When an irresistible force meets an immovable object

Daniel Nelson

Time has got tired, says a character wearily in Utama, and director Alejandro Loayza Grisi has filmed it.

The central characters, Virginio and Sisa, are tired after a lifetime of the same daily routine on the Bolivian highlands.

The land on which they depend is also exhausted, cracked by a protracted drought. The river is reduced to a narrow strip, creeping through the majestic countryside. It, too, looks as though it’s coming to the end of its time.

The well in  the dusty village nearby, where Sisa collects water, has run dry. Many residents have tired of waiting for the rains, and have moved to La Paz.

Only Virginio’s herd of llamas, with their extended upright necks and red ribbons on their ears, and visiting grandson, Clever, don’t look tired. But Clever is constantly on his phone and is not welcomed by his huffy grandfather, who dismisses the young man’s lack of knowledge or empathy with traditional ways and wisdom. Clever realises the old man is seriously ill and wants him to go to hospital and to live in town. Sisa listens: Virginio is adamantly resistant. Utama means Our House.

It’s a taut battle between town and country, between traditional and new values, between generations, between life and death, between sustainable farming and the impact of a changing climate. The extremes are reflected in the contrast between unwavering close-ups of the old couple and the sweeping panoramic scenery. The conflict has the feel of a tense Western. It’s slow, stately and magnificent - and gripping. Virginio and Sisa speak little but have an unbreakable bond: two entwined lifetimes are observed in two brief physical moments of touching.

There’s no happy ending: death and climate change are inevitable. Traditional life also looks doomed, though the grit and love embodied by Virginio and Sisa will surely find other expressions. Even phone-fixated Clever shows signs of capacity to develop some of his grandparents’ time-tested qualities.

DIRECTOR’S STATEMENT:

In the Bolivian highlands, at more than 3500 meters above sea level, climate change is forcing communities to change their customary ways of life. Rainy seasons are becoming shorter and droughts are lasting longer, glaciers are thawing and water is becoming scarce, the nights are getting colder and the days hotter. It is one of the most exposed and most vulnerable territories to climate change on Earth.

The already hostile territory is becoming increasingly inhospitable, forcing native populations to migrate to cities where they do not know how to live and where they face a language that is not their own. They have very few opportunities in this new environment, particularly the oldest among them. Therefore, many elders are reluctant to join the enormous migration of recent years that has left the Bolivian countryside increasingly uninhabited.

I was born and raised in La Paz, a city that has historically received Aymara migrants from the nearby Altiplano countryside. Our city, our beliefs, and our ways of being have been strongly marked by the coexistence between both Spanish and Aymara cultures. But despite this history, very few of our inhabitants are aware that some of the first great victims of climate change are only a few kilometres away.

I believe that telling a story from the point of view of those people who are very close to us, who still live in the countryside and face the agony of seeing their way of life disappear, is vital for understanding the human cost of climate change. It allows us to consider the collateral damage of our current way of life and to rethink our role as inhabitants of La Paz (and of other cities with similar conditions).

Utama is a cautionary tale. Elderly people can represent a lost consciousness and a wisdom that is seldom heard. They can represent the warnings we overlook. The characters of Virginio and Sisa, with all the wisdom gained through their years, represents a culture that has seen its younger generations lose their language and beliefs as they assimilate with an increasingly globalized world. The Quechua culture, and its views on death, life, and nature, is one we know very well in La Paz, but it is disappearing.

Utama is also a love story. The intimacy of Virginio and Sisa’s relationship can be felt through the minimal gestures between them, and the silences that dominate them – silences that can develop in decades-long relationships. Regardless of the cultural differences between these characters and the audience, I wanted to show their love as a universal force.

Aesthetically, I come from the world of still photography, and I am interested in working in the intersections of image and silence, where the most profound meanings are found: loss, acculturation, and degradation of nature. Stylistically, each shot means something unto itself, but within the context of a film they enrich the narrative. The wide landscapes, the portraits highlighting the characters’ deep gazes, and the moments of silence are my tools to tell a story that deeply questions the social, environmental, and human issues in these times of change.

Utama is ultimately a story about one of the most underrepresented places on Earth, but it is also a universal story that could be set in any community that is facing similar social and environmental problems. It is a story told through the eyes of a humble couple who face death and the loss of their values and customs. But there is still the possibility of perseverance and preservation. Although it seems like a tragedy, I want the film to bring hope.