‘Saturn Return’ Review: Spain’s Oscar Submission Is a Chaotically Honest and Formally Audacious Music Biopic

As a seasoned movie buff with a penchant for unconventional biopics and a knack for discerning hidden layers within films, I must say that “Saturn Return” has left me utterly spellbound. This Spanish gem effortlessly captures the raw, chaotic energy of a struggling rock band, Los Planetas, in a way that is both authentic and visually striking. The directors’ refusal to adhere to any subgenre conventions is a breath of fresh air in today’s overly predictable cinematic landscape.

A pile of cigarette ash accumulates on some abandoned CDs within a dimly lit room, where the band members of Los Planetas labor to create tracks for their upcoming album. This brief image communicates more than just the disorderliness of the environment. Those presumably damaged discs may signify a rebellious disrespect towards music in its packaged, sellable, and profitable state. For them, music holds significance only when it’s expressing from their concealed emotional scars and is molded by drugs and the intense tension among them. The songs grow from the chaos – both the apparent and the unseen within their minds.

Isaki Lacuesta and Pol Rodríguez’s ‘Saturn Return’ masterfully portrays a blend of creative and personal struggles on screen, using dynamic visual intensity and bold experimentation to avoid adhering to typical subgenre tropes. This film, born out of an enticing artistic vision, is one of the most truthful and revitalizing music biopics in recent memory. It shuns the polishing of its deeply problematic characters’ images, instead pulling viewers into their self-destructive, poetic, and ultimately redeeming fight against their own darkest tendencies.

As a movie enthusiast, I found myself immersed in “Saturn,” a film that skillfully blends the ordinary with the extraordinary, keeping characters grounded amidst their self-made fears. It’s a journey that takes us from a period of captivating fiction to a late ’90s recording session in New York City. Unlike an origin story, “Saturn” doesn’t require prior knowledge to enjoy. In fact, stepping into the movie without knowing who Los Planetas are won’t diminish the enchanting atmosphere it creates around you.

Saturn,” a movie, is constructed from a series of loosely connected, intense scenes – dreams and rehearsals, as one of their songs puts it – painting a picture of a musical group or, more specifically, a three-way friendship, struggling against the odds to replicate their earlier success. The storyline, presented not as a factual account but as a surreal, legend-like depiction based on real people, follows the band after the triumph of their first album and the disappointment of the second. Their next release is crucial; if it fails, they risk losing their label’s support. The Spanish title, “Segundo premio,” translates to the main track from their third album, “A week in a bus engine,” which remarkably unfolds throughout the movie’s duration.

In the film, the main characters aren’t given names; instead, they’re identified as The Singer (Daniel Ibáñez, who starred alongside Javier Bardem in “The Good Boss”) and The Guitarist (played by a real-life musician known as Cristalino). The sunglasses-wearing vocalist feigns indifference and emotional reserve, while the drug-addled guitarist’s erratic behavior hints at a fragile psyche under strain. Both Ibáñez and Cristalino are making their acting debut in this movie. Their relationship on screen is mostly untouched by physical contact or extensive dialogue. There’s a thick wall between them that makes it hard to understand their intentions and desires within this partnership. Their performances strike a balance between raw authenticity and the casual, rockstar persona of their characters.

In the early scenes, Lacuesta and co-writer Fernando Navarro use voiceover narration to express what the main characters might find difficult to say directly to each other. This voiceover isn’t from a single character, but rather from various key characters commenting on the complex relationship between the two leads, which can be described as a love-hate bond. Among these characters, May (played by Stéphanie Magnin), who is explicitly named and is the third core member of the band, provides the most insightful perspective. She discusses how the Singer and Guitarist embody the spirit of their hometown, Granada. Although the cultural nuances may not be universally relatable beyond Spain, it’s clear that a band can reflect the unique quirks of the city that has shaped them as individuals and artists.

The woman’s experiences, having been romantically entangled with both of them simultaneously, underscores their struggle to openly express emotions beyond the realm of melancholic tunes. As songs emerge from the misty background of their narrative, lyrics become visible on-screen, presented not just as captions but in the original Spanish, suggesting the film was intended for a sing-along experience. Regardless of who’s speaking, the storytelling acknowledges that these portrayed incidents, occurring in the 20th century, hail from an antiquated era unlike our contemporary world. The multiple viewpoints hint at potential distortions in the events – a witty acknowledgment that permeates every facet of the film, including Takuro Takeuchi’s dynamic cinematography and the seamless yet non-linear arrangement of moments in the editing.

In “Saturn Return,” we delve into the strained bond between Singer and Guitarist, characters whose past remains a mystery. Through their music’s lyrics, we find our entry point. Standing together, brimming with secrets to reveal, they seem unable to speak. Instead, it’s as if a spell has been cast, silencing them. Their bond is fueled by the depth of their personalities and the pain they harbor – causes hidden from us – that love appears to manifest itself only through destructive confrontations.

Towards the finale, there’s a striking shot that encapsulates “Saturn Return,” showing the ethereal figures of the two men overlapping, symbolizing the idea that friendship is but one spirit split into two physical forms. This image, devoid of consoling hugs or heartfelt words, powerfully conveys that if any music was composed during the process, it was a shared expression between them, each tune a melodic tribute to their complex, sometimes toxic love for each other.

2024-11-28 21:47

‘Saturn Return’ Review: Spain’s Oscar Submission Is a Chaotically Honest and Formally Audacious Music Biopic

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