Director
Amid the lunar landscapes of the Bolivian mountains, the few traces of human presence seem minuscule, anecdotal. Shot by shot, Miguel Hilari’s camera follows these clues that lead to the city and its sonic confusion, where faces are captured with the same attention and poetry as the environment in which they live.
Cinematography
En 1879, Bolivia perdió su acceso al mar en una guerra. Cuando era niña no entendía cómo lo habíamos perdido; pensaba que los chilenos se lo habían llevado en baldes. Se trata de un diario hacia paisajes interiores, mitos, personajes y contradicciones en un país que cada día revive esta pérdida.
Screenplay
In Bolivia, in a small mountain village, the daily rhythm seems marked by a time that no longer exists, by nature’s invisibles forces, by the will of the gods. In this place where there is no longer a difference between dreams and reality, during the festival of the dead, one can almost hear the voices of those who are no longer there, creating an invisible bridge between past and present.
Editor
In Bolivia, in a small mountain village, the daily rhythm seems marked by a time that no longer exists, by nature’s invisibles forces, by the will of the gods. In this place where there is no longer a difference between dreams and reality, during the festival of the dead, one can almost hear the voices of those who are no longer there, creating an invisible bridge between past and present.
Producer
In Bolivia, in a small mountain village, the daily rhythm seems marked by a time that no longer exists, by nature’s invisibles forces, by the will of the gods. In this place where there is no longer a difference between dreams and reality, during the festival of the dead, one can almost hear the voices of those who are no longer there, creating an invisible bridge between past and present.
Director of Photography
In Bolivia, in a small mountain village, the daily rhythm seems marked by a time that no longer exists, by nature’s invisibles forces, by the will of the gods. In this place where there is no longer a difference between dreams and reality, during the festival of the dead, one can almost hear the voices of those who are no longer there, creating an invisible bridge between past and present.
Director
In Bolivia, in a small mountain village, the daily rhythm seems marked by a time that no longer exists, by nature’s invisibles forces, by the will of the gods. In this place where there is no longer a difference between dreams and reality, during the festival of the dead, one can almost hear the voices of those who are no longer there, creating an invisible bridge between past and present.
Editor
El Cerro Rico de Potosí. En la bocamina, rostros de trabajadores mineros salen de la oscuridad. Estos rostros, convertidos en imagen, son contemplados por niños. ¿Imágenes de otros tiempos?
Director
El Cerro Rico de Potosí. En la bocamina, rostros de trabajadores mineros salen de la oscuridad. Estos rostros, convertidos en imagen, son contemplados por niños. ¿Imágenes de otros tiempos?
Director
Shooting in Santiago de Okola, the rural Bolivian village where his father was born, Miguel Hilari notes how the place intimidated him as a child. In The Corral and the Wind Hilari focuses mostly on children and animals as he records the stark beauty of the highland landscape while suggesting undercurrents of struggle and toil. Whether recording schoolchildren from the village as they perform songs and poems of resistance or an encounter between his uncle and a neighbour joking about a dog, the distance and formality with which Hilari treats his subjects implies both an admiration for these people and a longing for a deeper connection with the culture of his Indigenous ancestors.
