Mute, Brain-Damaged, and Sexy: On Juanma Bajo Ulloa’s 1993 Thriller The Dead Mother

THE DEAD MOTHER / La Madre Muerta 

(Juanma Bajo Ulloa, 1993, Spain, 101 minutes) 

When a movie character is unable to communicate by way of the spoken word, they can usually rely on writing, typing, sign language, or some form of assistive device. What Spanish filmmaker Juanma Bajo Ulloa's sophomore feature–like many horror and horror-adjacent films before it–posits is this: What if they can't? 

In Robert Ellis Miller's touching and troubling 1968 adaptation of Carson McCullers's 1940 debut novel, The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter, Alan Arkin's hearing-impaired character, John Singer, doesn't utter a single word, but expresses himself through gestures and written notes. 

 

Nonetheless, the small town Southerners around him make assumptions about what he's thinking and what makes him tick. The primary one is that he's sympathetic to their respective plights, because he's unlikely to disagree or to protest. He is, to them, an empty vessel to fill as they please.

Arkin, an actor with an instantly-recognizable voice, received an Oscar nomination for his efforts (he would finally win, in 2007, for Little Miss Sunshine). Spanish actress Ana Álvarez, who plays a mute, but hearing-enabled young woman in The Dead Mother, would also receive awards recognition for her work from film festivals throughout Europe. 

 

When a mute character is female, however, other factors come into play, like victimization. 

It's a possibility for men, too–and I'm sorry to say that things don't end well for John Singer–but with women, speechlessness can also take on a sexual dimension. That's certainly the case with The Dead Mother, which contributes to the film's queasy–and problematic–allure. 

That's also the case with Lee Chang-dong's wrenching drama Oasis, which will be returning to Seattle in a new 4K restoration on June 14. 

 

Like Ana Álvarez's Leire, Moon So-ri's twentysomething character Han Gong-ju, who has cerebral palsy, has a voice, but forming words is another story. It's such a strain that she expresses herself more through sounds and expressions, but she's still nearly impossible to understand, so Lee brings her daydreams to life to show how she sees–or would like to see–the world. 

Gong-ju's desire for escape is understandable, not just because of her physical limitations, but because her family is using and abusing her disability for their financial benefit. Even Hong Jong-du (Sol Kyung-gu), who comes on as a friend, will betray her trust by sexually assaulting her. 

 

She and Jong-du, who is mentally challenged, will eventually come to an understanding, but her inability to form complete sentences will have unforeseen consequences when she has the chance to defend him from a criminal charge, but can't find the words in time (at the 2002 Seattle International Film Festival, Sol and Moon, respectively, won best actor and actress awards for their go-for-broke performances). 

Nonetheless, Lee Chang-dong suggests the possibility of a happy ending. Gong-ju is unlikely to become more articulate with time, but ideally, she'll see Jong-du again, and their emotional bond seems secure. 

Leire, on the other hand, is all alone in the world, and that isn't likely to change. In Bajo Ulloa's unusual thriller, she inadvertently becomes part of a twisted love triangle. Though she doesn't ride off into the sunset at the end, she emerges triumphant simply by surviving the ordeal. 

 

In a prologue set 20 years before, Ismael (Karra Elejalde from Nacho Vigalondo's Timecrimes), an intruder, enters the flat she shares with her unnamed mother (Marisol Saes, a nonprofessional hired for her arresting presence), a restorer of religious artifacts. When her mother catches him in the act, she doesn't scream or shout, but simply states, "There is no money." He could've left quietly at that point, but instead, the impulsive, hotheaded thief shoots her dead. As she lay dying, her eyelids growing heavy, a trickle of blood clouding her vision, cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe's camera looks up from her hazy vantage point to see the small feet of a child--her three-year-old daughter--approaching. 

The filmmaker then catches up with Leire in the present, now living in a psychiatric institute. It's pretty clear she's been there for most of her life--not once does Bajo Ulloa reference a father--since she's unable to communicate in any way. It isn't initially clear if this is an extreme trauma response, or something else, but Bajo Ulloa will eventually explain why she isn't capable of speech or anything, really, other than walking, sleeping, and eating. Even normal bathroom habits seem beyond her capabilities. 

Leire's world changes yet again when the intruder, now working in a local saloon, catches sight of her while she's out for a walk with an elderly family friend (another non-actor; according to Bajo Ulloa, she had the hots for Elejalde). Ismael becomes convinced she recognizes him from the long-ago shooting, and fears she'll report him to the authorities, so he abducts her, and spirits her away to the abandoned mansion he's been squatting in with his insecure, possessive lady love, Maite (Portuguese-Belgian singer Lio). It quickly becomes apparent to the two grifters that Leire isn't likely to report anything to anyone, so they decide to hold her for ransom instead. 

 

At first, they treat her like a child. Ismael keeps her calm by feeding her chocolate, something he's seen nibbling on in the prologue, while Maite bathes and washes her hair, in the process noticing that she's quite a shapely young woman despite her childlike affect. From that point forward, they dress her in their own clothes. With her long, dark hair and full lips, she has the look of a femme fatale, even as Maite is the one with the flattering, deep red lipstick and richly-colored, form-fitting outfits.

 

Now that she sees her as a fully grown adult, however, Maite becomes jealous and encourages Ismael to kill her, not least because the more his lady whines and complains, the more drawn he feels to their quiet, complacent hostage. As Bajo Ulloa notes in the commentary track, Lio "plays someone who is totally and unhealthily in love with a psychopath." 

Fortunately, however, Ismael never sexually assaults Leire. As awful as Ismael may be, and he's pretty awful, he has a certain respect for this young woman whose life he essentially destroyed. Granted, he keeps her chained, and handles her rather roughly, but she makes out better than most every other woman in the film, including Silvia Marsó's Blanca, an institute worker who puts her life on the line to try to rescue Leire.

 

Though Maite's jealousy is not misplaced, the idea that a silent, uncomplaining woman might be preferable to a slightly older, slightly less shapely one who doesn't hesitate to speak her mind is problematic at best. 

That said, Ismael is unsettled by the fact that Leire never laughs or smiles, no matter how hard he tries to amuse her. This may be partly why Bajo Ulloa hired an actor who, up until this film, was best known for his comedic roles (afterward, as the filmmaker notes in his commentary track, Elejalde became typecast as a heavy). The way Ismael tries to turn most everything into a joke, however, makes him seem more sadistic and cruel than light and funny–not least because he'll end up contributing to the deaths of a few more inconvenient individuals before the film reaches its conclusion. 

Though he'll attempt to kill Leire twice, both times something will cause him to change his mind. Bajo Ulloa suggests that it could be the unseen ghost of the dead mother. By the end, it's hard not to wonder if Leire's whole thing is an act; that she really knows what's going on, but chooses to act as if she's out to lunch as a form of self-preservation. After all, the more she keeps her head, the more Ismael and Maite lose theirs. I'll spare the details, other than to say that things don't end well for either kidnapper, whereas Leire's freedom will come at their expense. It's possible she was just lucky, or that the criminals were especially lousy at their jobs, but the bottom line is that she doesn't say a thing from start to finish. Not one single word.

The Dead Mother is out now on Blu-ray from Radiance. Oasis, part of the series The Early Films of Lee Chang-dong, plays the Uptown June 14, 16, and 18. Click here for more information. Images from the IMDb (Ana Álvarez, Lio, and Raquel Santamaría, as the three-year-old Leire, in The Dead Mother and Alan Arkin in The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter), Google Play (Moon So-ri in Oasis), and Blueprint: Review (Álvarez and Elejalde).