Gone Fishin'

A Wild Stream (Nuria Ibáñez Castañeda, 2018)

Ashore (aka Terra Franca) (Leonor Teles, 2018) 

There's something about fishing that just seems to appeal to contemporary documentary filmmakers. Maybe it's the fact that, aside from a few minor technological improvements, it hasn't changed very much for hundreds of years, and so watching (mostly) men and (some) women engage in this particular form of labor seems like resistance in the face of the monolith of global capital. It's also a fairly physical act, one that offers the small-scale drama of handiwork and know-how set in motion against natural forces. So films as diverse as Leviathan, Episode of the Sea, Fish Tail, and the two under consideration here all manage to find something primal and basic in their chosen subject, without dipping into the dreaded "salvage paradigm" of older ethnography. These are portraits of people conducting business now, and their work connects them to the larger world rather than separating them from it.

Ibáñez, who will be fêted at this year's True/False Festival, brings a poetic sensibility to her film A Wild Stream, so much so that it can take a little while to see what exactly she wants us to glean from her two primary subjects. She is content to allow a story to gradually emerge from her observation of the two friends, Omar and Chilo, fishing buddies and sometimes housemates living on the shores of Baja California. There is a gentle oneupmanship between the two men. One catches an octopus, and the other brags about the time he caught an even bigger octopus. They swim together, and tease one another about washing each other's underwear.

As time wears on, and we see Omar and Chilo away from the water -- at the bar discussing Mexican music styles, or hanging out in Chilo's camper van -- we observe a real intimacy between the them. Omar is the more open, talkative of the couple, wanting to discuss the nature of their relationship. Chilo is more guarded, although he opens up to Omar when discussing the death of his young daughter. In general, though, Chilo is the one who avoids open sentimentality with jokes or a focus on his work. But Ibáñez does a fine job of capturing the emotional registers that language cannot reach. In a key scene, Omar introduces Chilo to a hive of bees, tenderly showing him how not to be afraid of them. This is one of several moments between the men that depicts them as more lovers than friends, but it is to Ibáñez's credit that she makes the distinction virtually moot. A Wild Stream discovers a beautiful relationship and admires it, without intrusion.

Leonor Teles' film, shot in and around a riverside neighborhood near Lisbon, is a sturdy enough work on its own, but pairing it along with A Wild Stream is highly instructive. Both films center on men who work the sea, but whereas Ibáñez's film tends to isolate its subjects, examining the world they create unto themselves, Terra Franca (called Ashore in English for festival showings) observes a solitary fisherman who negotiates between time in the boat alone and his place at the head of a boisterous family.

Albertino Lobo is a quiet man, older with a weathered look to him. Early in the film, we see him struggling to pull up the anchor on his fishing boat and, realizing something is wrong, inching the motor forward and pulling at the rope until he discovers that the line is wrapped around a log. He's a private producer, catching only what he can eat and sell at his wife's café. But then he's fined by the authorities for fishing without a license. We learn from context that the deck is stacked against individuals like Albertino, and the commercial interests have a monopoly on the licenses available. So he's effectively prohibited from working, kept ashore.

Teles shifts her focus on Albertino's relationship with his wife Dália, his daughters, and his grandbaby. At times Albertino is the grumpy patriarch, griping about his wife having spent over 500 Euros for a new vacuum. But as the film develops, we learn more about Albertino and his place in the family. He opens up before the camera, cracking jokes and freely exhibiting his love for his family. Ashore culminates in his daughter's wedding, a joyous affair that serves to contrast with the image, so dominant in the first half of the film, of the lone man in the boat. Here, Albertino is fully connected to others -- quite literally grounded.

Teles is the more formalist of the two filmmakers. She frequently frames shots with the main bridge over the river bisecting the frame, perpendicular to Albertino in the boat. In this way, Ashore is always emphasizing connection, things and people fitting together. By contrast, Ibáñez's camera has a more lyrical feel to it, tending to capture its two subjects at seemingly random moments -- Omar making coffee, or Chilo sharpening knives -- and attending to the small gestures and gradations of light. 

What unites both Ashore and A Wild Stream is a sense of digression. The filmmakers start out by attending to the practices of catching fish, and are soon beguiled by other matters. The Teles film funnels outward in its overall shape, while Ibáñez's is more lateral in its thinking. But both cast wide nets, and both bring in a bountiful haul. (I was casting about for a fishing pun, and now that I've hooked it, this gig is complete.)