Sunday

mcguzrne

inside:
page four-
perspectives
page five-books

Number 4

Editor: Stephen Hersh

Associate Editors: Ann Marie Lipinski, Elaine Fletcher

October 3, 1976

gueta: Cameras an dpolitics

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same films here. I don't think you
can make a Guatemalan film out-
side of Guatemala. The same way
that I don't think that a Spanish
film c o u 1 d be made outside of
Spain. With Arrabal, we tried to
make a film about the Spanish civil
war .. .
"Guernica"?
Yeah ... with a higher or lesser
degree of success. And it was done
in Italy because there was no way
that it could be done in Spain. And
although it approaches what it was
like, that film in Spain would have
been fantastic! We could have had
the Spaniards play themselves and
it would have made a total differ-
ence. I mean the Italians were
ureat but . . . Well there's this
scene in this small documentary
that was made about the making
of the film. And the interviewer
asks one of the men in the crowd
who are acting as extras, who are
nlayine the republicans, "What are
you doing?" And the guy says,
"Well. we are making a film."
And he says, "Oh yeah, what is
the film about?"
"Well, it's about the war."
"Oh yeah, what war?"
"You know, the war in Spain."
"Who won?"
"Well, I don't know, but the
fascists lost."
So he asks him who's in power
now and he says "Oh the com-
munists." And it showed that the
guy had no idea of what was going
on. Now I think that if it had been
in Spain it would have been totally
different. In the same way, I think
that a film about Guatemala has
to be made in Guatemala.
Do you think it is important to
bring a film like that to people in
Guatemala or to show it outside?
I think it is a mixture of both,
inside and o u t s i d e. Ironically
See THEY, Page 5

By JANE SIEGEL
VOR AN ARTIST with an endle,-
amount of creative energy, Luis
Argueta is remarkably low-keyed.
From the moment he answered the
door, his soft-spoken demeanor was
a surprise. A Latin American film
maker, Luis has produced several
of his own films, worked as assist-
ant director to the Spanish director
Fernando Arrabal, and is complet-
ing his third degree from the Uni-
versity.
Luis has l i v e d in the United
States on and off for the past eight
years. Originally from Guatemala,
he came to Ann Arbor in 1967 to
attend the University. A B.S. in En-
gineering, an M.A. in romance lan-
guages and now work on a PhD. in
comparative literature-these are
important to him. But Luis's thriv-
ing obsession is with film making.
"I was always interested in film,"
he admitted, "but I have practical-
ly fallen into it here."
Argueta speaks of returning to
Guatemala in o r d e r to produce
films about his own country and
past. He is, like others, concerned
about the state of political and
artistic repression which has be-
come widespread in Latin America.
He describes thehyear he came to
Ann Arbor as a difficult time to
live in Guatemala. With a slight
Spanish accent he explains that it
was really safer to get out of the
country if one had anything to
think or talk about.
As in Chile, Brazil, Argentina
and Bolivia, the Guatemalan gov-
ernment does not tolerate criti-
cism or political controversy. Ar-
gueta's voluntary exile separates
him from his home. Yet it has
given him the distance and free-
dom to evaluate it.
While living in Ann Arbor, he
completed one of his first films,
'El Riciclo" ("The T r icy cl1e").
Based on a play by Arrabal, it tells
the story of two vagabonds who
kill a man for enough money to
pay for a tricycle which they
bought on time. "They never get
caught for the murder," Argueta
relates. "But later (they) get ac-
cused of the killing of somebody
else who actually committed sui-
cide."
The film which he is currently
working on deals with the ever-
present Bicentenniial. Although it
is essenti ally more political than

tended to go to the Statue of Lib-
erty but they never make it. It is
a small film, portraying a human
event in the middle of this huge
i n h u m a n event which was the
Fourth of July."
As a film maker and a Latin
American, Luis Argueta is torn be-
tween his desire to produce his
work in Guatemala, and the lack
of the freedom there which would
enable him to do so. His is the per-
sonal reflection of an artist frus-
trated by the political represion of
his own medium in his country.
Would you consider yourself a
Latin American film maker or an
American film maker?
I've never done any formal train-
ing in Latin America. My training
has all been in the United States.
But my obsession is to make films
about Guatemalan events.
Have you been back to Guate-
mala since you came to the U.S.?
I have been. I tried to do a docu-
mentary in Guatemala in 1971 and
it was very, very hard.
In what way?
Well, nobody wanted to go out
on the streets with a camera that
could be confused with a gun. It
was indicated they would be shot
immediately. So we just went out
on the countryside and did sort of
a travelogue. It didn't ever come
to anything. There was never
enough money to finish it.
Do you have friends in Guate-
mala that are film makers or art-
ists?
Yeah . . and they have been
harassed. They have been trying
to make a film for a long time with
rushes they took of certain labor
struggles in 1974 and '75. And
they've had a lot of trouble. Now
somebody like me who is pretty
much not effective, I don't think
has anything to worry about.
What do you mean by not ef-
fective?
I should say not threatening. If
I were to go and stay there and
try to do something . . . I don't
know how dangerous it would be.
In Chile, the film makers are all
dead or in exile. I worked with
some people in France who have
helped one of the Chilean film
makers to get a French visa, and
he was one of the two that escaped.

they did films on the torture in
Brazil, but now everybody had to
leave Chile and they were caught
and were killed.
Do you think that a way to pro-
tect Latin American film makers
is for them to become known in-
ternationally?

Daily Photos by PAULINE LUBENS
I think so . . . I think that peo-
ple should be made aware that
film makers get shot in other parts
of the world.
Do you think it is possible to
produce films in this country about
the situation in Latin America?
I don't think you can make the

By ROBBIE GORDON minutes to dige
THE TIME was five minutes to "When I hav
eight - five minutes before a while I get
Chick Corea was supposed to sit before going on
down behind the piano on the when I was just
s t a g e of Hill Auditorium. He ing shows," he
hadn't given a concert in three not bad any m
months, and it had been three get pretty jitter
years since he had shared a stage Stretched ou
with his musical partner for the over the armr
evening - xylophonist Gary Bur- oom chair, C
ton. like an overgr
Chick admitted he was a little accomplished a
nervous. But he wasn't worrying dark hair softly
a b o u t details like starting the lar of a powder
show on time. He wanted a few And he flaun
Robbie Gordon is an LSA senior and printed withde
a jazz guitarist. Alice in Wonde
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st his dinner.

p

en't performed in
the same feeling
that I used to get
starting out play-
said. "It's really
ore,'but I used to
ry.',
t, his leg draped
est of a dressing
urea looked more
own kid than an
artist. His tussled
y touched the col-
rblue smock shirt.
ted k n ee socks,
color pictures of
eland.

with
Corea dug his leather jacket
out from under him and extracted
a package of Tareytons from the
p o c k e t. "I remember the first
time I played with Miles Davis,"
he said, and he broke into a huge
grin. "It was in Baltimore, years
ago. I didn't think I was gonna
make it through the night on that
stage, but I did. In fact, I played
my ass off."
Still smiling, he paused to light
a cigarette. "When that concert
was over, Miles came over to me
at the piano, and I was worried as
h e 11 wondering w h a t he was
gonna say. He slapped me on the
back and yelled, 'Chick, you play
like a motherfucker!P
"I spent the next day wander-
ing through the streets of Balti-
more mumbling to myself, I'm
playing with Miles Davis."
A LOT OF water has gone under
the bridge for Corea since he
became a member of Miles Davis'
band. He's done long stints as a
solo performer, playing acoustic
jazz pianotin a style more intri-
cate than that of any of the gen-

era
his.
I
pia
he
wee
son
win
plic
imp
con
ph
fin(
for:
peo
on
fec
feel
peo
Thi
and
it,
gon
A
nar
pia
the

,orea cy
tions of jazz musicians before
t sounds a lot like classical
no, the kind of acoustic work
played at Hill Auditorium last
ek. But Corea doesn't just play
gs - his pieces are long and
iding and bristling with com-
,ated harmonies. And, m o s t
portantly, his music is in a
stant p r o c e s s of metamor-
osis.
At each stage I'm trying to j
d the right balance for my art
m and make it available to
ple. I want to create an effect
the world, a real positive ef-
t on people, and make them
I real good. One of my subpur-
;es with music is to rekindle ~
pie's own creative impulses
e cleaner art is in the world,
I the more people involved in
the saner the whole society is :
mla get."
Uthough Corea first made a
me for himself as an acoustic
nist, he's most revered now for
loud electric jazz-rock music
tSee WARMING, Page 5
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