Screening Cuba: Film Criticism as Political Performance during the Cold War

245 Pages·2010·2.372 MB·English

by  Hector Amaya

Screening Cuba
Screening
Cuba
Film Criticism as
Political Performance
during the Cold War
Hector Amaya
University of Illinois Press
Urbana, Chicago, and Springfield
© 2010 by the Board of Trustees
of the University of Illinois
All rights reserved
Manufactured in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 C P 5 4 3 2 1
∞ This book is printed on acid-free paper.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Amaya, Hector.
Screening Cuba : film criticism as political
performance during the Cold War / by Hector Amaya.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-0-252-03559-3 (cloth : alk. paper) —
ISBN 978-0-252-07748-7 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Motion pictures, Cuban—United States.
2. Motion pictures—Cuba—History—20th century.

3. Motion pictures—Political aspects—Cuba.
4. Film criticism—United States—History—20th century.

5. Film criticism—Cuba—History—20th century.
I. Title.

PN1993.5.C8A63 2010
791.43097291'09045—dc22 2010001599
Contents
Preface vii
Introduction xi
PART I STAgIng FIlm CRITICISm
1. Cuban Culture, Institutions, Policies,
and Citizens 3
2. The Cuban Revolutionary Hermeneutics:
Criticism and Citizenship 31
3. The U.S. Field of Culture 61
4. U.S. Criticism, Dissent, and Hermeneutics 76
PART II PeRFoRmIng FIlm CRITICISm
5. Memories of Underdevelopment 107
6. Lucia 125
7. One Way or Another 144
8. Portrait of Teresa 158
Conclusion 179
Notes 197
Bibliography 201

Index 215
Preface
Throughout my life I have claimed several political identities. The first one was
leftism or socialism or communism. At the time, I was not quite clear on the
difference. Growing up in Mexico, I needed to break with my traditional up-
bringing and developed a taste for Canto Nuevo, a brand of political song that
postrevolutionary Cuban musicians made famous in Latin America. I expressed
my claim on leftist identity by learning to sing and play on my guitar music
from Cuba. Later came film. Under the influence of lyrics by Silvio Rodríguez
and movies by André Kieslowski and Tomás Gutierrez Alea, I became acquainted
with a form of expression that helped me interpret the world around me, and
I did just that. With strongly felt and well-rehearsed contempt, I criticized a
society of oppression and injustice and applied the verses from the songs and
dialogues from the films to interpret Mexico and the world.
Since that time, I have been interested in the cultural practices that people
feel compelled to embrace to become proper political beings, in particular film
viewing. Because most people go through their lives with a learned sense of
what they have to do in order to be and seem political, I believe the practice
of film viewing is often a type of public performance of political self-defi-
nition. Take for instance Andrew Kopkind, who, on March 30, 1985, wrote
for The Nation the following commentary about the Cuban film Memories of
Underdevelopment (1968): “The persistence of Memories in the consciousness
of a political generation is like the permanence of a sacred text in the cul-
ture of a sect. . . . The crowds that saw the movie that weekend at the Film
Forum went to take part in a ritual that told them who they were or what

they had been, which is not only a wonderful way to spend an hour in the
dark but almost redeems the whole painful, extravagant and self-indulgent
process of movie making” (377). Viewing this “sacred text” was a “ritual”
that “the crowds” used to enact their identities and “sect” membership. Kop-
kind’s interpretation of the film also identifies him as belonging to the “sect”
not only for the caring way in which he wrote, but also because of the place
where he published it, The Nation. Like in this example, the practice of film
viewing, which is at the center of this project, relies on publicity and thus
on community and institutions.
These are the things this book is about. But a book is more than a piece
of writing. It is also a community artifact that signals the architecture of
relationships, institutions, and, in my case, geographies. And so, while in
the following pages this architecture is hidden in a performance of academic
professionalism, here I present it to you as transparently as possible.
That I compare two cultural practices in two different nations comes natu-
rally to me as an immigrant; the geographies of Mexico (my place of birth),
Canada (my first immigrant home), and the USA (my present and my future)
provide perhaps my deepest subjective voice, perhaps not mentioned enough
in the book. These geographies are the standpoint from which I write, a
transnational vantage point from which culture is rarely static and semiosis
is fleeting. So, though I do not strongly signal this book’s transnational roots,
the reader should be warned. The book is about movement and transnational
connections. I marvel at the power of culture to provide, however limited, a
platform for mutuality. To love the same thing may not make us the same,
but it brings us together. The Cuban films I write about are the objects of af-
fection that connect, in disjointed timelines, the Cuban and American critics,
all of this in the middle of the cold war.
If my life has been that of an immigrant, so is my academic formation and
professionalization. From Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana, in that uni-
verse of a city we call “el de-efe,” to the University of Calgary, to the University
of Texas at Austin, things, ideas, professors, peers pile up. I am thankful to
all and to the institutional support of my first professional home, Southwest-
ern University, a remarkable place of learning and research in Texas. Last, I
need to thank the University of Virginia and the Media Studies Department
for assisting me in this project’s last stages.
This book would not have been possible without the advice and support
of many people. My gratitude goes to Janet Staiger, who walked with me

every step of the way, acting as an invaluable guide in all matters. Thanks
also to John Downing for his expert advice and political commitment. I also

viii PREFACE
need to thank Kathleen Higgins, Mary Kearney, Michael Kackman, and Sonia
Labrador-Rodriguez. The list of wonderful editors and expert commentators is
long, but also necessary. I thank Chris Lucas, Avi Santo, Kyle Barnett, Dustin
Harp, Mark Tremayne, Mary Grace Neville, Jay Baglia, Teena Gabrielson, Erika
Berroth, and Katy Ross for lending me their editing skills, reading chapters
of my work in an admirably expedient and professional fashion.
Two people read every page of this book, and my very special gratitude
goes to them. Jennifer Petersen, my friend, colleague, and my wife, read
every word and made the writing process not only humane but also joyful.
Jennifer’s theoretical expertise brought coherence to many of my ideas and
propositions and she helped me polish the writing throughout. Denise Blum, a
friend and mentor, read, edited, and expertly commented on the entire work.
Her love for Cuba and for Cubans and her knowledge of the island exemplify
reflexive scholarship, teaching the balance between knowledge production
and ethics.
Finally, I wish to thank my parents, Mita and Hector, who are the real ori-
gin of the book and to whom this work is dedicated. They are the structure
in my thought, my moral fiber, and my perseverance; whatever wisdom I may
possess I have only borrowed from them. My siblings, Angelica, Macky, and
Cesar, and their partners Eleazar, Ritchie (we miss you), and Mayra, also de-
serve my thanks for so patiently supporting my endeavors.

ix
Introduction
The venue for the first Festival of Cuban Film in the United States was the
Olympia Theatre in New York City where, from March 24 to April 2, 1972, seven
feature films and fifteen documentaries, all of which had received interna-
tional prizes and acclaim, would be exhibited for the first time in the United
States. The event was noteworthy not only because it marked the debut of
Cuban film in U.S. theaters, but also because it signaled a potential shift in
the strained cultural exchanges between Cuba and the United States. Accord-
ing to the film critic of the New York Times, “the Festival promised to be ‘the
most important film retrospective of the year’ “ (Myerson 1973, 27).1 Instead,
it became the stage for deeply anti-Cuban sentiments by social, political, and
governmental forces. The Cuban filmmakers were denied visas; the Olympia
Theatre was stoned and threatened with bombs; and during the exhibit of
the first and only film that was eventually shown (Lucía 1968, d. Humberto
Solás), anti-Castro agents released white mice, interrupting the event and
marking it with a sense of mockery. The next day, newspapers mentioned
the disturbances caused by the mice but failed to mention that ambassadors
from twenty-two nations attended the festival.
Although a number of the films later gained distribution in the United
States, these events demonstrate how national animosities affected cultural
exchange between the two nations. Yet, the events also show how citizens
(involved in cultural activities) in both nations attempted, and often suc-
ceeded, at establishing cultural links, even if this required defying their own
governments. I refer to citizenship in its social manifestations, as a compos-

ite of public behaviors that are socially interpreted as civic and political. On
the American side, leftist individuals, intellectuals, and critics challenged
the American government, embracing a counter-hegemonic style of citizen-
ship. On the Cuban side, directors and officials tried to travel to New York to
show postrevolutionary Cuban culture; in doing so, they were embracing a
socialist-revolutionary style of citizenship that supported the Cuban govern-
ment. These two styles of citizenship in cultural workers (directors, writers,
film festival organizers, and critics) are a central theme in this book. Both
are leftist, both are active, both are professional, and both embody a civics
in which culture plays a central role.
This book examines and compares the critical reception of four Cuban films
in Cuba and the United States. I propose that certain film criticism is civic pub-
lic behavior and a way of performing citizenship when criticism is prompted
by what is recognized as a “political film.” In the following chapters, I show
two ways of doing criticism that fitted two institutional structures and two
discursive practices that fitted the different political and critical traditions
of the United States and Cuba. The films are: Memories of Underdevelopment
(1968), directed by Tomás Gutiérrez Alea; Lucia (1968), directed by Hum-
berto Solás (both Memories and Lucia were released in the United States in
the early 1970s); One Way or Another (1974), directed by Sara Gómez; and
Portrait of Teresa (1979), directed by Pastor Vega. The period covered in my
investigation roughly spans 1968 to 1985. These years in Cuba coincide with
the first two decades of the revolution and the maturation of revolutionary
cultural (film and criticism) practices. In the United States, this period is
shaped by the political and cultural struggles of the 1960s and the politici-
zation of foreign film consumption. For the Cuban cases, I concentrate on
people (from here on, cultural workers) working for official cultural institu-
tions (for example, ICAIC), magazines (for example, Bohemia), journals (for
example, Cine Cubano), and newspapers (for example, Granma). For the United
States, the cultural workers I analyze were also part of cultural institutions
(for example, American Documentary Films [ADF]), magazines (for example,
The Nation), journals (for example, Cineaste), and newspapers (for example,
the New York Times), where political writing is not only permitted but also
encouraged. These institutional venues are either centrist or leftist, which
allows me to compare them with the leftist Cuban sites.
Although legal aspects of citizenship are important, in this book I make
no attempt at theorizing Cuban and American legal aspects of citizenship. I

remain at the level of the social and the cultural. At this level, citizenship is
contingent, historically specific, and pluralistic. Different public behaviors

xii INTRODUCTION