Patricio Guzmán's documentary, Nostalgia for the Light (2010), is a riveting watch from beginning to end. The seemingly contradictory themes of the beauty and horror of humanity (as exemplified by the parallel storylines of the astronomers' exploration of our origins through the stars and the aftermath of Augusto Pinochet's dictatorship/mass genocide) harmonize with each other well as a reminder of our best and worst traits. I first watched Nostalgia for the Light during an introductory film studies course at the University of California, Santa Cruz, in August of 2018, and I was absolutely mesmerized by it. At the time, I considered it the best film I had seen throughout the 2010s. Before rewatching this documentary for this analysis, I wondered if it would still emotionally resonate with me as it did the first time. I was then relieved to discover that it still does. Its cerebral and ethereal atmosphere and feeling of simultaneous wonder and sorrow were unlike anything I had experienced in a movie up until then. Thankfully, it continues to captivate me several years after that initial viewing. Without further ado, here is my spoiler-filled analysis of Nostalgia for the Light.
Nostalgia for the Light begins with several close-up detail shots of a large telescope's parts slowly moving, perched up on a hill above the Atacama Desert in Chile, which is described as being 10,000 feet below sea level and the driest place on Earth. Such a surface resembles Mars, with its various red-hued rock formations in the nearby hills and the few traces of pre-existing life scattered about, like fossils of fish, mollusks, early human carvings, and remains of human skeletons. Narration from Guzmán states that even during times of oppression, "there still remains the scientific hunger for knowledge and discovery." Said quote should serve as a rare glimmer of hope for those within the scientific community while simultaneously heartwrenching for humanity, which repeatedly finds itself in this predicament throughout history.
One of the interviewees, astronomer Gaspar Galaz, expresses how astronomy is a way to understand humanity's origins by looking into the past. For instance, he used to believe that humanity's origins could be picked up from the ground and found at the bottom of oceans, but now believes that they originate among the stars. Galaz's opinion regarding religion's place in civilization is a fascinating one, for although the world of science tends to separate the two, he believes that "the fundamental questions pondered by man are of a religious origin and motive" and the matter of discovery on our origins is a "never-ending story". Such an observation deeply resonated with me the first time I viewed this documentary, and it continues to leave me pondering the mysteries of life itself, how one's existence on Earth impacts and is somehow interconnected with countless others, and each individual's significance to the overall makeup of life in the universe.
Two pasts are simultaneously being studied in this documentary; the distant past regarding humans' origins and the not-so-distant one revolving around one dictatorial regime's genocide of outspoken critics and political prisoners of the said regime, specifically that of Augusto Pinochet from 1973 until 1990. Luís Henríquez, a survivor of the Chacabuco concentration camps, describes how he was part of a group of twenty, led by a Doctor Alvarez, who learned to recognize constellations in the night skies using a custom-built device instead of a telescope, for the night sky was so clear, and the stars looked like "small light bulbs", to which Henríquez states that he felt free looking up at the sky. Unsurprisingly, the military banned astronomy, fearing that constellations would be used as a potential escape method. When science and the pursuit of knowledge are attacked by outside forces, peaceful protests and the outspokenness of brave individuals and groups become necessary for global societies and democracies around the world to endure. Meanwhile, another prisoner who survived the concentration camp, Miguel Lawner, serves as the documentary's "architect", for during his time in the camp, he memorized (and still remembers to this day) the camp's every measurement using his footsteps and drew a scaled-down version of the camp on paper, only for him to hide or destroy them in case of a raid. Fast-forward to the present, and Luís Henríquez's wife, Anita, has Alzheimer's. The narrator then makes the following analogy about Henríquez and Anita (which is also one of the film's most compelling ones): the couple is a metaphor for Chile, Henríquez remembers the past while Anita forgets.
This documentary also sheds light on a group of women continuing to search the desert for the bodies of those who were "disappeared" by the Chilean government. Specifically, Pinochet assassinated thousands of political prisoners and buried their bodies in the desert throughout his seventeen-year rule. Some of the bodies were then dug up and disposed of by moving them elsewhere or dumping the remains into the sea. One woman, Vicky Saavedra, describes how, upon finding the foot of her brother Jose Saavedra Gonzalez still in one of his shoes along with some of his teeth, forehead, and skill, which indicates that he was shot dead twice, it was both "a great joy and a great disappointment" because she found a part of him, but with the knowledge that her brother is dead. Another woman, Violeta Berríos, states that her goal is to find her loved one's whole body, for "they took him away whole," and she doesn't want just a piece of him. She tearfully says the following quotes:
"It would be difficult, but hope gives you strength", and
"I wish the telescopes didn't just look into the sky but could also see through the earth so that we could find them."
Hearing their stories is heartbreaking, and their quest for demanding answers from those responsible despite the slim chances reminds me of so many guilty people and accomplices from some of history's most atrocious crimes against humanity who are still roaming around free, seemingly escaping justice and accountability. Such injustices can leave one longing to believe in a higher power or a better place beyond ours and for ultimate justice to prevail over evil.
In addition to the women searching the desert, Nostalgia for the Light takes some time to highlight Valentina Rodríguez, whose grandparents, in 1975, were detained by Pinochet's police and threatened to give up Valentina's parents' whereabouts. When the captors threatened to harm the then-one-year-old Valentina, her grandparents were forced to comply, and her parents were taken away and disappeared. Valentina is now a staff astronomer and press officer at the European Southern Observatory headquarters in Santiago, Chile. She is now married with two children, whom she knows will never suffer the effects of oppression and violence like his ancestors. Valentina is grateful for her grandparents, who passed on their parents' values and everything they were to her amidst the pain of losing their own. Valentina says the following quote regarding how she finds solace through astronomy:
"Astronomy has somehow helped me to give another dimension to the pain, to the absence, to the loss. Sometimes, when one is alone with that pain, these moments are necessary, the pain becomes oppressive. I tell myself it's all part of a cycle which didn't begin and won't end with me, nor with my parents, or with my children. I tell myself we are all part of a current, of an energy, a recyclable matter. Like the stars which must die so that other stars can be born, other planets, a new life. In this context, what happened to my parents and their absence takes on a new dimension. It takes on another meaning and frees me a little from this great suffering as I felt that nothing really comes to an end."
Nostalgia for the Light leaves me wondering not only how a horrendous tragedy affects humanity as a whole but also that our time on this Earth is limited and that we all have a choice to make regarding our decisions about whether to spread good or evil throughout the world. This documentary is one that I relate to on an intimate level regarding my views of humans, their life purposes, and how my faith factors into the universe's vast expanses. It also leaves me hopeful for individuals like me who yearn for answers as to whether victims of tragedies will somehow reunite somewhere one day. The final quote from Guzmán is a fascinating one:
"I am convinced that memory has a gravitational force. It is constantly attracting us. Those who have a memory are able to live in the fragile present moment. Those who have none don't live anywhere."
What this quote says is that for humanity's collective history and memory of all that we are and stand for to survive and live on, collective action against acts of evil is more than necessary; it is required. As a young man trying to find his place in this ever-changing world, I take heart in knowing that there are individuals who continue to strive and fight to get the truth about their history out into the world, but I am simultaneously saddened that it continues to take so long, if ever, for justice and accountability to be achieved. However, I choose to believe that, like Valentina Rodríguez, "nothing really comes to an end" regarding humanity's continuing search for answers to the questions about the universe's origins and that such contrasts between hope and despair are what make humanity such a fascinating species. With every answer comes questions, and the fact that not everything has been answered yet speaks to the unexplored territory of human knowledge. Will we find all the answers during our lifetimes? Probably not. Yet as long as the "scientific hunger for knowledge and discovery" is continued to be passed down from generation to generation, I believe that humanity will eventually learn the full extent of our galactic origins, which can be seen within the light bulbs in the sky.
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