Temblores (2019)

Directed by: Jayro Bustamante | 107 minutes | drama | Actors: Juan Pablo Olyslager, Mauricio Armas Zebadúa, Diane Bathen, María Telón, Sabrina De La Hoz, Rui Frati, Magnolia Morales, Sergio Luna, Pablo Arenales, Mara Martinez, Pedro Javier Silva Lira

In ‘Temblores’, a gay man in Guatemala is forced by his wealthy family to undergo conversion therapy if he doesn’t want to lose his home and children.

At first sight, the setting of Jayro Bustamante’s second film couldn’t be more different from his debut film ‘Ixcanul’ (2015). Instead of volcanic mountain landscapes we are in the big city, instead of simple country houses we sit in cupboards of houses, instead of a teenage girl as the protagonist, ‘Temblores’ is about Pablo in his forties. And yet the similarities appear to be greater than the differences. Here, too, the ground is rumbling, not from volcanic ash but from repetitive earthquakes. Here too, the main character has to cope with oppressive family circumstances, and here too Bustamante breaks a lance for an oppressed population group in his country with an impressive story.

Pablo (Juan Pablo Olyslager), in his forties from a wealthy middle-class family in Guatemala, lives with his wife Isa and their two small children in a huge house, including antique furniture, servants (including the wonderful María Telón, who we know from ‘ Ixcanul’, as Rosa) and high-security driveway. In this conservative Christian elite milieu, there is no room for doubt, as the first scenes of the film show, not for sincere feelings, for humor, deviant behavior, and not for a messy appearance. For what actually? For money, status, the opinion of others, for smart suits, pearl earrings, meddling parents and chilly rooms with heavy wooden doors. Behind which the family problems are discussed in a hushed and menacing tone, as if anyone would hear it. Que diran? (what will they say?) is a common saying here.

And precisely in the midst of all this conservatism, Pablo discovers that – despite his marriage – he is attracted to men. At least on one in particular: the cheerful, attractive Francisco, a free-spirited young gay man. Ever since Pablo met him, he can’t ignore it. He is in love and full of life he discovers the progressive LGBTI scene in Guatemala City. But the story doesn’t get very happy after that. The events have also come to the attention of Pablo’s family (how is not clear), who are literally in a grave mood afterwards. His wife and parents treat him as if he had killed someone, and the well-known elite mechanism ‘we’ll fix this within the family’ kicks in immediately. The deal is clear: if Pablo wants to continue seeing his children, he must cooperate with ‘conversion therapy’ from the evangelical church that the family attends.

The therapy to which Pablo is subjected is not only humiliating and utterly repulsive (and very well portrayed), but also expensive. And that’s not the only thing the church earns a lot from: during the services, volunteers walk past the churchgoers with an ATM to collect their contribution. ‘Deals with God’, Bustamante has called these contributions. The evangelical churches – immensely popular in Guatemala – are not afraid to put their business interests first. The faithful appreciate the strictness and the puritan character of the Pentecostal churches, also because the churches offer many services that the government omits. It is almost impossible for a viewer to imagine that Pablo let this happen – even if you can sense the sadistic blackmail (the exchange for contact with his children). There’s more to it, of course: a lifelong indoctrination, the shame and guilt he feels even after coming out. That sometimes makes it difficult for the viewer to empathize with Pablo; a brave choice by Bustamante.

The choice for the upper class was a conscious one: Bustamante wanted to show that something – in the eyes of some – so bizarre really does not happen (only) in poorer environments or among people who have no idea of ​​the outside world. This is the upper class, the powerful elite. That is almost as creepy as the pastor’s wife, who, in a suit and with her hair tied up tightly, takes care of Pablo’s ‘healing’ and thus seems to embody evil itself.