There’s a running sequence in the Chilean film “Lina from Lima,” where Lina, our protagonist, searches for eligible men on Tinder. The pickings are slim, but she will make do. She will meet the beau in her boss’ house, where she is house sitting. They will have energetic, if not necessarily always passionate sex on the new mattress with the plastic still on and then he will leave Lina to continue her life. It’s a simple life.
Although Lina is from Lima, we meet her in Chile, where she is working as a housekeeper for a wealthy family. As Christmas nears, she must juggle with her plans to return to Peru for the vacation and to navigate the needs of the house – the backyard renovations, the new furniture and that new pool. Rather than an intense plot breakdown, the brief “Lina from Lima” (the film is a swift 83 minutes that leave you wanting more) is a character study as we watch Lina meander through a few weeks in December. The film’s conceit, to heighten the specificity of its character study, is presenting Lina’s inner-thoughts as musical numbers, sung by her commenting on the issues she’s facing. And “Lina from Lima” is an unabashed and delightful musical.
By the time the final number comes, playing on the variation of Lina singing, the film has moved from comedic nods to something lacerating and overwhelming. You see, by this time in the film writer and director María Paz González has tricked us. We thought we were witnessing a charming, trifle of a film – a comedy about a mother’s few weeks at work but by the last stretch González is overwhelming us with the cultural criticism of migrant life and migrant labour. The unseen, unheard and unvalued workers that keep the capitalistic system running. This is a stunning fiction-debut for González, whose work here feels emotionally charged and relevant and recalls a 2018 TIFF World Premiere, Alfonso Cuaron’s Roma. Cuaron’s tale seems like a predecessor to the Linas of the world who migrate from home and family and safety in an effort to provide for those back home. Whereas Cuaron favoured expressionism, González’s contemporary tale is stark. The tone is playful even, and perhaps especially, when things are most full of despair.
The dance between playful and serious and between hard and angry and soft and compelling needs a searing performance at the centre and “Lina from Lima” benefits from the central performance. Everything that González needs is filtered through the marvellous performance from indigenous Peruvian actress Magaly Solier, who presents an astonishing figure as Lina. She is sexy and sultry, downtrodden and remote, dejected and exhausted, everything that the film demands and the camera rarely leaves her. Every breath of Lina’s life is marked by her decision to make a living as a migrant, and every breath of “Lina from Lima” keeps us within reach of her emotional fragility as she tries to make the best from the worst.
This is politically relevant stuff. But neither hectoring nor didactic. Migration is currently happening all around South America. But that’s an old story. People leave their homes to care for their family. But things are especially charged in 2019, when the the socio-cultural effects of migrant labour have come home to roost and class warfare continues to be an essential part of so many narratives at TIFF this year. Stories like Lina’s are particularly important in offering a glimpse into the Latin American life that is thoughtful and highlights nuances that are so rarely afforded to the global South.
Lina is just a woman. She has a child. She’s unlucky in love. She tries to bargain with vendors. She has boring sex. It’s all regular stuff and that’s the point. Lina is not a saint. What she is is a woman persisting as women must when faced with the banality of life. It’s a story that deserves to be seen.
