Luis Puenzo, The Oficial Story and Madres de la Plaza de Mayo

The great Luis Puenzo, the first Argentine director to clinch an Academy Award, has departed on his eternal journey. His film The Official Story remains a landmark of Latin American cinema—beautiful, stark, and profoundly moving. It is a masterpiece that denounced the trafficking of the children of the “disappeared” in Argentina during the military dictatorship of Videla and his fellow satraps.

As depicted in the film, young boys and girls were handed over to wealthy individuals who, technically, purchased them for adoption. Their pasts were erased, severing forever their ties to surviving parents, grandmothers, siblings, and cousins. Their biological parents had likely been executed or cast into the sea from military aircrafts. This dark reality was the catalyst for the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo movement—led for many years by the emblematic Hebe de Bonafini—and culminated in the investigation by Ernesto Sábato, immortalized in his book Nunca Más (Never Again).

Decades later, those military officers were finally brought before the courts to answer for their crimes against humanity—crimes for which there is no statute of limitations. The defense of “due obedience” was rejected; the trial of Adolf Eichmann in Jerusalem, and the Nuremberg trials before it, had set a definitive precedent that became bedrock jurisprudence: following orders from superiors does not exempt one from responsibility for such atrocities.

I had the honor of viewing the film in a private screening before its release in Buenos Aires, 1985, at the Cine Arte (Corrientes 1550). It was a small venue nestled next to the San Martín Theater, serving as the headquarters for the Cinemateca during the 80s and 90s—a place for private screenings, intimate gatherings, and debates.

I was invited because I had paid them a visit, carrying a letter of recommendation from Rodolfo Izaguirre addressed to his peer, the legendary Guillermo Álamo. My intention was to study at INCINE, and they were gracious enough to grant me a membership card as a “Friend of the Argentine Cinemateca.” This allowed me to enter the San Martín Theater screenings—paying only the tax—where I nearly collided with Jorge Luis Borges in the hallway, as I was rushing in late to hear his lecture. The card also granted me access to the Sala Hebraica (Sarmiento 2233, between Junín and Uriburu, in that dreamlike corner of Balvanera known to all as “Once”), where I listened to the illustrious blind master discourse on the philosophy of Baruch Spinoza and the Kabbalah. But that is another story…

With that membership card, I would watch three films a day. I used to eat lunch surreptitiously during the 11:00 AM screenings at the San Martín, crouching in my seat with Jorgito alfajores and a thermos of Sancor milk.

Then came the invitation to that specific screening. Puenzo and Norma Aleandro were both in attendance. At the time, the heavy favorite to win Argentina’s first Oscar was María Luisa Bemberg’s Camila, which was nominated for the 1985 awards.

After seeing Camila, I knew it wouldn’t win. But after watching The Official Story, my jaw dropped. They asked me: “You’re from Venezuela, what do you think? What is your impression?”
“I don’t think Camila will win, I’m sorry,” I replied. A tense silence followed. “But this gem… this one will win the Oscar.”

Aleandro looked at me, visibly moved, and said: “May God hear you. Thank you, Oscar.”

A year later, in March 1986, I was in Palo Negro, at the home of my mother, Doña Filomena Matute. There she was on the screen: Norma Aleandro, standing beside Jack Valenti, presenting the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film. When she opened the envelope, she was overwhelmed: “And the winner is… God bless you! The Official Story!”

I smiled and whispered to Norma on the screen with great affection: “I told you so.”

Forgive my nostalgia and these wandering memories. It seems that, with time, I am becoming like Funes the Memorious…