Genre films are a rare beast here in Peru. What we usually get in cinemas are either wacky comedy pictures, or serious, independent dramas. Finding something in between is not particularly easy; apparently, most producers and filmmakers have decided that audiences are interested in only two opposing styles, considering anything remotely different to be commercially unviable. Which is, of course, a pity, since a lot can be done with very diverse genres and aesthetics, especially if a talented filmmaker decides to combine Western sensibilities with something a little bit more local.
That is precisely why Ricardo Velarde’s The Light on the Hill works so well. What we have here is a mystery thriller set in a small village in the Peruvian Andes, starring young forensic doctors who get involved with both the local police and a very dangerous mafia boss. What initially seems to be a fairly traditional procedural quickly turns into something more exciting, involving a small deposit of ancient Incan gold — hidden by its original owners to protect it from looters— as well as local myths and rumours. The Light on the Hill is so exciting because it feels unpredictable; it subverts expectations without cheating its audience, with various twists and turns that feel natural to the story.
Of course, it helps to be familiar with South American culture and social norms. There’s the two main characters from the “big city,” or at least from more Westernised places, judging from the heavy metal they listen to while working on corpses, now living in a rural town under very different circumstances. But even if you’re watching the film from a North American or even European perspective, you shouldn’t have any problems understanding the plot and its themes. The Light on the Hill is a movie about greed and desperation, about characters both good and bad, who are tempted by the promise of gold and freedom.
Consider Manuel Gold’s Jeff, a lanky coward who was abused by his father as a child, and thus likes defying authority, even if, when push comes to shove, he is unable to be proactive. He might be a tad unlikeable, but he is also easy to understand, which makes his eventual fate all the more tragic. Something similar can be said about his best friend and partner, Chino, played by a baby-faced Emilram Cossio; he seems to be a gentler soul than his counterpart, someone smarter and more cautious, who nevertheless gets dragged into a chaotic and potentially violent situation. Even Officer Padilla (played by Ramon Garcia, of The Young Pope fame) gets an interesting backstory, which serves to explain the way he treats the people in the village, especially our two ambitious protagonists. He plays the part with unexpected humanity, not as a stereotypically angry cop, but more as someone with a tragic past and a sad present.
Each character is part of an intriguing story, deftly explored by Velarde, who’s interested in both their relationships and the twists he can include in order to surprise viewers. More importantly, he employs certain expectations and stereotypes from Western cinema — particularly police procedurals and thrillers — and alters them to fit this world, so they can make sense in the Peruvian Andes. Stephanie Orúe, for example, plays Carmen, who turns out to be something more than an stereotypical femme fatale (thankfully), while the leading duo, who are supposed to be well-educated and intelligent, are nevertheless tempted by ambition, money and superstition. Once they start to lie and deceive in order to find treasure, one gets the sense they’ve crossed a line they won’t be able to step back from.
That sense of inevitability, of characters who change and degenerate and become as evil and greedy as their supposed antagonists, is what gives The Light on the Hill its very specific tone. It may feel a bit cynical, but it’s also honest, as if one were watching a true story while hiding from the shadows. It also manages to convey a very important and credible theme of outsiders (white people, city people, and criminals) coming into small villages and ruining their inhabitants’ lives, deceiving them in order to find something valuable for themselves. It is the complete opposite of the white saviour trope, and something that has happened in Peru and other South American countries for years.
Moreover, the way Velarde shot The Light on the Hill helps to emphasise both its themes and its roots as a genre story. He combines static shots with handheld camerawork to give each scene a different rhythm, depending on whether he wants to accentuate the dramatic beats between characters, or tension during the more chaotic moments. He also uses wide-angle lenses and sudden camera movements to convey a palpable sense of suspense, which helps the film feel like a creepy and stylish romp. And it must be mentioned that The Light on the Hill was shot on film, which makes it look quite different to most contemporary Peruvian features; the image quality is purposefully grainy, and everything looks moody and gritty. The fact that it has less of a digital and plastic look than most modern productions certainly helps with the believability of the story and its setting.
More could be written about The Light on the Hill, but that would involve spoilers, and this is the kind of film that is best enjoyed without knowing much about the plot. In fact, it can be considered as something of a hidden gem (or hidden Incan gold bar, if you will), since it didn’t do very well commercially here in its native country. It’s neither a conventional Peruvian drama nor a predictable commercial effort; it casts comedic actor Manuel Gold against type, it features unlikable and greedy characters, and it’s shot on film and in real locations, avoiding sets and general artificiality whenever possible. If you can, seek out The Light on the Hill; it deserves a second chance, especially considering its status as something of an anomaly when it comes to theatrical releases here in Peru.
