Climate
// Hidden Stories Series
Utama: A cinematic journey into the Andean plateau reveals stark climate truths
December 1, 2023
Review
Set against the backdrop of Bolivia's Andean plateau, Utama masterfully captures the profound impacts of climate change on indigenous communities, weaving a narrative of resilience, tradition, and looming cultural loss.
Utama, Hussh Critic’s Pick
Written & Directed by Alejandro Loayza Grisi
Drama | Not Rated | 1h 27m
Written & Directed by Alejandro Loayza Grisi
Drama | Not Rated | 1h 27m
In a year with hits including Barbie, Oppenheimer, and Guardians of the Galaxy, today’s cinematic world is awash with big-budget extravaganzas.
It’s against this back drop that the Bolivian film Utama stands out so starkly.
Not just because it was created on a far smaller budget nor for its poignant storytelling, but for the powerful message it carries.
Directed by Alejandro Loayza Grisi, Utama isn't merely an artistic endeavour, but a lens into the sometimes subtle yet equally destructive reality of climate change and its profound impact on Indigenous communities.
Set in the sweeping landscapes of the Andean plateau, we're introduced to an arid expanse of earth that has borne the brunt of our rapidly changing environment. This setting—with altitudes that soar to almost 14,000 feet, interspersed with hard, fractured land—becomes the silent stage for a drama that is unequivocally real.
In a small, modest adobe dwelling, we meet Virginio and Sisa: a resilient Quechua couple portrayed by non-professional actors José Calcina and Luisa Quispe.
The film doesn’t lean on dramatic dialogues to depict their life; instead, the narrative is woven through simple, everyday rituals, fleeting gestures, and unspoken glances. As the silent despair of their struggle becomes palpable, one can't help but be moved by Virginio's increasingly strenuous journeys as he guides his llamas across the barren terrain, desperation set deep in his every step, seeking ever dwindling nourishment for his herd.
It’s against this back drop that the Bolivian film Utama stands out so starkly.
Not just because it was created on a far smaller budget nor for its poignant storytelling, but for the powerful message it carries.
Directed by Alejandro Loayza Grisi, Utama isn't merely an artistic endeavour, but a lens into the sometimes subtle yet equally destructive reality of climate change and its profound impact on Indigenous communities.
Set in the sweeping landscapes of the Andean plateau, we're introduced to an arid expanse of earth that has borne the brunt of our rapidly changing environment. This setting—with altitudes that soar to almost 14,000 feet, interspersed with hard, fractured land—becomes the silent stage for a drama that is unequivocally real.
In a small, modest adobe dwelling, we meet Virginio and Sisa: a resilient Quechua couple portrayed by non-professional actors José Calcina and Luisa Quispe.
The film doesn’t lean on dramatic dialogues to depict their life; instead, the narrative is woven through simple, everyday rituals, fleeting gestures, and unspoken glances. As the silent despair of their struggle becomes palpable, one can't help but be moved by Virginio's increasingly strenuous journeys as he guides his llamas across the barren terrain, desperation set deep in his every step, seeking ever dwindling nourishment for his herd.
Grisi's background in still photography is evident in every frame. There's a melancholic beauty in the way he captures the starkness of the Altiplano. Partnering with Bárbara Alvarez, a seasoned cinematographer, they employ dramatic contrasts to emphasise the extremities of this environment.
The isolation is almost palpable, with aerial shots of solitary dwellings and vast expanses capturing the desolation of a changing world. The parallels between the craggy, weather-beaten faces of the protagonists and the arid landscapes they inhabit serve as poignant reminders of how deeply many communities are intertwined with their surroundings.
But Utama is more than just a visual masterpiece. As the narrative progresses, the story of Virginio and Sisa intertwines with the broader tale of our planet's changing climate.
The parched earth, the depleting water sources, and the relentless sun are not just elements of a fictional backdrop; they symbolise the existential crisis faced by communities across the world.
The arrival of Clever, their conversant grandson, brings a juxtaposition of the past and present. His urban sensibilities clash with the couple's deep-rooted traditions—especially evident when the idea of relocating to the city surfaces.
Virginio's resistance to this proposition isn't mere stubbornness but an emblematic struggle to preserve a way of life that's on the brink of extinction.
The film's treatment of gender roles, notably with Virginio's insistence on Sisa undertaking the arduous task of water collection, offers a window into the traditions and cultural mores of the community. Such instances aren't merely inserted for dramatic effect, rather they challenge the viewer to grapple with their own perceptions and biases.
What’s profound about Utama is equally found its choice to leave certain realities unsaid.
The looming spectre of climate change is omnipresent, but it never becomes an overt character in the storyline. It's this subtle approach that lends the film its universal appeal.
Though set in the unique milieu of the Bolivian Altiplano, the narrative is universally relatable, echoing the global repercussions of a world rocked by a rapidly changing climate.
But beneath the overarching theme of environmental decay, there's a more subtle, yet equally profound narrative at play: the gradual erosion of Indigenous cultures.
Virginio and Sisa, in their silent resilience, represent countless other Indigenous communities worldwide who face cultural extinction.
When Clever suggests the move to an urban setting, the deeper implication is the potential loss of a language, a tradition, a way of life that's been preserved for generations. This is not just about the Quechua culture, but about every Indigenous voice that is being drowned in the clamour of modernity.
Grisi’s filmic journey began with his pursuits in photography, transitioning into cinematography, and now culminating in Utama. This evolution is evident in the film's deliberate pacing.
At times, the movie feels like an exercise in meditation, demanding the viewer's undivided attention. You almost come to expect a guiding voice to emerge, urging us to stay present, to immerse ourselves fully in the unfolding story.
From the mesmerising opening shot of Virginio against the backdrop of a golden sunrise to Sisa’s tender interactions with him, the authenticity of their portrayal is undeniable. Their real-life bond transcends the screen, making their story even more evocative.
Utama beckons us to recognise the grave realities of the climate crisis, the profound consequences it has on marginalised communities, and the irreplaceable cultural heritages we stand to lose.
In the silent struggles of Virginio and Sisa, in the parched landscapes of the Altiplano, we see a mirror reflecting our collective future unless we choose to act.
The isolation is almost palpable, with aerial shots of solitary dwellings and vast expanses capturing the desolation of a changing world. The parallels between the craggy, weather-beaten faces of the protagonists and the arid landscapes they inhabit serve as poignant reminders of how deeply many communities are intertwined with their surroundings.
But Utama is more than just a visual masterpiece. As the narrative progresses, the story of Virginio and Sisa intertwines with the broader tale of our planet's changing climate.
The parched earth, the depleting water sources, and the relentless sun are not just elements of a fictional backdrop; they symbolise the existential crisis faced by communities across the world.
The arrival of Clever, their conversant grandson, brings a juxtaposition of the past and present. His urban sensibilities clash with the couple's deep-rooted traditions—especially evident when the idea of relocating to the city surfaces.
Virginio's resistance to this proposition isn't mere stubbornness but an emblematic struggle to preserve a way of life that's on the brink of extinction.
The film's treatment of gender roles, notably with Virginio's insistence on Sisa undertaking the arduous task of water collection, offers a window into the traditions and cultural mores of the community. Such instances aren't merely inserted for dramatic effect, rather they challenge the viewer to grapple with their own perceptions and biases.
What’s profound about Utama is equally found its choice to leave certain realities unsaid.
The looming spectre of climate change is omnipresent, but it never becomes an overt character in the storyline. It's this subtle approach that lends the film its universal appeal.
Though set in the unique milieu of the Bolivian Altiplano, the narrative is universally relatable, echoing the global repercussions of a world rocked by a rapidly changing climate.
But beneath the overarching theme of environmental decay, there's a more subtle, yet equally profound narrative at play: the gradual erosion of Indigenous cultures.
Virginio and Sisa, in their silent resilience, represent countless other Indigenous communities worldwide who face cultural extinction.
When Clever suggests the move to an urban setting, the deeper implication is the potential loss of a language, a tradition, a way of life that's been preserved for generations. This is not just about the Quechua culture, but about every Indigenous voice that is being drowned in the clamour of modernity.
Grisi’s filmic journey began with his pursuits in photography, transitioning into cinematography, and now culminating in Utama. This evolution is evident in the film's deliberate pacing.
At times, the movie feels like an exercise in meditation, demanding the viewer's undivided attention. You almost come to expect a guiding voice to emerge, urging us to stay present, to immerse ourselves fully in the unfolding story.
From the mesmerising opening shot of Virginio against the backdrop of a golden sunrise to Sisa’s tender interactions with him, the authenticity of their portrayal is undeniable. Their real-life bond transcends the screen, making their story even more evocative.
Utama beckons us to recognise the grave realities of the climate crisis, the profound consequences it has on marginalised communities, and the irreplaceable cultural heritages we stand to lose.
In the silent struggles of Virginio and Sisa, in the parched landscapes of the Altiplano, we see a mirror reflecting our collective future unless we choose to act.
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