(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
An elderly married couple, Alba Rosa Díaz and Juan Armando Soria, according to the scrolling text, live in gingerland in Argentina; more specifically in the province of Tucumán in the northern part of the country. Their days are filled with slow routines with unchanging daily chores and memories of a bygone era. As viewers, we are introduced to a world quite distant from what most of us know: a modest domestic, never-so-cluttered, landscape in a precipitous landscape. Shrubs, cacti, high altitude in the background. A night sky so full of stars that you would hardly believe it to be real. The goats they hold seem to be their only company, and the sounds of the playful animals break the silence and immobility. Breaking has become an unstoppable daytime noise that accompanies the couple's quiet life, and Albas in particular.
Gaucho life. In an observant and heartfelt style, director Nicolás Torchinsky portrays these people and their surroundings with an extreme patience as he roams the house and inside it. He establishes the protagonists' personalities through images rather than dialogue. Objects from the past and horse-related things (a gaucho is an Argentine cowboy) announce Juan's character, while domestic chores and objects define Albas.
In this extremely quiet world, all of life is about animals.
The Centaur's Nostalgia is a fine portrayal and an implicit celebration of a life and lifestyle that is nearing its end. The age has made Juan more of a spectator than a participant: He looks at his younger gaucho colleagues as they work – when they are earning goats or celebrating some occasion among horses and with barbecue. Juan's stories are accompanied by a kind of Argentine gauchoblues and poems. This extremely quiet world, where life revolves around animals, is about to disappear – here in Argentina as elsewhere on the planet. Up until this point, the film cautiously makes you ponder over the lives of Juan and Alba, as well as your own, and not least of the differences between them.
But after 40 minutes, the film language – along with the narrative – changes quite drastically. In an interview, Alba, and then Juan, talk about their lives. It becomes clear that these people can have more in common with us than we first think. It soon turns out that after so many years of marriage, the romance has faded (if it has ever been there). When they were younger, Alba says, Juan left her and the kids frequently and for long periods. She was left alone and had to fight for family survival.
The subordinate position of women is presented under the guise of male nostalgia.
Regardless of all the wear and tear of cows, sheep and now goats, it is the horses that are naturally the most important animals for the gaucho Juan. He talks about work and freedom, which lasted until he decided to get a wife. He gave Alba his last name, but she did not give him anything in return – except for the kids and his daily care, he eventually arrives. That is the banality of a long life together. In this sequence, the filmmaker is significantly more present; we hear him silently and repeat questions.
Macho Culture. From here, the subordinate position of women in gaucho culture becomes painfully visible and tangible. This happens not only through the stories Alba and Juan tell, but also in the subsequent scenes. Although Alba is portrayed and given the opportunity to tell her story, she is still linked to the house and her duties there, while Juan goes out to meet his peers. The film uncritically praises this dwindling lifestyle with its macho character, making it problematic.
Although the filmmaker's intention is to create a serious portrait of two people and their life (style) that is coming to an end, instead the ingrained, subordinate position of women is presented under the guise of male nostalgia. How bad is it, really, to wave goodbye to such a thing?
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