By Ben Bussey
The things that are left unsaid can resonate even deeper than that which we put into words; oftentimes the right facial expression or gesture can more than fill in the silence. But what if you’re blind? First time Ecuadorian director Joe Houlberg’s Thirst drops his sightless central protagonist Sara (Ana Cristina Barragán, also co-writer with Houlberg and David Viteri) into a hotbed of unspoken history and hidden feelings which gradually shifts from awkwardness and discomfort to outright danger. It’s an enigmatic, often perplexing film which isn’t quite as tense and compelling as it sets out to be, but boasts some effective scenes and intriguing ideas nonetheless.
Sara is on a weekend getaway with her cousin Carolina (Fernanda Barragán), and their respective boyfriends Jose (Ivan Alzate) and Pedro (Enzo Macchiavello). It’s evident straight away that Sara and Carolina were close in childhood, but not so much of late, and the men are complete strangers to one another. The four head out into the countryside to stay at a cottage where Sara and Carolina spent many childhood summers, back when Sara was still able to see – until something happened there which put an end to all that youthful innocence. The two young women would seem to have grown up rather different since: where Sara is somewhat withdrawn, Carolina is outgoing and flirtatious. Their boyfriends are even more pronounced opposites, Pedro being confident, sexually-charged but a little dim-witted, whereas Jose is intellectual, introverted, and possibly asexual. Carolina’s blunt taunts about Sara’s sex life or lack thereof chip at the thin veneer of civility in the group, and as the holiday passes the cracks spread deep and wide, until anger and contempt suddenly gives way to violent rage.
While the PR for Thirst pitches it at least in part as horror, this is one of those movies that’s perched precariously on the outer edge of the genre; overall, I daresay it’s more likely to appeal to admirers of more grounded arthouse drama. However, there are definite nightmarish overtones to the whole endeavour, as Houlberg seems to have done his utmost to convey how it must feel to be blind. We are, quite literally, kept in the dark about so much; the finer details of the relationships, exactly what went on in the house all those years ago and – perhaps most notably – just who is doing what to whom come the final act. Yet at the same time there’s as much emphasis, if not more so, on sexual tension than on slow-burn suspense (indeed, it might be argued the two go hand in glove), and as Pedro is given to engaging in rather close-range voyeurism on the seemingly oblivious Sara, there are interesting questions raised about just where sexual magnetism begins if it is not conveyed visually or verbally.
It’s an interesting approach which might have worked for a very good short film, but truth to be told it feels a little thinly spread for a full-length feature, even though Thirst’s running time is barely 75 minutes. After a while, the abundant lengthy silences radiate more tedium than tension, and once things take a grim turn in the final scenes it feels just a little forced and stereotypical. Even so, as a low-budget first time feature for not only the director but the bulk of the cast and crew, Thirst is an impressive piece of work which looks great and is well performed. It could have used a little beefing up, but it’s well worth giving a look regardless.
Thirst is set to appear at festivals worldwide in 2015.