HEAR MY STORY "BEFORE NIGHT FALLS"

Ha ha, ok I’ve had far too much escapism and not enough true stories lately. And they (true stories) were supposed to be a tradition of this blog as well! Now, I have just realized – to my dismay – that the year 2000 was actually 10 years ago. It’s an incredibly scary thought and also the year this film was made. It seems to have made quite a lot of noise in its’ day, its lead actor Javier Bardem was showered with awards and nominations from many prestigious festivals and societies (respectively a win from the Venice film festival and nominations both for an Oscar® and a Golden Globe). Its later Oscar® nominated director (for The Diving Bell and the Butterfly) Julian Schnabel truly established himself. And it was noticed in “political cinema” circles as well; for the story of the film is the true life and times of Cuban poet Reinaldo Arrenas – and a stinging criticism of the Cuban political system.
Reinaldo Arrenas was born to a very poor family in Cuba. Although in his early youth he feels close to Fidel and the revolutionaries, he very quickly falls foul with the system for he turns out to be a passionate writer and poet – and a homosexual. And the more he grows into his own skin, the less the regime likes him… Years spent in hiding, persecution and a terrible stint in prison are the events that mark the rest of his life. All this, however, doesn’t stop him publishing his work abroad – work that has been smuggled out illegally. Needless to say, this also is frowned upon by the regime. Arrenas is 37 when finally, in 1980, he is “allowed to leave” (this, of course, is during the Mariel boatlift; click here for more information on that one) He is thus extradited to the USA where he spends 10 more years before dying of AIDS in 1990, aged only 47. During the remaining 10 years of his life, he never ceases to speak out against the regime in Cuba, although his delicate state of health and depression keep him from writing a lot. In a suicide note that was meant for publication, he encourages the Cuban people to keep fighting against the regime to be free. “I” he finishes “already am.”
Well, what can I say… Before Night Falls (inspired by Arrenas’ biography of the same name incidentally. Check this out for more on his life and the Amazon links for some of his works – I’m most definitely going after them!) hum, I’ve lost my chain of thought, I’ll begin again; ok, Before Night Falls (I was about to say) is what I could almost call a time-capsule. The director, the actors, the story it all works in such perfect harmony that you find yourself in Cuba of the revolution. Real live images of the day, Castro’s speeches, Che Guevara in the background all construct a beautiful picture of Arenas’ Cuba. And of course the picture we see is not always beautiful. The poetry, the atmosphere, Javier Bardem himself… We are swept along for the two-hour ride and reach the end shaken and changed. I am in the bizarre position of feeling as if I have watched a good film and read a good book at the same time… And I will definitely be looking for more of Arrenas’ work. I will now do something slightly irregular and leave you with a quote from the movie. Now, I have not been able to confirm whether this was actually written by Arrenas or not, but it suits the mood of the film so well… And some of the descriptions of writing feel so close to my heart I simply had to share it with you all… And hey, maybe it’ll give you that extra push to go out and find the movie!

“Walking along streets that collapse from crumbling sewers. Past buildings that you jump to avoid because they will fall on you. Past grim faces that size you up and sentence you. Past closed shops, closed markets, closed cinemas, closed parks, closed cafes. Sometimes showing dusty signs, justifications: "CLOSED FOR RENOVATION," "CLOSED FOR REPAIRS." What kind of repairs? When will these so-called renovations be finished? When at last will they begin? Closed... closed... closed... everything closed. I arrive, open the countless padlocks and run up the temporary stairs. There she is, waiting for me. I pull off the cover, and stare at her dusty, cold shape I clean off the dust and caress her. With my hand, delicately, I wipe clean her back, her base and her sides. In front of her, I feel desperate and happy. I run my fingers over her keyboard and suddenly it all starts up. With a tinkling sound the music begins, little by little, then faster; now full speed. Walls, trees, streets, cathedrals, faces and beaches. Cells, mini- cells, huge cells. Starry nights, bare feet, pines, clouds. Hundreds, thousands, millions of parrots. A stool, a climbing plant, they all answer my call, all come to me. The walls recede, the roof vanishes, and you float quite naturally. You float uprooted, dragged off, lifted high. Transported, immortalized, saved. Thanks to that subtle, continuous rhythm, that music, that incessant tap-tap.”