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The City (La Ciudad) (1998)
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Writer-director David Riker, in his extraordinary debut feature, The City, has
created a work of film art that isn't in the least "artsy" because it is so
deeply felt and so disciplined in its understated and unsentimentalized depiction of real
lives.
With a cast made up almost
exclusively of nonactors, Riker explores the experience of Latin American immigrants in
New York. In four separate vignettes, bridged by brief scenes of a photographer shooting
portraits of the principals in each story, Riker shows the exploitation of immigrant
workers (men scrambling for work in a curbside labor market, women in a garment industry
sweatshop that fails to pay its employees), the cruelty of government red tape (a homeless
father who isn't permitted to enroll his daughter in school because he lacks a cancelled
rent check proving he is a resident), the loneliness of immigrants separated from families
back home, connected only by letters more often than not reporting family problems -
illness or a flood washing away a home.
Described that way, the film might
sound like a political tract or yet another celluloid discourse on man's inhumanity to
man. It is neither, because Riker is less interested in the oppressors than he is in the
humble dignity of these vulnerable people struggling to gain a foothold in a foreign
land. He demonstrates, without preaching, their profoundly powerful family bonds and their
sense of community when crises arise.
Riker's background as a photographer
is evident in every beautifully composed black-and-white frame of this visually elegant
work. He elicits unaffected, deeply affecting performances from his mostly nonprofessional
cast. An original score by Tony Adzinikolov, with a traditional orchestral sound in a
minor key, underlines (without obtrusiveness) the sadness, the mood of melancholy which
saturates the film.
Each of the four stories ends on an
unresolved note (a strategy that Riker uses with far more finesse than John Sayles did in Limbo).
The first and natural response is to wonder what happened next to these characters, how
their situations resolved. Riker's deliberate ambiguity leads to the understanding that,
in a broader sense, there is no resolution for these people: the misery we have
seen is part of the texture of their lives. While one or another might manage to find a
way to an easier life, most won't, and what has happened to them will likely be the
experience of generations of immigrants to come.
Another recent movie, Angela's Ashes, took a successful
memoir about poor and displaced people, blew it up into a bloated, romanticized,
overproduced two-and-a half-hour Hollywood extravaganza, and utterly lost its soul in
translation to the screen. In contrast, with The City, a low-budget, low-tech, 88
minute film, Riker, with impeccable artistry, succeeds in delivering compassionate
understanding and a deeply moving, insightful portrayal of lives lived at the edge of
survival.
- Arthur Lazere