La Suprema: a town forgotten

The Colombian film kicked off the 22nd Vancouver Latin American Film Festival

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A thin girl with brown skin and short hair stands with her fists raised in a defensive position.
ILLUSTRATION: Aliya Nourlan / The Peak

By: Yasmin Hassan, Staff Writer

As an SFU student, I’m always looking for exciting events to attend near campus. So, on September 5, I found myself at the Djavad Mowafaghian Cinema for the 7:00 p.m. screening of La Suprema at the kick off of the 22nd Vancouver Latin American Film Festival! The festival, which goes on for 11 days, aims to ignite “dialogue among cultures, and supports and celebrates the art of contemporary Latin American, Latin Canadian, and Indigenous filmmaking.” With films from Argentina and Costa Rica to Uruguay and many more, this festival has plenty to offer.

As I walked up to the entrance of the theater, the director of the film, Felipe Holguín Caro greeted guests and chatted with folks. I was awestruck — what an honour it is to see the art and the artist in one space! He’s an established writer and director from Colombia, with short fictional films, documentaries, and music videos to his name. La Suprema is a project Holguín has been crafting since 2010. Only in 2020 did he and his team receive the funding for the film when a new category dedicated to regional stories opened up in Colombia’s funding program. 

The show started off with staff welcoming everyone to the beginning of the festival and introducing some key figures attending in the audience, like government representatives from various Latin American countries. Right off the bat, I could already feel the love and anticipation buzzing in the theater. 

It’s 2001 in La Suprema, with no electricity in this rural Colombian town. It’s based on the town of San Basilio de Palenque, which seemed to be forgotten by the rest of Colombia until boxer Kid Pamela became a world champion. La Suprema plays off of this idea of a town fading into obscurity, and later gaining recognition from an individual’s success. 

The story follows Laureana, who aspires to be a boxer like her uncle (whom we never see). She finds out through the newspaper he’s set to box for the world championship in Venezuela. Once news spreads through town — which isn’t too hard when it’s so small — everyone becomes invigorated with the goal to watch their hometown boxer compete. There’s just one problem: just how do they plan on doing that? Because taking pricey bus rides for the entire village won’t work, Laureana thinks to watch the match on a television. While everyone doubts her idea, eventually the entire town puts in the effort to get electricity and a television to watch what seems to be the battle of all battles. 

The film deals with questioning poverty and classism, as well as expressing pride in one’s culture. Views from the town pan to the city of Cartagena, showing the stark divide in lifestyle and culture. It’s mentioned many times that characters who grew up in La Suprema and move to other locations become better off, never visiting again and leaving behind their home. While other characters may talk down to La Suprema due to its size and wealth, Laureana is never afraid to represent her hometown — even when she’s placed in jail. Holguín addresses all of these elements while weaving in the beauty of life in La Suprema, like the innocence of children playing, the tranquility of chores done by the river, closeness between residents, and the excitement of bus rides to the big city. This film does a wonderful job of merging so many storylines into one shared event. 

Despite the premise of the story being quite simple, its beauty, richness, and attention to detail is something that shines through in every scene. The cinematography is stunning, with shots that made me truly appreciate the vibrancy of the region’s environment, from natural groves to scenes at the house. And the music? Don’t even get me started! Stunning vocals from Pabla Flores were woven perfectly into each and every scene. During the final song, which is about the town, she sings a lyric that particularly stuck out to me: “En mi casa de bareque, la paz siempre prevalece, el sol de mango sonriente” (In my mud house, peace always prevails, the shining mango sun). If that doesn’t entice you, I don’t know what will!

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