“Without stories, we are nothing”. ‘El prodigio’ opens with two of the best film minutes of the year, inviting the viewer to enter the film, highlighting something that will be vital throughout the film and that directly connects with our present: the importance of controlling the narrative, the strength of fiction in realitythe human need to cling to a belief no matter how far-fetched it is and at all costs.
New from Sebastian Lelio for Netflix is, with permission from ‘Knives in the Back: The Mystery of the Glass Onion’, his best feature film this yearand it is largely because, instead of being a vehicle for an actress or a director to show off, it allows the script to take the reins: a script with a double layer of depth, conversations between the past and the present and a mystery that, really, was just the excuse to talk about what really matters.
The girl, who does not eat me
‘The prodigy’ begins with a miracle: a girl, in the Irish countryside of 1862, survive without eating for months, only with the power of faith. And although at first it seems that the film is going to be based on the search for the reason why he can survive without eating, Lelio ends up revealing his cards in a reflection of the present that requires the viewer to reflect on what they are seeing.
In recent years, politics (and with it, the world) has taken a turn: reality matters less and less. What matters is what they have vilely called “the story.” Control the narrative of the facts and not let people draw their own conclusions from reality, but allow feelings to be more important than what is easily verifiable. In ‘El prodigio’ there are no social networks, but they are not necessary to feed misinformation and brand as a heretic whoever comes with an opinion contrary to that of the established story. The town of the tape They don’t want to hear the truth: they just want their reality to be corroborated at all costs. Does it ring a bell?
Being able to fall into the umpteenth debate between science and religion, Sebastian Lelio knows how to go a step further and treat the very cause of the confrontation in question: this is not about good versus bad, but about people who fervently believe in something antagonistic. And to acknowledge that the other side may be partly right, for whatever reason, is a defeat. Even the mere doubt of the established dogma is already a symptom of shame. Whoever believes that ‘The Prodigy’ takes place in the 19th century, think about it a couple of times.
The artifice of the story
Although it seems that Lelio warns us about The danger of misunderstood narrative, the truth is that the entire film underscores the need and power of fiction in our lives as a transforming element, which goes beyond what reason can do. In the end, a good story can only be fought against another equally good, regardless of whether our audience is one or millions. A good story can save your life.
The film wouldn’t hold up as well as it does if it weren’t for the magnificent work of a Florence Pugh who has always picked her projects with a grain of salt, knowing how to swing with almost surgical perfection between prestigious cinema (‘Midsommar’, ‘Lady Macbeth’, ‘Little Women’) and the mainstream (‘Black Widow’, the future ‘Dune: part 2’) and that here offers a fantastic role, knowing how to encapsulate frustration and reason with a modulation of voice and gestures of a true teacher.
For his part, little Kila Lord Cassidy, barely 13 years old, offers a whole recital, proving once again that child actors are stomping and surprisingly prepared. In a year of incredible children’s performances (‘Tori y Lokita’, ‘Close’, ‘Armageddon Time’, ‘La maternal’), Cassidy shines with her own light making a character believable that fervently believes in the fiction you have been toldeven if it is at the cost of his own life.
an imperfect prodigy
Although the intentions of ‘The Prodigy’ are very good and, for the most part, it fulfills them with fabulous delicacy and simplicity, it is not as perfect as it could be, largely because of an epilogue that, although it serves as the conclusion of a story, it is not treated with the meticulousness that the rest of the footage does. The end of the story is accelerated, although it is not a mistake, but a conscious decision.
The film’s own soundtrack (“In… Out…”) prepares and accelerates the denouement, a majestic plane that joins with the initial one offering an audiovisual catharsis which can easily be mistaken for slapstick. The risk that Leilo takes is very strong: breaking expectations by showing the back room of fiction can lead the public to not want to know more after its first bars. ‘The prodigy’ is a fiction about fiction that is not ashamed of its narrative identity. And that is more than commendable.
Sometimes, everything that can go well in a movie goes well. A safe direction, an intelligent script, dedicated performances, a tone that does not fear the average viewer, come together. It is on those occasions when a tape like ‘The Prodigy’ comes out, which shows that Sebastian Leilo knows a lot about storytelling, the power of the story and the need to face the pre-established for the common good. All a prodigy.