Copper

For the better part of two decades now, and with a minimum of fuss, Mexican-Canadian director Nicolás Pereda has steadily built up one of the richest oeuvres of any contemporary auteur, making films whose fundamental modesty and economy may sometimes belie their complexity, formal inventiveness, and wit. Yet even when compared with its most sharp-edged predecessors, Pereda’s latest feature is remarkable for its cutting humour, a quality that underlies nearly every scene of this elliptical tale about a mine employee whose existence is derailed by an unfortunate discovery.

Judging by his many efforts to get attention for his medical issues, things have been going wrong for Lázaro — played by Lázaro G. Rodríguez, one of Pereda’s regular repertory of actors drawn from the Mexican theatre collective Lagartijas Tiradas al Sol — long before he finds a corpse on the side of the road. Facing skepticism, suspicion, and scorn from just about everyone he encounters, Lázaro doesn’t fare much better with his own family members, including the aunt who seems to be the object of a special longing.

The film’s atmosphere becomes oppressive as the walls close in around Copper’s taciturn protagonist, whose situation also suggests a wider socio-political context as well as the broader violence that informs Mexican society. Yet surprising notes of lightness and tenderness are equally palpable. It’s clear how much empathy Pereda reserves for his characters even when employing a more acerbic view of their foibles and fixations as they sink deeper into self-concocted calamities.

JASON ANDERSON

Content advisory: mature themes, sexual innuendo, sexually suggestive scenes