The absolute last word on visual addiction, ARREBATO is a fascinating Spanish cult film. Drugs, vampirism and uncontrollable film fanaticism all figure into this little seen classic that bears quite a few similarities to David Cronenberg’s VIDEODROME, which it predated by five years.
The Package
Completed in 1979, ARREBATO is probably the most famous
Spanish cult movie of all time. It’s been largely inaccessible
in the years since its extremely limited original
release and so has developed quite a mystique…among Spanish film
buffs, at least (unsurprisingly, the film is almost completely
unknown in America).
Director Ivan Zulueta was a highly praised experimental
filmmaker back in the mid sixties and seventies, and made only
one other feature (1969’s UN, DOS, TRES, AL ESCONDITE INGLES).
He experienced a physical breakdown after completing ARREBATO,
which was edited down from a reported three hours to its current
110 minute running time, and hasn’t made another feature
since…which of course has only added to ARREBATO’S mythic
status.
The Story
Jose is a filmmaker putting the finishing touches on
his latest production, a schlocky vampire picture. Feeling
supremely dissatisfied with his vocation and heroin addicted
girlfriend Ana, he arrives back at his apartment to discover a
package from his friend Pedro. It contains a reel of super 8mm
film, an audiotape and a key to Pedro’s apartment.
Flashbacks show how these two men, both of whom share
an extraordinary passion for filmmaking, met at Pedro’s family
home where Jose was location scouting. Pedro, who’s never
without his super 8mm camera, believes life is only worth
anything if it’s caught on film. Furthermore, he’s tapped a
hidden power inherent in film images that causes him to
experience a mystical state of “Arrebato,” or rapture. Before
long Pedro becomes addicted to this sensation, eventually
cutting himself off from the outside world and devoting his life
to filming himself in bed. His camera in turn grows increasingly
powerful as it saps more and more of Pedro’s life force,
eventually developing the capacity to turn itself on and off
and, more alarmingly, literally erase objects—and, inevitably,
people—from existence.
All this is evident on the film and tape Pedro has
mailed to Jose, who in the end decides to visit his friend’s
apartment. He arrives to find Pedro’s camera set up and running,
but its owner nowhere to be found…
The Direction
While this film lacks the hallucinatory pizzazz of the
aforementioned VIDEODROME, it does have a compelling air of
brooding mystery that’s all its own. It’s similar in tone to
Pupi Avati’s quiet, largely bloodless mysteries
THE HOUSE WITH
LAUGHING WINDOWS and ZEDER: VOICES FROM BEYOND, both of which
had slow, careful build-ups topped by stunning finales, which
are definitely characteristics of ARREBATO. Its deeply haunting
final scene is simply perfect, and could by itself be used as a
visual dissertation on the uneasy relationship between cinema
and reality.
The film also has an experimental edge in common with
avant-garde filmmakers like Stan Brakhage and Jack Smith;
Zulueta includes extensive footage of the pixilated home movies
Pedro makes, which in their strangely compelling nonlinear
weirdness are worthy of Brakhage or Smith. Zulueta does go
overboard with his near-constant addiction symbolism (his
characters always seem to be shooting up or nodding
off), and his film’s trajectory may be a bit too relentlessly
bleak for its own good (if there’s any intentional humor I
missed it), but that’s as the subject matter demands. Frankly, I
doubt there are too many filmmakers who could pull off the
concept of film as a literal vampire with the seriousness and
audacity with which Ivan Zulueta does here.
Vital Statistics
ARREBATO (RAPTURE; FIT)
Nicolas Asturriaga P.C.
Director: Ivan Zulueta
Producer: Miguel Bermejo
Screenplay: Ivan Zulueta
Cinematography: Angel Luis Fernandes
Cast: Eusebio Poncela, Will More, Cecilia Roth, Marta Fernandez
Muro, Carmen Giralt, Helena Fernan-Gomez, Antonio Gasset, Luis
Ciges, Javier Ulacia, Max Madera, Rosa Crespo