SPANISH FILM FESTIVAL: A young man’s (in)actions on the journey to sexual openness and emotional maturity leave many of his friends and family (and a good chunk of the audience) in a state of confusion and frustration, in Enrique Buchichio’s debut feature El cuarto de Leo (Leo’s Room).
We first meet the titular Leo (Martin Rodriguez) in crowded bar in Montevideo. A disembodied voice, full of faux machismo, lectures that everyone is on a quest to find their next orgasm. This aphorism sets up an assured visual gag from the first-time director – by slowly focussing in on a bored, beautiful girl, we’re led to believe that the oafish observations are Leo’s; however when the beauty stands to leave, our protagonist is revealed, and he wears the same bored expression. The gag immediately establishes that Leo is not a crude Everyman out for a one-night stand; his attitudes to sex are compounded further in the very next scene, where an awkward coupling between Leo and his girlfriend Andrea (Carolina Alarcón), ends abruptly due to Leo’s obvious disinterest.
At her urging, he begins seeing a psychologist (Arturo Goetz), though he has also begun secretly indulging his awakening curiosity for male companionship by surfing gay chat rooms. His first encounters – real and imaginary – only fuel his confusion and growing desires.
A chance encounter with an old school friend, Caro (Cecilia Cósero), provides Leo with the emotional support he needs, but he is blind to her fragile psychological state. Leo’s general immaturity and lack of empathy for those around him make it a tough ask for the audience to stay with the shallow young man.
Despite finally establishing a gay relationship with the free-spirited Sebastian (the charming Gerardo Begérez), Leo still refuses to acknowledge his true feelings to himself, let alone to those who love him. When Sebastian tires of the charade and Leo’s obsession for privacy almost costs Caro her life, Leo is compelled to reveal his secret and make the leap of maturity into manhood.
Rodriguez is fine as the troubled twenty-something Leo – his androgynous looks and gentle manner soften the coarser elements of the character’s personality that manifest in his psychological journey. He features in some particularly lovely scenes with Cósero, including a dialogue-free coffee-&-music interlude in Leo’s room where she unconsciously mimics him as he gets comfortable in her presence. Cósero makes a very impressive feature film debut, particularly in one devastating scene opposite Sylvia Murninkas as her sister Laeticia.
Buchichio makes good use of music and warm photography to enhance moments of intimacy in the film: Sebastian toying with Leo’s shoulder as they sit on a couch, an awkward dance between Leo and Caro that becomes a warm embrace, Leo placing an arm around his mother during a visit to his father’s grave.
The director perhaps overstates the positively warm glow of realising one’s personal trajectory – the final shot of a long road leading to a golden sunset may get a few eyes rolling amongst the festival crowd. But when Leo’s Room embraces its heart and the fulfilment of the lead character’s emotional growth begins to find focus, the audience is duly rewarded for time spent enduring the introspective, impenetrable young man we first met.
