‘Infiesto’ movie review: A misplaced lens
Express News Service
This was a long time coming, but finally, filmmakers have started to document the pandemic as a matter-of-fact event in films. A case in point is Netflix’s latest Spanish thriller, Infiesto, where the catastrophic event forms the backdrop, capturing the first seven days of the nationwide shutdown in Spain.
At the heart of it, however, is a case of kidnapping that has more in store than what initially meets the eye.
The film begins with a girl, who has been missing for months, suddenly turning up having escaped from her abductors. The case falls in the hands of Inspector Samuel (Isak Ferriz) and Deputy Inspector Castro (Iria Del Rio), who are battling personal problems with their loved ones suffering from Covid-19.
It is through them that we see the initial reluctance to wear a mask constantly. Words like self-isolation, to the extent that people were not even allowed to see their loved ones’ bodies, are brought to the fore. Such are the horrors of this real-life documentation that the actual case in the film feels rather unimportant. It doesn’t help that the makers invest little creativity to unravel the investigation.
Somehow, they figure out the first abductor, who is called ‘the dog killer’ because, well, he killed a dog. There is a struggle of sorts, and he shouts something inane, and a quick search of his house leads the cops to the second abductor, Demon. A similar scuffle and search helps them find the third culprit. His name is the Prophet.
There is no display of real investigative acumen on the officers’ part, lending the seemingly ambitious film a lazily put-together plot that absurdly intertwines a pandemic with an occult group of murderers. The idea might have worked on paper, but the translation on screen is sloppy and directionless.
The only strength of the film is its cinematography by Josu Inchaustegui, who evocatively captures the eeriness of Asturia’s mountains, a setting that offers intrigue to the film’s premise. On all other fronts, Infiesto falters miserably, essentially because the audience is not made to care enough about the case or the occult group’s victims.
It makes us think about the debilitating coronavirus-related trauma rather than sympathise with the people abducted, chained and sacrificed. And that is a real problem.
At the heart of it, however, is a case of kidnapping that has more in store than what initially meets the eye.
The film begins with a girl, who has been missing for months, suddenly turning up having escaped from her abductors. The case falls in the hands of Inspector Samuel (Isak Ferriz) and Deputy Inspector Castro (Iria Del Rio), who are battling personal problems with their loved ones suffering from Covid-19.
It is through them that we see the initial reluctance to wear a mask constantly. Words like self-isolation, to the extent that people were not even allowed to see their loved ones’ bodies, are brought to the fore. Such are the horrors of this real-life documentation that the actual case in the film feels rather unimportant. It doesn’t help that the makers invest little creativity to unravel the investigation.
Somehow, they figure out the first abductor, who is called ‘the dog killer’ because, well, he killed a dog. There is a struggle of sorts, and he shouts something inane, and a quick search of his house leads the cops to the second abductor, Demon. A similar scuffle and search helps them find the third culprit. His name is the Prophet.
There is no display of real investigative acumen on the officers’ part, lending the seemingly ambitious film a lazily put-together plot that absurdly intertwines a pandemic with an occult group of murderers. The idea might have worked on paper, but the translation on screen is sloppy and directionless.
The only strength of the film is its cinematography by Josu Inchaustegui, who evocatively captures the eeriness of Asturia’s mountains, a setting that offers intrigue to the film’s premise. On all other fronts, Infiesto falters miserably, essentially because the audience is not made to care enough about the case or the occult group’s victims.
It makes us think about the debilitating coronavirus-related trauma rather than sympathise with the people abducted, chained and sacrificed. And that is a real problem.
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