Review: El Conde — Crooked Marquee

In Neruda, Jackie, and Spencer, Pablo Larraín questions the personas of figures at the hearts of their respective national mythologies. The director shows sides of Pablo Neruda, Jackie Kennedy, and Princess Diana at odds with public perception, but these films are still in line with some semblance of reality. Yet with El Conde, he takes the approach a step farther, dipping into speculative fiction — and horror comedy — with this satire inspired by the life of Augusto Pinochet. In this Netflix film, the Chilean dictator isn’t a metaphorical parasite feeding off his citizens; instead, Pinochet manifests as a literal vampire, with his imagined undead existence making for a lively work of cinema.

Everyone knows Pinochet died in 2006. What this film presupposes is … maybe he didn’t? Larraín and co-writer Guillermo Calderón posit that Pinochet was born in 18th-century France, where he developed a hatred of all revolutions — and became a vampire. Pinochet (Jaime Vadell), aka the Count, eventually travels to South America, where he rises to power as a brutal dictator in 1970s Chile, responsible for ordering the deaths of thousands and committing a raft of financial crimes in addition to his humanitarian ones.

El Conde spends most of its time in the 21st century, with Pinochet sequestered in an isolated mansion after the rest of the world thinks he has died. Now, after living for two and a half centuries, he is finally ready for his life to end. His five children take a boat to his home, desperate for their inheritance. They have to find the money their father hid from the authorities (and forgot the location of himself). They hire a rather attractive accountant, Carmencita (Paula Luchsinger), who is actually a nun intent on eradicating the evil vampire who feasts on the blood of his people. Yet, the presence of the accountant/nun/vampire hunter revitalizes the Count, and he may have found a reason to live another day — and eat another heart — much to the annoyance of his wife, Lucia (Gloria Münchmeyer).

Shot by Ed Lachman in gorgeous black and white, El Conde bears a striking resemblance to F.W. Murnau’s Nosferatu and the films of Carl Theodor Dreyer. The script is at once overly simplistic and a little confusing, with character motivations that don’t entirely make sense, but its images will linger long after the screenplay’s issues fade from memory. In an arresting moment, we see a caped Pinochet flying over Santiago like a superhero (or, more appropriately, a supervillain). Meanwhile, with her beatific smile and short haircut, Luchsinger’s Carmencita bears an uncanny resemblance to The Passion of Joan of Arc’s saintly Renée Jeanne Falconetti, and the audience isn’t sure whether she’ll be Pinochet’s undoing or his rebirth. Netflix thankfully didn’t insist upon El Conde looking like every other featureless movie on the service; instead the chiaroscuro and Lachman’s fine eye set Larraín’s movie apart. Unfortunately, the only way most people will ever see this is on their TV, rather than on the big screen its beauty deserves.

Even beyond its dynamic visuals and wild twists, El Conde never feels staid. Larraín imbues the film with a wry comedy, from the matter-of-fact British voiceover narration to a caustic wit in the dialogue. It’s like the unholy union of German expressionism and The Death of Stalin. This is an extraordinarily funny effort from a director who isn’t really known for his sense of humor, full of unexpected juxtapositions from its early moments, where its title is declared in a millennial pink Gothic typeface over the black-and-white cinematography. Juan Pablo Ávalo and Marisol García’s classical, string-heavy score feels more appropriate for a standard historical biopic, but it plays over grisly violence and hearts pureed in blenders with alcohol.

El Conde is wedded neither to historical fact nor vampire lore, but Larraín doesn’t intend for it to be taken literally on either account. Instead, it satirizes dictatorships and how Pinochet (and others like him) never truly received what they deserved for their crimes against their nations and others, and so those in power continue to feed off the blood and money of their citizens. El Conde is not always successful in its aims, but due to its inventive approach and stunning cinematography, it’s never boring—and always beautiful.