Larraín Blends Horror and History in His Film About Chile’s Dictator
In Pablo Larraín’s latest film, “El Conde,” a darkly comic and surreal tale, the former dictator Augusto Pinochet is reimagined as a centuries-old vampire in search of human blood. The film’s central sight gag features Pinochet, played with imperious cruelty by Jaime Vadell, soaring through the night sky, military cape billowing, on a quest for fresh victims. Larraín, known for films like “Jackie” and “Spencer,” invites the audience to play along with this audacious reimagining of the dictator.
According to Larraín, this version of Pinochet was once a rebel-eating French royalist who ventured to South America in pursuit of fresh meat. It’s a comic premise with a dark twist, as Larraín doesn’t shy away from the fact that history’s Pinochet oversaw the execution or disappearance of thousands of Chileans. In this film, he adds a macabre element by blending his victims into a gruesome smoothie.
Larraín, born in Santiago just three years after Pinochet’s rise to power in 1973, has been honing his skills for this audacious confrontation. His previous films, including the acclaimed “Tony Manero,” “Post Mortem,” and the Oscar-nominated “No,” used Pinochet as a looming presence in satirical period pieces. He then ventured beyond Chile to dissect the lives of political celebrities like Jacqueline Kennedy and Princess Diana. Now, he returns to his homeland, driven by a belief that Chile remains divided and haunted not only by Pinochet’s crimes but also by his impunity.
The film unfolds in the present, with Pinochet in hiding in Patagonia, a stark and windswept setting that complements the eerie atmosphere created by cinematographer Ed Lachman. Larraín employs flashbacks to illustrate Pinochet’s vampiric origins, from licking Marie Antoinette’s blood to faking a heart attack on his wife’s birthday. As the vampire grapples with thirst, he is lavished with adoration by his fascist butler and a British narrator, who attempts to portray Pinochet as a national hero.
Larraín and his co-writer Guillermo Calderón inject a Hammer horror aesthetic into scenes that blend fact and fiction. For instance, when caught with a corpse in an 18th-century brothel, the young vampire uses a defense reminiscent of the real Pinochet’s evasive tactics when questioned about heading Chile’s secret police. While these moments elicit laughter, they also serve as a reminder that some prefer to confront Pinochet’s atrocities through campy storytelling rather than somber documentary realism.
The film truly ignites when Pinochet’s five adult children arrive at his estate, eager to claim their share of his fortune. They are frustrated that he refuses to die and equally exasperated by the maze of hidden accounts he used to squirrel away his wealth. To navigate this financial labyrinth, they enlist the help of an inquisitive nun named Carmen, who sees the family as bloodsucking parasites.
“El Conde” blends horror, humor, and history in its audacious portrayal of a dictator as a vampire, offering a unique perspective on Chile’s troubled past and present.
Larraín Blends Horror and History in His Film About Chile’s Dictator
Pablo Larraín’s latest film, “El Conde,” offers a darkly comic and surreal take on the former dictator Augusto Pinochet, reimagining him as a centuries-old vampire on a quest for human blood. In the film’s central sight gag, Pinochet, portrayed with imperious cruelty by Jaime Vadell, soars through the night sky, his military cape billowing, as he seeks out fresh victims. Larraín, known for films such as “Jackie” and “Spencer,” invites the audience to play along with this audacious reimagining of the dictator.
This version of Pinochet, according to Larraín, was once a rebel-eating French royalist who journeyed to South America in pursuit of fresh meat. It’s a comic premise with a dark twist, as Larraín doesn’t shy away from the fact that history’s Pinochet oversaw the execution or disappearance of thousands of Chileans. In this film, he adds a macabre element by blending his victims into a gruesome smoothie.
Larraín, born in Santiago just three years after Pinochet’s rise to power in 1973, has been honing his skills for this audacious confrontation. His previous films, including the acclaimed “Tony Manero,” “Post Mortem,” and the Oscar-nominated “No,” used Pinochet as a looming presence in satirical period pieces. He then ventured beyond Chile to dissect the lives of political celebrities like Jacqueline Kennedy and Princess Diana. Now, he returns to his homeland, driven by a belief that Chile remains divided and haunted not only by Pinochet’s crimes but also by his impunity.
The film unfolds in the present, with Pinochet in hiding in Patagonia, a stark and windswept setting that complements the eerie atmosphere created by cinematographer Ed Lachman. Larraín employs flashbacks to illustrate Pinochet’s vampiric origins, from licking Marie Antoinette’s blood to faking a heart attack on his wife’s birthday. As the vampire grapples with thirst, he is lavished with adoration by his fascist butler and a British narrator, who attempts to portray Pinochet as a national hero.
Larraín and his co-writer Guillermo Calderón inject a Hammer horror aesthetic into scenes that blend fact and fiction. For instance, when caught with a corpse in an 18th-century brothel, the young vampire uses a defense reminiscent of the real Pinochet’s evasive tactics when questioned about heading Chile’s secret police. While these moments elicit laughter, they also serve as a reminder that some prefer to confront Pinochet’s atrocities through campy storytelling rather than somber documentary realism.
The film truly ignites when Pinochet’s five adult children arrive at his estate, eager to claim their share of his fortune. They are frustrated that he refuses to die and equally exasperated by the maze of hidden accounts he used to squirrel away his wealth. To navigate this financial labyrinth, they enlist the help of an inquisitive nun named Carmen, who sees the family as bloodsucking parasites.
El Conde
Rated R for ghastly spurts of black-and-white blood. In Spanish, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 50 minutes. Watch on Netflix.
