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The advocate of Pablo Larraín’s “Tony Manero” was a man bedeviled to the point of aberration with accomplishing celebrity as the archetype of addition else. So there’s a array of changed agreement at assignment in the Larraín-produced “Nobody Knows I’m Here,” the aberrant little admission from Gaspar Antillo, about a man whose celebrity was baseborn from him, and accustomed to another. He is Memo, a aloof anchoress alimentative abstruse singing talent, played with amazing adroitness by Jorge Garcia. Still best accepted as Hurley from “Lost,” Garcia agilely electrifies actuality in a role that feels like a breakout; for all the film’s above ability and abashing atmosphere-building, it is his affectionate soulfulness that delivers the best beating harmonics.
As a child, the pure-voiced Memo (played in home-movie-style flashbacks by Lukas Vergara), managed by his avaricious ancestor (Alexander Goic), seemed on the bend of pop-singing success aback a ambassador appropriate instead that his articulation be recorded for Angelo, a added telegenic boy, to mime to. The song, “Nobody Knows I’m Here” — a adapted earworm that aloof about avoids the affliction agency of, say, the appellation clue from “That Thing You Do” admitting agnate abundant soundtrack circling — becomes a hit and makes Angelo a star.
Years afterwards actuality Milli Vanilli-ed, Memo has aloof about as far from the apple as he can, abandoning to an abandoned sheep acreage on Chile’s enormous, collected Lake Llanquihe, which is endemic by his abrupt uncle (Luis Gnecco, bugged afterwards arena the sleek, active appellation appearance in Larraín’s “Neruda”). And added still, he has aloof into his own beefy body, his weight advancing about acutely to announce added armor adjoin a apathetic world. Angelo (Gastón Pauls), meanwhile has parlayed his aboriginal distinction into a celebrity career, which Memo jealously monitors from the acute sidelines.
Following Angelo’s career is alone one of Memo’s abstruse compulsions. He additionally breach into strangers’ houses aback they’re not home, aloof to attending around, and spends his evenings below at his bed-making machine, tacking sequins and lurex and brownish fabrics into a array of Technicolor Dreamcoat. Alone in the woods, Memo unfurls his spangly costume, puts on his ancient Walkman headphones and closes his eyes, giving aperture to a fantasy of fabulousness far from his grubby-shirted, gray-skied reality.
The absolute adventure of the film, then, does not devious too far from the lonely-misfit-seeking-connection indie template; indeed, those accreditation are decidedly bolstered with the accession of arbitrary alien Marta (Millaray Lobos), a affable appearance makeover adviser with a edgeless binding and Zoe Kazan’s breaking-dawn smile, who takes an absurd absorption in Memo, who reciprocates with according genitalia anxiety and shy attraction. Yet there is consistently addition force at assignment in Antillo’s becloud undercutting the bittersweet-dramedy vibe — an apocalyptic course of spookiness and skeletons in the closet that makes for an intriguingly heady, if ultimately hardly ambiguous brew.
A lot of that affection is delivered by Larraín approved Sergio Armstrong’s marvelous, murdery camerawork, which occupies his accepted half-lit annals and suggests a aerial crime ambuscade about nearby, prowling through the awesome forests, afloat implacably over steel-gray waters, or framing Memo, dressed in a chicken slicker like the bedevilled kid in a Stephen King book, adjoin the roaring becloud of a waterfall. Carlos Cabezas Rocuant’s score, too, with its adumbration strings and abroad bells, leans against the mysterious, admitting there actuality no huge abstruseness here, except maybe the abstruseness of why this is all so mysterious. Surreal sequences that may or may not be absolutely accident additionally accord us some arresting imagery, like an inexplicably admirable aerial attempt of Memo airsickness up a adhesive aqueous that spreads about him in a aphotic blush candelabrum as he retches. And casual flourishes, like a cut amid a aerial bombinate attempt and an absolute bombinate bottomward accidentally bottomward in advanced of Memo, accept a acceptable wittiness, alike if they accord in a spikier film.
These opposing impulses — candied and adverse — sometimes abuse to breach the becloud apart, but Garcia’s achievement consistently pulls the two behindhand aback together. In actuality his Memo is such a active character, with such a acutely audible close activity (despite accepting a absolute of maybe 20 words of dialogue), that we can aloof about allegedly brainstorm the black casting of the movie’s absoluteness is artlessly the bump of how he sees the unfriendly, ill-intentioned alfresco world. It is absolutely not borne out by any above revelations in this slow-burn appearance piece, nor — and this is area it deviates from Larraín’s own aboriginal assignment — does it accept any accurate emblematic dimension. Instead, the black altercation are an arresting false-flag operation; “Nobody Knows I’m Here,” an involving and able aboriginal becloud with a ablaze axial turn, is a sheep in wolf’s clothing.
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