There’s a tendency, when it comes to smaller budget films – films like Chacalería, shot and filmed in Panama, with an entirely Panamanian cast, to use terms like “good for the circumstances.” To say things like: this is a good movie, “all things considered.” The qualifiers hurt. They make it feel like the films don’t exist in the same space. Like the industry is in no way comparable to the kind of movies made in other countries, no matter the talent or the growth. Like the movie can only be good if you measure it against the production coming out of other countries.
Chacalería is a good movie, period.
It’s not “as good a movie” as it can be considering where it was made, how it was filmed, or who it stars. It’s just a good movie. It’s a smart movie, one that doesn’t dumb down its message, but that expects viewers to pay attention and engage with the material. It’s also the kind of movie that requires its cast to do more than just show up and exist. Instead, Chacalería has a story to tell – and it will absolutely tell it.
It waits for no one.
The best movies don’t. Good cinema cannot hold the door for you, and cannot look behind as audiences catch up with what it’s trying to do. Instead, it must trust that the audience will not just keep up, but will, at some point, start to anticipate where to movie is trying to take us.
And that, with Chacalería, includes the acting, the directing, the editing, the lighting, and even the score. But it all comes together, not visually, but emotionally – because there is an interesting story being told, one that hits the right emotional notes. Well-constructed stories visually are hard to put together, but they are infinitely easier than well-told stories.
Great movies are about both.
They’re also about acting and boy, does Chacalería take you on two different journeys. There’s Antonia’s journey, told beautifully by Mayra Hurley. You want her to “win” at every point, because you feel the ridiculousness of the lockdown through her, and you also feel the desperation. But there’s also Ronny’s journey, and though there’s a part of you that understands as you watch Miguel Oyola bring this character to life that it cannot all end well for both, you still want it to.
The story draws you in because of the two of them, and because in the end, every character, from De La Rosa – who you never really agree with, but end up somewhat understanding, to Kenny Alco, is recognizable not just as someone you could meet, but someone you could perhaps become, depending on the circumstances. That’s life, and that’s art.
It’s hard, in 2023, to talk about new and revolutionary ideas. No one’s going to reinvent the wheel. But no one really needs to. Stories don’t need to surprise us to be good. They just need to be told well, and for that, there needs to be a human factor we can relate to. Chacalería has both that and the visuals to pull off a tale that keeps you interested from beginning to end.
And if it can get a laugh or five out of us along the way, well – that’s never a bad thing, either.