By Nicholas Vroman
Negu Hurbilak (Spain, 2023) opens with an epigram from the song of the same name by Mikel Laboa and Xavier Lete. Laboa and Lete were leaders in the 1960s cultural and political movement to gain political autonomy, if not independence from Spain – and to reclaim Euskara (the Basque language) as the legitimate idiom and voice of the Basque people. Under the aegis of Ez Dok Hamairu, along with along with musicians Benito Lertxundi, Joxean Artze, Jose Angel Irigarai, Lourdes Iriondo and other artists and cultural workers, they made music and produced events that flew in the face of Franco’s cultural repression, which effectively outlawed the use of Euskara in official, public and even, written discourse. Ez Dok Hamairu (No somos trece), which means colloquially, “we are not cursed” kept a populist and forward looking direction under the heel of Francoism, even as the direct action/resistance group ETA (Euskadi Ta Askatasuna) was builing the political stakes into an armed struggle. By the mid-70s Franco had died, Spain was on the way to becoming a democratic nation, the members of Ez Doc Hamairu had moved on to their own careers as individual artists and in other collaborations. ETA kept its separatist battles, bombings and killings going and state repression still continued under the guise of keeping order well into the 21st century. The ruptured lives (both innocent and culpable), the legacy of more than half century of repression and the difficulty (or was it the impossibility?) of healing those wounds is the context where the film, Negu Hurbilak lives. Negu Hurbilak, the song, serves as an inspiration and a warning of what the present and future hold, particularly in relation to a past that is not spoken about nor reconciled.
The coming winter doesn’t scare me
In the summer’s full heat
As I know the present remains
Also in the future
Negu Hurbilak opens in lumber yard somewhere in the Basque country. Big log-moving machines, piles of logs, the sound of a chainsaw, patches of snow and puddles of water. The modern aizkolari (woodsmen), mythologized in the Basque world, are now just part of an industrial scheme and process. A single aizkolari steals away in a big logging truck and drives through a shadowy, foggy landscapes, down back roads well into the night, when he arrives at a dark and empty street in a small village. He helps a young woman with backpack, out of the truck. Another man emerges from the shadows and escorts the woman into the darkness as the camera pans to reveal the dimly lit windows and interior of a small café. The man enters the café where a few other men are seated around a table, littered with empty glasses, playing mus. He gets their attention for a brief moment, telling them, “It’s time to move.” But the men continue to play their card game with the usual chatter and jokes that is the prerogative of men focused on manly activities. Sometime later on a dark, rainy street, dogs barking in the still night, the man, still accompanying the woman, meets yet another man. “This is the girl you have to hide, Marcos.” The other man says, “Come with me,” as he leads the woman away. The man who brought the “girl” walks down the street, turns left behind a building, exiting the frame as the camera trucks down the street. Fade to black.
The opening sequences of Negu Hurbilak sets the tone and ambiance of the film, where the unnamed woman will be sequestered in a couple of safe houses, having her life controlled by men, though not manipulative, mean-spirited or malicious (they are trying to keep her safe), that are strict in their roles and governed by a code of silence that becomes an heavy burden on the woman’s life, creating an oppressive limbo where she can find no meaningful way forward or out. The mystery of why she is on the run is never articulated, but it can be assumed that she has some affiliation, whether literal, accidental or assumed, with ETA and needs to “disappear” for a while. She has become what the Basques call an iheslari, a person who is a fugitive – from injustice.
She finds herself boarding with a older couple, farmers. Though isolated from the larger world, she strikes up a budding relationship with the kindly farmwoman, who keeps a simple rapport with the young woman. The man of the household when not absent is decidedly quiet.
Elsewhere in the village soon follows a stunning sequence. Here a slow tracking shot pans down street as a girl with pelota racket enters frame from behind building corner to fetch a ball. She stops looks upward for a moment with a perplexed look on her face after picking up the ball, runs back toward town square. There is the sound of trikitixa (Basque-style accordion) in background. Camera continues to move, revealing the town’s fronton and 4 girls playing pelota . In background a group of musicians are playing, some seated, some standing by a concrete bench and table. The camera keeps moving as small tractor with trailer enters frame. The camera follows it as it passes a group of men and outside a café, tending to a fire, socializing, drinking. Camera move in to focus on them. A woman in center of frame speaks as other villagers focus attention on her. The camera moves past them to focus on unoccupied village street. Then, a cut to a man working underneath a car. He gets out from under the car where the owner of the car and his son look on as the mechanic futzes with the air filter. Another man drives up, gets out of his car, engages in some small talk about what to do with the car. Dad sits in the driver’s seat and revs the engine for a moment and turns off the car. The other man asks “Is it good?” The son responds “Yes.” The man quickly adds, “He’ll get her out tomorrow at dawn.” A quick “OK” and some money passes from hand to hand. The man with the message and the money drives away. Back to car being fixed, the mechanic says, “Try starting it again.” The sound of the ignition clicking, not connecting.
Here we take a break from the travails of the young woman to explore an idealized, somewhat cliched glimpse of Basque village life. From the girls playing pelota to the soundtrack of folk music. The simple conditions of life where villagers exist in a tableau of community, breaking bread together, chatting, playing. The “neutral” activity of the car repair suddenly becomes the locus of an underground exchange that is aware of, but doesn’t dare speak of the politics – and economics – of the Basque struggle.
The strange look and behavior that the girl expresses at the beginning of the sequence hints at an awareness, an unexplained and unarticulated knowing that the scene she will soon be a part of belies all too real activities and dramas that hide behind the façade of “normal” village life. That singular image, that face, embodies the fundamental questions that Negu Hurbilak explores about the Basque people and what they experienced during the years of conflict. “What wounds lay behind their faces? Why did they constantly inhabit that silence? That pain?” asks Ekain Albite, one of the co-directors of the film. He along with fellow Basque Mikel Ibarguren and Catalan collaborators Adrià Roca and Nicolau Mallofré created the Negu Kolektiboa (Colectivo Negu) to explore this fundamental tragedy that continues to affect lives in the Basque Country.
The film moves on to a sequence where she is transported by truck down dark country roads. Escape? Transfer to a new safe house? Whatever her unexplained destiny, the urgency is palpable. As she and her driver race down back roads, a radio broadcast provides a contextual background and place in history where her story is unfolding. It is 2011, when ETA in negotiations with the Spanish and French governments announced an end to its armed activity. The escape is scuttlebutted unexpectedly, with no explanation, and she is brought back to safe house of the old couple. Even a truce and huge change in the larger political landscape does nothing to change her state of being an islehari.
She is back in limbo, biding time, idling spending days, waiting. A sweet scene of her, sharing a smoke with the old lady, talking idle gossip, introduces the next step in her journey. She is soon off on a midnight run to another safe house. This time she will be inhabiting a new limbo with a taciturn shepherd.
In this new landscape – the rural countryside, beautiful as it is, becomes an increasingly oppressive backdrop for her on-hold existence – she observes and occasionally participates in daily routines of the shepherd. When he does speak with her, he is short, to the point, rarely revealing. He is not mean to her, generous in some simple ways, but he does show a silent annoyance at her being in his world,, He expresses this at one point to a visitor, obviously part of the underground political network, asking when she will be moved on from his house – of which he is informed that it may not be soon.
In some moments he does express himself to her, in a rather oblique way, telling of his knowledge of country ways, cheese-making and a tiny bit of his family history as shepherds. As her time with him continues unabated, she breaks down, speaking of her frustration at not knowing what will happen, her guilt at being a burden on his life and her sadness at being away from family and friends.
“I don’t know… what will become of my parents. And I don’t know… I don’t know when I’ll see them again. I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again,” she says.
After a long silence, the shepherd nods. His sad and chilling response – “Well… I didn’t see my family for 12 years.”
A walk in the woods finds her confronting a strange apparition, which leads into the stunning denouement of the film. A man, costumed in sheep skin, a mishaapen mask with two simple eye holes, a curving ram’s horn framing his head with a small bell hanging from the tip. Cut to a village celebration, specifically the Zubieta carnival. Here, men (women roles are as observers) let loose in particularly grotesque ways, with mock torture and humiliation, drunkenness, aggressively ritualized behavior, macho blustering. Most of Negu Hurbilak is shot in static shots or carefully choreographed pans and trucks. Here the camera becomes a cinema verite eye that loses its bearings as if follows crazy release of the men of the village. The anarchy is strangely tempered by the relentless and impassive marching of joaldunak, a team of men dressed in huge sheepskin manteau, cinched with tight leather belts that have two giant cowbells protruding from the small of their backs. Their ensembles are completed with tall coned hats festooned with colorful streamers on their heads and their feet in espadrilles tightly bound up their calves. On a more symbolic level they represent beings that through their presence and the loud clanging sounds their bells make keep evil spirits away. On another level they represent the unchanging and unspoken march of traditional culture. The culture that keeps contemporary – and ancient – wounds unhealed. Obedient adherence to tradition plays against an orgiastic and terrifying release, thrilling to be observed, but merely a stopgap in dealing with real issues. But with no other outlet, the ritual has its meaning and function. A cultural release. As the festival is being shown on screen, the beautiful and clear voice of traditionalist folksinger Jean Mixel Bedaxagar invades the soundtrack with the song, Oihaneko zuhainetan, a ballad with a haunting melody that describes a mythical Basque warrior who is betrayed by the powers that be.
Those unempowered and unable to speak of their condition, those cursed by silence are given a voice in song – and in this film that marks the impressive feature debut of a team of smart uncompromising film artists.
Oihaneko zuhainetan
Oihaneko zuhainetan eder zuhainik gorena
Europako popülietan famatürik euskalduna
Hura da zaharrena Kantabriaren semia
Lorius bere lurretan beti libre egon dena.
Leheneko euskalduneri fama zaio baratu
Fidel zela herriari eta legetan argitü
Hura izan da gerlari, usu odolak ixuri
Fidelitatian etxeki eta legia hareki.
Haritx piala bildurik euskal herri orotarik
Bakotxak bere botza emanik eta legia zen egin
Orai ezta legerik ez eta ere juntarik
Fidelitatia galdürik eta legia saldurik.
In the woods of the jungle
In the beautiful woods of the jungle the tallest tree
Of all Europeans, he’s the most famous Basque
He’s the oldest son of Cantabria
Glory to he who has always been free in his land.
Among the first Basque speakers he’s earned fame
He was faithful to the people and enlightened in the law
He was a warrior, spilled his blood
In fidelity to home and the law.
He gathered oak from all over Euskal Herria
He gave his vote every time as it was the right thing to do
Now there is no law and no one is together
Loyalty lost and the law betrayed.
En el bosque de la selva
En los hermosos bosques de la selva el árbol más alto
De todos los europeos, es el vasco más famoso.
Es el hijo mayor de Cantabria.
Gloria al que siempre ha sido libre en su tierra.
Entre los primeros vascoparlantes se ha ganado la fama
Fue fiel al pueblo e iluminado en la ley.
Era un guerrero, derramó su sangre.
En fidelidad al hogar y a la ley.
Recogió robles de toda Euskal Herria
Dio su voto en todo momento porque era lo correcto.
Ahora no hay ley y nadie está junto.
Se perdió la lealtad y se traicionó la ley.
Negu hurbilak (Xabier Lete, Mikel Laboa)
Ez nau izutzen negu hurbilak
uda betezko beroan
dakidalako irauten duela
orainak ere geroan
nolabaitezko kate geldian
unez uneko lerroan
guztia present bihurtu arte
nor izanaren erroan.
Ez nau beldurtzen egunsentian
arnas zuridun izotzak
nun dirudien bizirik gabe
natura zabal hilotzak
eguzki eder joan guztian
argia baitu bihotzak
eta begien milla ernegai
iraganaren oroitzak.
Ez nau larritzen azken orduan
arnasa galdu beharrak
bide xumea hesituarren
amildegiaren larrak,
ardo berriak onduko ditu
mahastietan aihen zarrak
gure oraina arrazoiturik
beste batzuren biarrak.
Ez nau iluntzen baratzatikan
azken loreak biltzeak
muga guztien arrazoi billa
arnas gabe ibiltzeak
arratsaldeko argi betera
zentzu denak umiltzeak
amets betezko loa baitakar
behin betirako hiltzea
—
No me asusta el cercano invierno
en el calor pleno del verano
pues sé que el presente permanece
también en el futuro,
alineados de alguna manera,
momento tras momento,
en una cadena quieta,
hasta que todo se transforme en presente,
en la raíz del ser.
No me asusta el frío de blanco aliento
en el amanecer,
cuando todo parece
una vasta naturaleza sin vida
porque el corazón guarda la luz
de todos los hermosos soles idos
y en los ojos alertan
los mil recuerdos del pasado.
No me asusta el tener que expirar
en el último momento,
pues aunque los caminos insignificantes
cerquen los campos vertiginosos
el vino nuevo condimentará
los viejos troncos de las vides.
y nuestro presente asentará
el mañana de otros.
No me entristece el recoger
las últimas flores del jardín,
el andar sin aliento, más allá de todo límite,
buscando una razón,
el humillar todos los sentidos a la luz del atardecer,
ya que la muerte trae consigo un sueño
que apaciguará los sueños para siempre.
I’m not afraid of the approaching winter
in the full heat of summer
because I know that the present remains
also in the future,
aligned in some way,
moment after moment,
on a still chain,
until everything becomes present,
at the root of being.
I’m not afraid of the cold with white breath
in the dawn,
when everything seems
a vast lifeless nature
because the heart keeps the light
of all the beautiful suns gone
and in the eyes they alert
the thousand memories of the past.
I’m not afraid of having to expire
in the last moment,
Well, although the insignificant roads
encircle the vertiginous fields
the new wine will season
the old trunks of the vines.
and our present will settle
the tomorrow of others.
I’m not sad about picking up
the last flowers of the garden,
walking breathlessly, beyond all limits,
looking for a reason,
humiliating all the senses in the evening light,
since death brings with it a dream
that will appease dreams forever
Negu Hurbilak
Direction: Negu Collective (Ekain Albite, Mikel Ibarguren , Adrià Roca, Nicolau Mallofré)
Screenplay: Negu Collective ((Ekain Albite, Mikel Ibarguren , Adrià Roca, Nicolau Mallofré))
Editor: Edu V. Romero
Photography: Javier Seva
Cast: Jone Laspiur, Ben?ardo, Anita, Patita, Markos, Kitxa
Spain, 2023, 90 minutes