Arrebato Review: Iván Zulueta’s Cult Film Is a Rapturous Look at Addiction and Fanaticism

Iván Zulueta seems keenly aware of both the agonies and the ecstasies inherent in the pursuit of pure rapture.

Arrebato
Photo: Altered Innocence

Hallucinatory and hypnotic, Iván Zulueta’s Arrebato stands as one of the cornerstones of the new wave of Spanish cinema—which also included the works of Eloy de la Iglesia and the early films of Pedro Almodóvar—prompted by the transition to democracy after the fall of Franco. Like de la Iglesia, Zulueta fell prey to the addictive lifestyle that he portrays in his film and, again like de la Iglesia after his Quinqui Trilogy, Arrebato was followed by a lengthy period of inactivity. These links are further indicated by the presence here of Eusebio Poncela, who played a major character in de la Iglesia’s earlier Cannibal Man.

Arrebato is an arresting feat of self-aware filmmaking, lashing together experimental tendencies with the tropes and trappings of genre cinema. In the vein of Brian De Palma, Zulueta seeks to understand cinema by interrogating its constitutive elements. Early on, we see low-budget horror director José Sirgado (Poncela) in the editing room, working over the raw footage of his sophomore film, deciding when to reverse the image and where to begin the fade to black. This immediately clues us in that Arrebato will be about, among other things, the manipulative power of cinema. What we slowly discover is that this power flows both ways. As José declaims at one point: “I don’t love cinema, cinema loves me.”

When José receives a brown paper-wrapped bundle from an acquaintance, Pedro P. (Will Moore), he begins to obsess over the enclosed Super 8 film reel and accompanying cassette tape. In fact, he seems almost relieved that his new fixation allows him to temporarily forget the relationship issues that he’s experiencing with his live-in girlfriend, Ana (Cecilia Roth). The contents of the package, though, trigger a sort of fraught detective story, and as Arrebato gives itself over to a series of ruminative flashbacks, José comes closer to discovering what happened to his cinema-crazy friend. José’s quest endows him with an existential purpose, letting him off the hook from his earlier, despairing assertion that “everything is a void.”

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Arrebato is nothing if not a cinephiliac experience, weaving an intricate web of interrelations with other films. At a surface level, that’s indicated by the posters that line José’s apartment’s walls, references to the films of Paul Naschy and Mae West, not to mention the numerous theater marquees that draw José’s attention as he drives through Madrid’s city center. Like Peeping Tom, Arrebato conceives of the movie camera as a weapon, but where Michael Powell’s links this to homicidal voyeurism, Zulueta aims it back at the filmmakers themselves.

Zulueta accomplishes this turnabout by establishing a three-way metaphorical equivalence between vampirism, cinema, and addiction. A vampire—at least an actress playing one—is glimpsed early in Arrebato, in the footage from José’s new film. Pedro later refers to his cronies in addiction as bloodsuckers. Cinema itself becomes vampiric as the mysterious blood red frames in Pedro’s footage proliferate seemingly at the expense of his health, and not viewing the footage he’s recently shot throws him into the equivalent of withdrawal.

In his taped instructions to José, which also function as a kind of eerie voiceover throughout Arrebato, Pedro advises José to consume his film, digest it. Little do either of them realize that the viewer can just as easily be consumed by cinema. All this blurring of boundaries also plays up Arrebato’s presentation of polymorphous sexuality. Pedro admits to having sex with both his cousin (Marta Fernández Muro), an ex-girlfriend of José’s, and her husband. The film also elliptically hints that Pedro and José spend some time in the sack together.

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In their various ways, José and Pedro each seek to transcend the superficial realism of the film image; they want to escape the triadic trap of the camera lens, the object filmed, and the projected image. Their endeavor seems inextricably tied to the heroin addiction that fuels it, which is implied to be a route beyond the empty belly of existential being. José calls his project “hallucinema,” while, drawing on Lewis Carroll, Pedro likens his to going through the looking glass and meeting the Other on the other side. Zulueta seems keenly aware of both the agonies and the ecstasies inherent in the pursuit of pure rapture. With its intricate structure, hypnotic rhythms, and striking imagery, Arrebato comes tantalizingly close to realizing such a goal.

Score: 
 Cast: Eusebio Poncela, Cecilia Roth, Will More, Marta Fernández Muro, Helena Fernán-Gómez, Carmen Giralt, Max Madera  Director: Iván Zulueta  Screenwriter: Iván Zulueta  Distributor: Altered Innocence  Running Time: 115 min  Rating: NR  Year: 1979  Buy: Video

Budd Wilkins

Budd Wilkins's writing has appeared in Film Journal International and Video Watchdog. He is a member of the Online Film Critics Society.

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