Los Muertos 2004 123movies

Watch: Los Muertos 2004 123movies, Full Movie Online – Vargas, a 54 year old man, gets out of jail in the prvince of Corrientes, Argentina. Once released, he wants to find his now adult daughter, who lives in a swampy and remote area. To get there, he must cross great distances in a small boat on the rivers, scoring deep into the jungle. Vargas is a quiet and self-contained man. He possesses the restraint of those living close to nature. A deep mystery surrounds him, the people he encounters and the places he goes through, all that taking in the unalterable world he finds almost unchanged after his long years of incarceration..
Plot: Vargas, a 54 year old man, gets out of jail in the province of Corrientes, Argentina. Once released, he wants to find his now adult daughter, who lives in a swampy and remote area. A deep mystery surrounds him.
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Ratings:

	6.8/10 Votes: 1,142
	86% | RottenTomatoes
	81/100 | MetaCritic
	N/A Votes: 27 Popularity: 1.297 | TMDB

Reviews:

Hearts of darkness
“Los Muertos” made me think of various things — Hemingway, John Boorman’s 1984 “The Emerald Forest,” the Mexican Carlos Reygadas 2002 “Japón,” the films of Bruno Dumont. This film shares “Japón’s” use of natural settings and non-actors for a powerful minimalist effect. It’s got the macho focus on simple survival tasks you find in Hemingway’s Spanish novels and early short stories set in the Michigan woods. When “Los Muertos'” protagonist Vargas (Argentino Vargas) gets out of jail he goes into the outback He travels downriver in a rowboat with a few provisions, feeds himself from a tree, slaughters an animal and cleans it in the boat. The crowded, open prison and the shops Vargas goes to when he first gets out are busy — “civilized.” Then he enters his own “Heart of Darkness” like the boy Tomme in “The Emerald Forest” and becomes a different person — shucking off clothes, money, possessions, bringing out new skills. Like “The Man” in “Japón” Vargas is going to a remote region on an ambiguous mission and the two movies both take long looks at the land and listens to real rural people. Like Bruno Dumont, Alonso isn’t afraid of long still shots and ‘longeurs,’and like Dumont his sex is crude and real. Like Dumont’s, Alonso’s protagonist is inarticulate and vaguely dangerous.

We see a lot of Vargas at first just sitting, sipping maté, staring into space at the prison, like you do. But Alonso’s camera is also lithe and mobile from that first long hypnotic panning and tracking shot in the forest before the story begins and it continues to be supple and quick as it follows Vargas on his journey.

Style apart, Alonso takes us to a place we don’t know and he keeps us there. He doesn’t explain; his film suggests you can get very close to things and still not understand them, and sometimes that’s the way it has to be.

The actor, Argentino Vargas, resembles Franco Citti, whom Pasolini often used in his films for sly, evil characters. Like Citti, he has a rough, sensuous quality. He’s paunchy but muscular, tan, and agile; he’s a handsome man gone to seed, a little ‘indio’, a little worldly. He’s polite and neutral with people, but there’s something not said, something blank and mysterious and menacing about him too, a sense of an unexplained purpose. This man is very, very alone, and his outdoor skills outline his ability to remain that way. We don’t know what he’s up to. We don’t know what he’s capable of.

This reserve, this mystery, is an essential element in much good storytelling that can make the simplest tale compulsive and memorable, which is what “Los Muertos” gradually becomes. Carlos Reygadas also uses it.

Since “Los Muertos” tells us so little and there are so few spoken words, little bits of information jolt us awake and our minds race. “So you’re leaving!” a young man yells at Vargas at the prison. He comes too close, then disappears as if he was angry and was pulled away — and we may think Vargas is planning to escape and word’s gotten around. But instead he gets formally released.

Watching Vargas’journey suggests what travel or nature movies would be like if they had no music or commentary — how much more powerful a camera can be without mediation, when it’s just there without conventional framing devices. A long shot just shows Vargas in the rowboat, rowing on the river, coming toward us. There’s nothing else. The camera is invisible, moving imperceptibly. The shot is powerful and extraordinarily beautiful and alive because it just is.

There’s a boldness about Alonso’s method. Some shots may seem too long. But there’s an exhilarating sense of really being wholly inside the experience; of having lost ourselves completely in the story “Los Muertos” tells. I got that feeling when I first watched Boorman’s “Emerald Forest,” and it was a strange and alien — and at the same time thrilling — feeling to walk out of the theater into the nighttime city when the movie was over but I was still under its spell, my mind lingering in the Amazon forest.

Lisandro Alonso, who’s only thirty years old, reminds us that great film-making can be a matter of letting the camera and what it sees speak for themselves. He throws out the paraphernalia. During the course of the film, we’ve seen and heard some surprising things. At the end, we’re suddenly excluded. Vargas goes somewhere, and the camera doesn’t follow him. It stops showing us what’s going on. The camera has been our eyes and ears and this abrupt shutdown is a shock. You walk out of the theater and you carry that sense of shock with you. It’s a brilliant ending to a haunting film.

Seen at the San Francisco International Film Festival April 26, 2005.

Lisandro’s Slow Release
Slow, methodic, contemplative cinema is hard work; this can be seen in Lisandro Alonso’s (Jauja) offering from 2004. Meet Vargas a middle aged man in jail in provincial Argentina. Very naturally and methodically he goes about his daily routine, until finally he is unreleased. A free man he now wants to visit his now adult daughter, which we and Vargas discover is no short trip.

The opening sequence of the film is spellbinding. A camera slowly hovers through the brush of a dense forest. The viewer never feels that this is some sort of POV gag. Instead, the camera itself maneuvers as a spirit, only incidentally uncovering what the audience will soon uncover. Alonso’s blending of the temporal and spatial aspects of his film’s world in this scene and using the camera as a removed observer that floats about ethereally is reminiscent in ways of Apichatpong Weerasethakul in any of his jungle sequences—and is a usual tool used by most masters of the “slow” cinema. After a slow tracking shot through the forest, which allows for burst in natural light here and there, there is a small bloodied body, yet Alonso keeps the film understated and the camera keeps gliding along in an ever more haunting track natural light bursts through and then it’s back to the dimly lit landscape, until in the distance, corner of the screen we see what appears to be another dead body, but the figure is out of focus and nearly out of frame, as the camera must make its way to the horror. This method has a particular way in building a natural suspense. Now we/the camera, see a partial figure. It is a man with a bloody machete and he stands only half framed as if he wants to escape but knows he is trapped. He moves toward us/the camera but there is no close-up, the man does not stop, the camera does not pan to follow the man, the man walks directly past the camera and that it is it: hold the shot, and then cut to the film’s protagonists, Vargas. This sequence is done masterfully. Alonso flexes his muscles in showing us some of the raw power of “slow” cinema. The economics of this sequence for Alonso is nearly immaculate. He establishes the natural sensibility that the film will carry throughout. The use of natural light, longer tracking shots and medium framing rounds out the visual style of Los Muertos and lends itself to the mise-en-scene; the cinematography and direction is gritty, natural and real and so is the story that the audience views like the camera: slightly detached. And we quickly find out the murder was a flashback, allegedly committed by Vargas when he was younger—killing his two brothers with a machete.

Vargas appears to be a nice enough man. He communicates with the other men in the prison camp and even appears to have friendships, yet stays distant and at times introspective. Once outside of prison he lives and moves like a survivalist, a native who is wholly intertwined with nature. But what are the points of these observations? This is where the film begins to stumble. Vargas laboriously treks through forest, swamps, small villages which all seem to be unchanged in his many long years locked away. Okay, has he changed? Does it matter? We know he murdered his own brothers. We never know why. Yet, one never feels any suspense or unease in the possibility of Vargas relapsing into violence. Though one poignant and sad moment in the film is when Vargas stops in a small shop to buy his daughter a dress. The salesman talks about how the daughter will love the dress and asks what size and what does the daughter look like, but Vargas doesn’t know and relates to the man that he doesn’t know what she looks like. The scene is written and acted with poise and perfect pitch, never cheaply attempting a mad grab at the viewer’s heartstrings. This scene is juxtaposed perfectly with the very visceral and matter-of-fact blowjob which he seeks out immediately after his release.

Outside of a few moments, Los Muertos seems to be as aimless as Vargas appears at times. As a viewer you want it to have that “pop,” that “aha” moment, but it never materializes. “Muertos” is an interesting early work from Alonso and certainly worth the watch. It just misses in giving substance visually and thematically to the scene, failing to consistently inform the viewer with what is not just being stared at in the frame but outside the frame that the other slow cinematic masters of our time give us jammed packed in every scene like one would see by one of the meditative Taiwanese masters or even Alonso’s own countrywoman, Lucrecia Martel. Will Vargas reach his daughter? Is there something to be discovered in his arduous journey? The main problem is Alonso trips up in not only keeping the viewer engaged but maintaining that the viewer care what happens to Vargas. He succeeds, I believe, in keeping the viewer’s feelings about Vargas at the very least neutral even though we are aware of the double murder of his siblings. But Alonso takes this leverage with the audience nowhere and most of the film as a whole feels as loose, wild and unkempt as the swamps and forests that litter the film’s provincial Argentinean landscape.

Other Information:

Original Language es
Runtime 1 hr 18 min (78 min)
Budget 0
Revenue 0
Status Released
Rated N/A
Genre Drama
Director Lisandro Alonso
Writer Lisandro Alonso
Actors Argentino Vargas, Francisco Dornez, Yolanda Galarza
Country Argentina, France, Netherlands, Switzerland
Awards 7 wins & 1 nomination
Production Company N/A
Website N/A

Technical Information:

Sound Mix Dolby Digital
Aspect Ratio N/A
Camera N/A
Laboratory N/A
Film Length N/A
Negative Format 35 mm
Cinematographic Process Spherical
Printed Film Format 35 mm (spherical)