‘Magic Farm’ Review: Acerbic Comedy About Culture Clash Follows Clueless Americans in Small-town Argentina

Cumbia music is the one grounding constant in Argentine-born Spanish filmmaker Amalia Ulman’s sophomore effort “Magic Farm,” a formally radical, biting satire about odious, privileged Americans adrift in a remote Argentine rural town. The group of foreigners works for a Vice-type media company dedicated to exploiting offbeat stories from around the world for sensationalist video content. The latest target for their culture-mining operation is Super Carlitos, a whimsical singer known for wearing bunny ears, residing in the town of San Cristobal. Unbeknown to useless producer Jeff (Alex Wolff of “Hereditary” fame), a place with that name could be anywhere in Latin America.

With the same uncomfortably dry sense of humor she exhibited in her debut feature “El Planeta” — where she and her real mother played a financially strapped mother-daughter duo — Ulman casts herself as Elena, the cameraperson and interpreter. There’s an inevitably metatextual quality to her character, since Elena explains she was born in Argentina and raised in Spain, hence her accent. The permanently aggrieved host Edna (Chloë Sevigny); Justin (Joe Apollonio), the gay sound guy who has a crush on the kind and burly inn receptionist (Guillermo Jacubowicz); and for a brief part of the trip, Edna’s partner, and production higherup, Dave (Simon Rex in a cameo), complete the oddball gringo crew.

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Realizing they traveled to the wrong San Cristobal, Jeff pivots to fabricating a new religious cult-related story with the help of people in the area, namely Popa (Valeria Lois) and her daughter Manchi (Camila del Campo). The interactions with locals, oblivious to the outsiders’ real motivations result in some of the most effectively droll scenes: Popa talking about her love affair with a French movie star is cackle worthy. But when the Americans, and even Elena, are alone worrying about their personal conflicts back north, “Magic Farm” feels momentarily dull, even for a piece that hinges on awkwardness for its abrasive comedy.

“Magic Farm” operates with refreshing visual anarchy. When cinematographer Carlos Rigo Bellver isn’t behind the camera, the device is at times mounted on a dog or a horse for a disorienting, on-the-ground feel. The film is also bookended by shots likely filmed with a 360-degree camera that distorts the image for mind-bending effect, as if announcing the warped arrival and departure of these visitors. Ulman, Bellver and editor Arturo Sosa carefully conceived eye-catching transitions, which appear seamless in how they are implemented, but also deliberately conspicuous.

The tone of “Magic Farm,” as well as Ulman’s artistic intent, is strongly reminiscent of the acerbic, cross-cultural work of Chilean filmmaker Sebastian Silva, particularly of films such as “Crystal Fairy” and the more recent “Rotting in the Sun,” where he also chronicles the behavior of clueless, sometimes insufferable gringos in Latin America. That Ulman assembled a cast of relatively well-known actors and then inserted them in an environment where they are out of place creates a fascinating dissonance. Among the images that Ulman has created that may have never existed otherwise are those of Sevigny walking down a dirt road in this small Argentine town as a dance-inducing electronic cumbia blares.

Ulman’s character stands out as someone with ties to the country, who speaks the language and is privy to the cultural nuances. That much is obvious also about the writer-director’s use of music and the attentive inclusion of details such as the cheeky banners with humorous messages that adorn the streets. It takes someone with a relationship to Latin America, tenuous as it may be, to nail the ignorance, righteousness and stupidity with which certain segments of the United States population engage with countries south of the border. Trapped in their self-centered bubble, the group completely misses the real story of the toxic pesticides that have a become a major health concern in San Cristobal. Ulman’s clever writing makes this information crystal clear for the audience.

At one point, Jeff has the audacity to comment on Manchi’s English pronunciation when his Spanish is nonexistent, for example. The culture clashes are not stereotypical or overt, and Argentine characters always end up on top in terms of smarts. There are constant if unspoken reminders of the gringos’ ineptitude born out complacency and entitlement, which become evident through the resourcefulness of the locals. To post online, Manchi has to climb a tree in order to get a signal, toilets in this town sometimes require flushing with a bucket and a convenience store owner doesn’t miss the chance to take Justin’s cash.

On screen, Elena remains a bit of an enigma, never explicitly noting her allegiance to either side, neither of which she fully belongs to. Is she closer to the people of the country she left as a child or the co-workers she spends plenty of time with in New York? Another version of “Magic Farm” could have been more incisive about her place in the equation, and her feelings about the ethics of her job. Instead, Ulman doesn’t make her role the more conscious exception and lets the ordeal play out with Elena being mostly a complicit bystander. On the other hand, the film itself confirms where Ulman, the filmmaker, stands.

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