Killing Jesus (2017), an intimate film about a young lady seeking revenge for the death of her father, who a hitman shot in the streets of Medellín, introduced Laura Mora as an exciting new voice in Colombian cinema. In her new film, a much more ambitious and mature production, the Antioquian director establishes herself as a gifted filmmaker with a wonderous vision of the wounds and pending accounts of a nation marked by violence.

The Kings of the World (2022), now streaming on Netflix (for America only), follows a group of young boys from Medellín who travel to Nechí, in the Bajo Cauca, to reclaim the land that one of them has inherited after the Court ruled in favor of his grandmother in a case of land restitution to victims of forced displacement. Following a long tradition in Colombian cinema, the film stars non-professional actors: Carlos Andres Castañeda, Brahian Estiven Acevedo, Davison Florez, Cristian Campaña and Cristian David, play Rá, Winny, Sere, Nano, and Culebro, respectively.

Winner of the Golden Shell at the San Sebastian Festival’s 70th edition, the film begins by showing the effervescence of the city of Medellín and progressively takes us into the inner circle of the young boys who live in poverty and violence. However, through the movie, Mora does not show youth lost in disorder but rather boys who make the streets their home and develop their own codes of survival. They are a family first and foremost, and they only have each other. Like all families, they have some friction. Culebro, for example, has trouble finding his place in the group and gaining everyone’s trust.

This is an endearing story of friendship and brotherhood in a hostile environment. Despite the horrible conditions surrounding them, we are always hoping for the best and admiring the sense of protection that unites them. Rá is like the group leader, the one who inherited the land in Nechí. But he never acts in a possessive way. On the contrary, he wants to share the land with his friends. The photo of a small rural concrete house he keeps with him like some treasure represents a promise of hope and new beginnings. They embark on the journey to their “promised land” with childish but inspiring optimism.

The cinematography by David Gallego is outstanding and plays a key role as the boys advance from the plain to the mountain, making subtle contrast between the different geographical settings of the story. The natural landscape is captured at its most majestic and intimidating. The film becomes a story of survival in the desolate Colombian countryside, where Law does not exist and the few people who remain barely subsist in precarious conditions.

One great success of the film is showing that there are good and supportive people amid chaos. Despite all the dangers they face on their journey, the boys find a helping hand on more than one occasion. In one of the film’s best moments, which shows filmmaking of the highest order, they are kindly received in a modest remote brothel. Local women take care of them not with merely sexual intentions but with maternal affection, a common emotional need in street children. They dance with them, hug them, and lay them on their chests while out-of-tune piano sounds and neon lights wrap the place in a sublime experience. The next morning, they provide them with water to bathe in and serve them breakfast. Thus, principles of community and hospitality are highlighted.

Mora knows well how to create a sensation of suspended time. This also works as a space to allow both the actors and the audience to breathe in the face of such a challenging experience. There is no doubt that what is being narrated is heavy, but the director knows how to find stillness and calm with intelligent use of silences, contemplations, and distorted sounds. The film is fueled with dreamlike moments, symbolic images, and intermittent poetry pronounced by voice-overs. This also compensates for certain narrative oversights (such as characters entering and leaving without convincing explanation). The film is not very interested in a traditional chronological narrative but in making sense emotionally.

But, for all the beautiful visual moments, this is clearly not a fairy tale. The movie is also full of very harsh truths. Even if categorizing it as protest cinema is a bit inaccurate, there is no doubt that there is intelligent and powerful social commentary. The film is not limited to reflecting the social fracture in Colombia due to drug trafficking and the armed conflict but dares to point out that without full reparation for the victims, there cannot be a successful post-conflict nation.

This makes The Kings of the World enter into dialogue with Colombian cinema. Its themes are not new. In The Rose Seller (1998), an iconic cult movie from Víctor Gaviria, the first Colombian director to compete in the main competition section at the Cannes Film Festival, the reality of the street girls of Medellín was shown without filters. But what makes Mora’s film special is her subject handling (violence is not shown excessively) and her directorial ambition, which rests on finding a narrative language that transcends the quasi-documentary style while remaining realistic.

The performances are natural and refreshing. This may not be a big challenge considering that the boys are being asked to represent a daily reality that is not alien to them (they even speak parlache in the movie, the urban slang invented by Medellín’s street gangs). But even when the script does not delve into the personality of each one, their looks, voices, postures, and even auras are unmistakable. Perhaps there is no major acting transformation, but there is an inexpert authenticity that is rarely found on the screen.

However, the challenge of working with non-professional actors familiar with these spaces of violence and marginalization consists of making them more than just a symbol that speaks for all the others who are like them. Mora does not quite succeed in this since she does not find a forceful subjectivity in the characters. Still, the film is a melancholic journey, both physical and emotional, through the dreams of a marginalized youth yearning for freedom.

Review Courtesy of Kenny Díaz

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