A Book Review by Dávid Szőke.
Both a compelling analysis of how political influences shaped the notion of the ‘movie star’ and an impressive biography of a cultural icon….”
Argentine’s cinematic evolution is inextricably linked to the 20th-century tumultuous political landscape in the country. This process has been marked by the reconfigurations of the star system amidst numerous sociopolitical changes, starting with the Golden Age between 1933 and 1957, its politicization under Juan Perón’s leadership, the 1960s new waves, its subsequent transition from film to television, and its gradual renaissance during the post-dictatorship era. Today, while Brazil is recognized as the cultural hub of telenovela production, a similar marketing strategy prevails in other Latin American countries, including Argentina. Telenovelas in these regions are often produced with limited budgets and efficient production methods, with their success heavily reliant on the charisma of their leading actors. Telenovela actors like Andrea Del Boca, Gabriel Corrado, Facundo Arana, or Natalia Oreiro are mostly associated with the charm they bring into a specific role or genre. Although production companies give them much public visibility globally, with their success generating merchandise such as books or music albums (as in the case of Del Boca and Oreiro), their frequently heightened melodramatic approaches prove to be challenging for casting directors to consider them for more serious roles in feature films.
Clara Garavelli’s Ricardo Darín and the Construction of Latin American Film Stardom (Edinburgh University Press) is both a compelling analysis of how political influences shaped the notion of the “movie star” and an impressive biography of a cultural icon who transcended traditional stereotypes associated with Latin American celebrities, thereby consolidating Argentinean screen acting’s place in the international platform. Starting his career as a telenovela heartthrob, Garavelli’s book explores how Ricardo Darín has risen to be the sole face of the contemporary Argentinean cinema, with universally applauded performances in films like Nine Queens, Son of the Bride, El Aura, The Secret in Their Eyes (see top image), XXY, and Wild Tales. From the book, it might be obvious that Darín’s commanding screen presence is as much an enigma as the identity of “Dick Watson,” whose name is both a puzzle and a running gag in Son of the Bride. As Garavelli explains, Darín’s boost signaled a new era in Argentine cinema after the government repression and state terrorism during the 1970s and 1980s.
In the book’s first part, Garavelli draws up the evolution of the star system in Argentina, from the advent of the film to the immediate post-dictatorship period. In so doing, Garavelli aims to critically situate Darín’s iconic status in the context of a wider cultural-historical process. This context includes the influence of the Hollywood studio system, the tumultuous political climate of the 1930s and Perón’s government, the emergence of television starting in the mid-1950s, the impact of two distinct waves of Argentinean cinema, and the crisis of the Argentinean cinema during Carlos Menem’s tenure in the 1980s, which paradoxically paved the way for new filmic trends. Thus, Garavelli offers a captivating perspective on how the concept of the star, initially viewed as a political identity serving national interests during Perón’s era, underwent significant changes during the 1960s with the dominance of post-Perónist norms of masculinity and femininity. The glamour and erotic allure that icons like Libertad Lamarque stood for in the 1930s and 1940s became virtually non-existent with the emergence of new wave directors who operated outside the traditional industry framework and emphasized unconventional qualities like quirkiness and intimacy in their works, diverging from established norms. Moreover, emerging habits in TV viewership facilitated a shift in the star system toward telenovela celebrities. Following the collapse of the post-junta film industry, the New Argentine Cinema of the 1990s introduced unprecedented realism to the screen, addressing issues like homelessness and crime, alongside a reassessment of Argentina’s political history. This era demanded the presence of “professional non-actors” who provided authenticity that redirected attention away from traditional film stars. As Garavelli argues, these shifts are essential to consider, if we want to understand how Darín reinvented himself as another no-name figure on the cinema screen in the early 2000s – a telenovela actor, whose leading roles in films introduced a different perspective on his versatility that completely that departed from public expectations.
These shifts are essential to consider, if we want to understand how Darín reinvented himself as another no-name figure on the cinema screen in the early 2000s – a telenovela actor, whose leading roles in films introduced a different perspective on his versatility.”
Part two discusses Darín’s career, from his start as a child performer, evolving through his emergence as a telenovela sweetheart, culminating in his cinematic breakthrough. Like Andrea Del Boca, whose international fame predominantly stemmed from her collaborations with her father, director Nicolás Del Boca, in telenovelas like Celeste or Perla Negra, Ricardo Darín came from a family of showbiz entertainers whose influence greatly shaped his first steps into the industry. Here, Garavelli considers TV shows like La pandilla del tranvía, La mesa redonda de los niños prodigio or Las grandes novellas, alongside Darín’s debut in the film He nacido en la Ribera, offering a close analysis of the political repression during the 1960s and 1970s and the rise of a new wave of filmmakers. Here, Garavelli addresses the enduring debate on the cultural value and esteem of telenovelas and telenovela writers, who even today enjoy as much prominence as they did during the first years of the dictatorship. The lasting impact of these productions on international audiences is perhaps nowhere more palpable than in the case of Estrellíta mía, the melodrama starring Andrea Del Boca and Darín in a typical “Prince Charming” role, which garnered considerable popularity in Italy in 1992 and found renewed popularity in 2019 via cable TV reruns. Darín’s quest to dissociate himself from the heartthrob image his TV celebrity status rendered him to and his desire to find new, challenging ways to broaden his acting repertoire are discussed through his stage appearances. As Garavelli claims, Darín’s early cinematic performances further underscored his desire to veer away from his familiar romantic leads in favor of thematically inspiring films, with increasingly political hints. The turning point in Darín’s career unquestionably arrived with the release of Nine Queens, a heist film that not only heralded the Argentine New Cinema movement but also solidified Darín’s reputation as a serious actor. The book convincingly explains how Darín’s international reputation from the early 2000s, with films like Black Snow, Everybody Knows, and particularly his critically acclaimed performance in The Secret in Their Eyes, granted agency for him to move beyond the stereotypes of youthful masculinity and maintain his iconicity as an aging star despite contemporary mainstream cinema and social media’s fixation on youth and beauty.
Part three delves into Darín’s global acclaim as a Hispanic star. It posits that Darín’s rise to stardom in Spain can be credited to the blockbuster success of Son of the Bride, a film that significantly altered the cinematic relationship between the two countries. Despite this, Garavelli argues that Darín’s enduring presence in Spanish films, with his heavy accent and strange body gestures, tends to pigeonhole him as a commonplace stereotype of the ‘Argentinian man,’ even within a broader Hispanic community — a label that Darín has consistently sought to break free from. Yet, Darín’s position in a shared star cult in Spain and Argentina reveals much of the shifting socio-political and cultural landscape shaped by ongoing Argentine emigration and a shared history of social, political, cultural, and economic ties. Ironically, Darín’s reluctance to accept “Hispanic” parts in Hollywood films reveals much about America’s cultural fixation on “Latinness,” with its cultural practices, social class, language, accent, and other markers. Thus, Garavelli observes, whether “Hispanic” stars in Hollywood films like Penelope Cruz, Javier Bardem, or Darín could maintain their cultural and historical identities within and beyond the confines of Hollywood mainstream. Finally, the book engages in the media attention on Darín’s public image, personal life, and legacy, prompting questions about how these aspects contribute to our understanding of contemporary Latin American cinema and its contemporary Latin American cinema and its stars.
The strength of Garavelli’s book lies in its impeccable capacity to shed light on those cultural and historical circumstances that propelled Darín to iconic status in Argentina. In so doing, it paints a vivid portrait of an enigmatic star, delving into his acclaimed and lesser-known films, and ultimately paying tribute to Argentina’s rich cinematic heritage.
Dávid Szőke is a senior lecturer at the University of Nyíregyháza, Hungary and holds a Ph.D. from the University of Szeged. His area of research revolves around the cultural and literary representations of ethnic, racial, and gender minorities. He previously held a postdoctoral fellowship at the Heidelberg University in Germany.