Fire Will Come (O Que Arde) Review

Cr. The Guardian

In Oliver Laxe’s third feature-length film, ‘Fire Will Come’, there is an inherent violence present that is cultivated with such expertise that a dormant, smouldering sense of trepidation permeates the entire story.

I personally can’t remember a time when I’ve been more unnerved by a movie than I was while watching the opening sequence of this taut Galician drama. With no context at hand, we are forced to watch a series of trees being felled in quick succession in a dark, moon-lit forest, shrieking and moaning as they crash to the forest floor below. The entire sequence is oddly reminiscent of Robert Eggers’ ‘The Witch’ (2015), where the natural world is often presented as a guise for the supernatural.

Yet, while admittedly mercurial and complex, this film is firmly rooted in realism, with the latent adversity bubbling beneath the surface being the product of human conflict.

In ‘Fire Will Come’, ex-convict and alleged pyromaniac Amador Coro (Amador Arias) is released from prison and moves back to his elderly mother’s sequestered, rain-drenched smallholding in the remote mountains of rural Galicia. Yet while his mother, Benedicta Coro (Benedicta Sanchez), welcomes her middle-aged son back with open arms, much of the community choose either to shun Amador, mock him, or treat him with over-the-top cordiality.

Other than the heart-warming relationship between Amador and his mother, who are played brilliantly by non-professional actors, Amador is a tight-lipped protagonist, indiscernible and hard to read, who keeps his cards close to his chest and his thoughts and feelings under lock and key. The character’s taciturn nature is complimented by his bleak aura and skeletal facial features, making him almost death personified, a walking incarnation of shame and dishonour. Although the character’s relationship with his own guilt is perhaps more difficult to pin down.

Nestled away in his gritty hillside hideaway, Amador resumes his day-to-day existence, taking the cows out to pasture, smoking cigarettes under overcast skies, and ruminating on things consistently unavailable to the viewer. While seemingly monotonous, it is in the routines of both Amador and Benedicta that we begin to piece together an elemental portrait of rural life in the bucolic wilds of Galicia. This is due in large part to both Laxe and Catalan cinematographer Mauro Herce, who must’ve spent months trudging across the land on their quest to capture some of the most mouth-wateringly incredible footage in modern cinema. Seriously, this is not an exaggeration.

Ultimately, Laxe’s use of setting is no mere contributing element or background component. No, Laxe’s stunning portrayal of rural Galicia is very much at the heart of this tale of acceptance. From the outset, we are offered a series of stunning vignettes depicting enchanting woodlands, fog-hidden peaks, neglected smallholdings and stretches of gorgeous countryside. Part of the reason why the cinematography feels so intimate and sincere is that Laxe himself spent parts of his childhood in Galicia, living in the region for many years before moving to Barcelona to study filmmaking.

In terms of conventional storytelling, the film leaves a lot to be desired. Any semblance of an orthodox plot is sparse and rarely exhibits a moment of ignition. But this isn’t a story where plot is developed in the interactions between characters. No, this is, at heart, a story about how the characters are dependent on the natural world around them and how they interact with Laxe’s imperious use of setting, which frames his characters as small, ant-like beings immersed within something far greater than themselves.

This idea is perhaps best observed in the scene where Benedicta is settling down for the night, wrapping herself underneath her duvet like a wild animal or a primordial nomad under a collection of pelts. Laxe’s characters are flawed and vulnerable, the obverse of the notion that humans have dominion over nature. Here, the natural world is an authoritative force and our protagonists are merely transient guests, living lives as pre-determined as the livestock in the field.

As a convicted arsonist who “set the mountain on fire”, Amador’s connection to the world around him is markedly different to any other character. In the context of 21st climate change, deforestation and the increase in wildfires around the globe, our protagonist also acquires somewhat of a sinister edge. Amador was judged to have used the natural world to actualise violent desires and now he is a man cut adrift from harmony or cohesion, a pariah destined for a life on the peripheries of society. Exploring that dimension in great detail, the film leaves a lot to be decided by the viewer.

‘Fire Will Come’ is a meditative film that perhaps asks more questions than it answers. In depicting relentless cycles of growth and destruction in the natural world, Laxe leaves us with a single question - are we capable of healing or are we thralls to our own human whims? Deftly balancing several different genres, Laxe is able to weave a stunning tapestry that sees a stony crime thriller evolve into a far more substantial piece of Galician cinema.