of Álvaro Curiel’s Acorazado is a lesson in how to introduce your central character. Our hero, Silverio (Silverio Palacioson), boards a crowded Mexican bus and torments passengers with waffling political speeches condemning capitalism and the excesses of the bourgeoisie... and yet moments later, he thrusts his coin-jar in the faces of a wealthy tourist couple.
The scene creates a wonderful contradiction that’s central to this sweet, funny tale of a man with a misguided 'grass-is-greener’ mentality. Curiel, a first-time director, does not always keep his ambition in check; some scenes utilise far too literal metaphors or are over-stylised, as if the filmmaker wanted to flex his cinematic muscles. But Curiel is never let down by Palacioson, who is endearing and quite hilarious in the lead role; his ability to combine physical comedy with the heart of his character is reminiscent of Peter Sellers or Dudley Moore in their prime.
Derided by his friends and harangued by his carny wife, Silverio is inspired to create a makeshift raft (the 'Acorazado’, or battleship, of the title) from scrap wood and the shell of a VW Beetle. His reasoning is that instead of joining the hordes who try to illegally enter the US overland, he’ll head north-east and float ashore in Miami. As Silverio drags his craft towards its launch site, he envisions himself as a spiritual figurehead, an inspiration to his followers and a symbol of defiance to his tormentors. He is neither, of course, but this flourish from Curiel is a bold one, underpinning the silliness of Silverio’s plan with the importance it represents to his protagonist. Though we laugh at Silverio, Curiel never allows his audience to pity or mock him.
Silverio’s 'Christ complex’ comes dangerously close to reality when his tattered vessel veers off-course and he crashes into Cuba. The blue-collar rescuers assume that he has fled Mexico to embrace Cuban communism and he becomes a tabloid hero; his apparent about-face makes him that rarest of refugees – a man who flees to a communist country.
There is ample room for both scathing political satire and engaging character development in Acorazado and Curiel’s self-penned script delivers both in satisfying measure. Where the film stumbles is in tone: an overstated and rather ugly scene, in which Silverio assaults a corrupt businessman, provides a shocking interlude from the mostly jovial ambience (at worse, it could be interpreted as a 'violence is an option’ rally cry); a feel-good final scene was no doubt intended to leave audiences on a high, but in practice, it is too 'cute’.
Curiel’s years as a TV director may have inadvertently shaped his storytelling skills. The small-screen medium demands that every second counts with plot revelation, so Curiel will need to calm his intuitive urge to maximise every moment before he makes a truly great film. That said, Acorazado suggests he’s a smart, socially-attuned writer and a filmmaker able to draw fully-realised characters from a well-chosen cast. As a calling-card, it’s one of world cinema’s most interesting in some time.
