(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“After an accident and a major transformation, an adult film star seeks revenge for all the abuse she suffered.”
It’s often been said that – in life and the universe – there are good ideas and there are bad ideas.
What grows increasingly complicated when you’re dealing with inserting ideas into storytelling is that context not only is key but also will always be the key. Against the backdrop of characters, locations, and circumstances, the storyteller needs to be exactly certain of what he (or she) wants to say as well as putting extreme effort into guaranteeing that the ‘moral of the story’ is as accessible as it can be. If that central precept isn’t made clear by the light of the projection lamp, then one can be assured that the message will likely wind up sacrificed because of less important decisions made somewhere along the way. Viewers might even be confused by impressions that don’t appear in sync, and – must I say it? – methinks that’s what’s happened with the otherwise interesting parable at the heart of Mar.ia (2024).
Smarter people than I am have long said that the 1980’s – what with the worldwide video explosion taking place at the time – truly invented the solid B-Movie; and I’ve often argued that – if that is true – then it was the 1990’s that truly added a layer of glitz and gloss to the genre. Cable channels and smaller studios were granted access to effects wizardry that was quickly growing more affordable by the year; and this advantage meant to more and more producers were capable of delivering unique visions to both the cineplexes and television outlets. In many small ways, Mar.ia feels like it’s the product of that age – a dark and bloody tale broadcast after hours on pay cable that lacked the panache to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Hollywood heavyweights but, instead, was comfortable dialing up a bit of gore and sleaze in order to woo viewers over. For the record: there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“After an accident and a major transformation, an adult film star seeks revenge for all the abuse she suffered.”
It’s often been said that – in life and the universe – there are good ideas and there are bad ideas.
What grows increasingly complicated when you’re dealing with inserting ideas into storytelling is that context not only is key but also will always be the key. Against the backdrop of characters, locations, and circumstances, the storyteller needs to be exactly certain of what he (or she) wants to say as well as putting extreme effort into guaranteeing that the ‘moral of the story’ is as accessible as it can be. If that central precept isn’t made clear by the light of the projection lamp, then one can be assured that the message will likely wind up sacrificed because of less important decisions made somewhere along the way. Viewers might even be confused by impressions that don’t appear in sync, and – must I say it? – methinks that’s what’s happened with the otherwise interesting parable at the heart of Mar.ia (2024).
Smarter people than I am have long said that the 1980’s – what with the worldwide video explosion taking place at the time – truly invented the solid B-Movie; and I’ve often argued that – if that is true – then it was the 1990’s that truly added a layer of glitz and gloss to the genre. Cable channels and smaller studios were granted access to effects wizardry that was quickly growing more affordable by the year; and this advantage meant to more and more producers were capable of delivering unique visions to both the cineplexes and television outlets. In many small ways, Mar.ia feels like it’s the product of that age – a dark and bloody tale broadcast after hours on pay cable that lacked the panache to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Hollywood heavyweights but, instead, was comfortable dialing up a bit of gore and sleaze in order to woo viewers over. For the record: there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.
Tragically, the hot and sensuous porn sensation Maria Black (played by the comely Daria Panchenko) is (basically) killed in a car crash in California. Not that long after her accident, her body goes missing, leaving friends and family aghast at how such a thing could happen in this time and place. A few years later, however, a near-perfect lookalike surfaces working as – you guessed it – the hottest porn star of a somewhat new era, one wherein shooting such efforts has gone a bit underground. When this new Maria collapses and seemingly dies again under curious circumstances during coitus, the producer and director are suddenly offered an unthinkable choice: offer up the temptress’ dead body for sex acts with a trio of masked strangers, and they’ll profit $100,00 for the deed as well as film the necrophilia for release (and profit) via the Dark Web.
Well, when one gets in bed with such mobsters (snicker snicker), bad things are bound to transpire. The boss Varela (Juan Palomino) is actually being sought by authorities in a sting operation being run by … well … that’s a bit unclear in all of this. Wanting to insure his privacy, Varela shoots the film crew dead; but, unbeknownst to him, two technicians – Mel (Sofía Gala Castiglione) and Alina (Malena Sánchez) have been bound, gagged, and locked away in the warehouse for their refusal to allow the director to go along with such a vile request. Before the night is over, these two women will find themselves paired up with an unlikely ally – the cybernetically reanimated form of Maria who rises from the dead again – in a bid to bring down this nefarious patriarchy once and for all!
So … it’s Die Hard. In a warehouse. With porn stars. And a robotic dominatrix. Along with sound technicians.
As you can see, there’s a lot to unpack with Mar.ia; and, frankly, there isn’t a lot of it that harmonizes. The writing and directing team of Gabriel Grieco and Nicanor Loreti clearly are trying to say something about the greater nature of mankind here, but far too much of it gets buried alive under neon lights, gender politics, over-the-top sound cues, and exploitation. When one is trying to expose the harm to the fairer sex that takes place in the hidden corners of the world, is that treatise best delivered salaciously? Everything about Mar.ia – from our sex worker set-up where she’s clearly living her best life (before her multiple deaths) to her Terminator-style killing spree – is presented with the pomp and circumstance of extravagant exaggeration, so much so that it’s hard not to see some of this as unintentional high camp. Complicating matters, the directors choose to employ some bizarre technological trickery – whenever Mar.ia (the killer robot) kicks into high gear, they adorn the screen with almost anime-like cybernetic inserts – and the whole effect feels more comic than stridently serious.
Well, when one gets in bed with such mobsters (snicker snicker), bad things are bound to transpire. The boss Varela (Juan Palomino) is actually being sought by authorities in a sting operation being run by … well … that’s a bit unclear in all of this. Wanting to insure his privacy, Varela shoots the film crew dead; but, unbeknownst to him, two technicians – Mel (Sofía Gala Castiglione) and Alina (Malena Sánchez) have been bound, gagged, and locked away in the warehouse for their refusal to allow the director to go along with such a vile request. Before the night is over, these two women will find themselves paired up with an unlikely ally – the cybernetically reanimated form of Maria who rises from the dead again – in a bid to bring down this nefarious patriarchy once and for all!
So … it’s Die Hard. In a warehouse. With porn stars. And a robotic dominatrix. Along with sound technicians.
As you can see, there’s a lot to unpack with Mar.ia; and, frankly, there isn’t a lot of it that harmonizes. The writing and directing team of Gabriel Grieco and Nicanor Loreti clearly are trying to say something about the greater nature of mankind here, but far too much of it gets buried alive under neon lights, gender politics, over-the-top sound cues, and exploitation. When one is trying to expose the harm to the fairer sex that takes place in the hidden corners of the world, is that treatise best delivered salaciously? Everything about Mar.ia – from our sex worker set-up where she’s clearly living her best life (before her multiple deaths) to her Terminator-style killing spree – is presented with the pomp and circumstance of extravagant exaggeration, so much so that it’s hard not to see some of this as unintentional high camp. Complicating matters, the directors choose to employ some bizarre technological trickery – whenever Mar.ia (the killer robot) kicks into high gear, they adorn the screen with almost anime-like cybernetic inserts – and the whole effect feels more comic than stridently serious.
Additively, there are sequences in the film wherein two characters separated suddenly appear back together without the filler of showing them catch up with one another. Mainly, this occurs in the second half when the forces of evil are hunting down the female technicians fleeing for their lives; and – as continuity errors go – some might see them as negligible, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that they’re still there. Also, Mel and Alina – only shown previously as being loosely at odds with each other before teaming up – are suddenly exposed as … erm … lesbians in a somewhat former relationship, a development that had no underpinning so far as I could tell whatsoever. (They clearly knew one another, but the fact that they apparently may’ve been coupled previously – in some relationship – escaped me entirely.)
Furthermore, the script gives no logical reason why Mar.ia – the nimble sexbot – died on the conjugal bed during her video shoot. In fact, she was presented entirely as the picture of perfect health, and she’s depicted as rather aggressively enjoying everything that’s taking place. It’s only after climbing atop her willing partner that she develops a nosebleed and simply keels over, perhaps giving the slight suggestion of having suffered some cerebral event. Later in the film, Grieco and Loreti loosely incorporate the suggestion that her faked death was part and parcel of some larger scheme to lure Varela and his goons to expose them for their necromania, hinting that such a lifestyle choice is a vastly greater problem in some countries than I personally would choose to accept.
To their credit, the storytellers bury the most obvious evidence of their political intent in a long after-the-credits sequence: a pair of nurses working on the automaton incarnation of the porn star are shown on screen with a digital overlay showing the mechanical woman’s programming. (This is a direct visual nod to the scene from 1987’s RoboCop wherein the deceased Alex Murphy awakens, and the perspective is rendered as if through robot eyes.) The newfangled Maria has been created to:
Furthermore, the script gives no logical reason why Mar.ia – the nimble sexbot – died on the conjugal bed during her video shoot. In fact, she was presented entirely as the picture of perfect health, and she’s depicted as rather aggressively enjoying everything that’s taking place. It’s only after climbing atop her willing partner that she develops a nosebleed and simply keels over, perhaps giving the slight suggestion of having suffered some cerebral event. Later in the film, Grieco and Loreti loosely incorporate the suggestion that her faked death was part and parcel of some larger scheme to lure Varela and his goons to expose them for their necromania, hinting that such a lifestyle choice is a vastly greater problem in some countries than I personally would choose to accept.
To their credit, the storytellers bury the most obvious evidence of their political intent in a long after-the-credits sequence: a pair of nurses working on the automaton incarnation of the porn star are shown on screen with a digital overlay showing the mechanical woman’s programming. (This is a direct visual nod to the scene from 1987’s RoboCop wherein the deceased Alex Murphy awakens, and the perspective is rendered as if through robot eyes.) The newfangled Maria has been created to:
- Directive 1: Protect Women’s Lives.
- Directive 2: Protect Women’s Civil Rights.
- Directive 3: Gather Information To Assure A Better Future For The Feminine Gender.
- Directive 4: Classified.”
Undoubtedly, this implies that women – in this universe – are subject to some despicable injustices; and I’m certain that this viewpoint serves as the foundation for all of what services as a story herein. Where I take issue with it is the fact that – were this fully the case – then why was Maria of the film’s opening living life to the fullest? She wasn’t in any pain. She certainly wasn’t in any despair. Are they trying to say that her death – shown entirely as an accident – was a necessary part in her coming to ‘see the light,’ that the patriarchy was an instrument of evil? She was reaping untold rewards, and – for all I know – went into the business willingly – so why are men to blame? Because they’re the consumers? Or is it because they’re always the first ones – rather easily – blamed for the state of global affairs?
I hate playing the odd man out here, but Mar.ia – as a completed whole – suffers precisely because of the gaps left in place by Grieco and Loreti … both men last I looked. Yes, their film is an occasionally entertaining bit of B-Movie schlock. Yes, it can be gratuitous with cheap thrills and only infrequent but tasteful flashes of skin. But when it comes to preaching about the ills of the world? Well, perhaps that may ultimately be handled better being left to the females in the industry. An otherwise paper-thin story with this many flaws and some narrative inconsistencies might, at best, get them laid in certain circles, but I don’t think it’s really going to convince many members of the patriarchy to change their ways. No insult intended.
Now – in fairness – I want to admit that some of my confusion could very well be the result of being a bit ‘lost in translation.’ This Spanish-language import shot in Argentina is a dubbed cut; and the Blu-ray provides no closed captioning. While there isn’t exactly a mountain of dialogue in here, what remains is rather lazily dubbed, so much so that I’ll admit to watching the film’s opening set-up twice: it’s a black-and-white sequence that’s somewhat choppily rendered, and it feels very much like some reason for its existence is missing. (I find close captioning generally better fills in these holes.) Suffice it to say, even after a second view I still wasn’t entirely certain what the takeaway here was intending; sadly, it really doesn’t grow any clearer once a few clues are dropped later in the flick. I needed a bit more; and, yes, this could be one reason why Mar.ia left me underwhelmed.
I hate playing the odd man out here, but Mar.ia – as a completed whole – suffers precisely because of the gaps left in place by Grieco and Loreti … both men last I looked. Yes, their film is an occasionally entertaining bit of B-Movie schlock. Yes, it can be gratuitous with cheap thrills and only infrequent but tasteful flashes of skin. But when it comes to preaching about the ills of the world? Well, perhaps that may ultimately be handled better being left to the females in the industry. An otherwise paper-thin story with this many flaws and some narrative inconsistencies might, at best, get them laid in certain circles, but I don’t think it’s really going to convince many members of the patriarchy to change their ways. No insult intended.
Now – in fairness – I want to admit that some of my confusion could very well be the result of being a bit ‘lost in translation.’ This Spanish-language import shot in Argentina is a dubbed cut; and the Blu-ray provides no closed captioning. While there isn’t exactly a mountain of dialogue in here, what remains is rather lazily dubbed, so much so that I’ll admit to watching the film’s opening set-up twice: it’s a black-and-white sequence that’s somewhat choppily rendered, and it feels very much like some reason for its existence is missing. (I find close captioning generally better fills in these holes.) Suffice it to say, even after a second view I still wasn’t entirely certain what the takeaway here was intending; sadly, it really doesn’t grow any clearer once a few clues are dropped later in the flick. I needed a bit more; and, yes, this could be one reason why Mar.ia left me underwhelmed.
Mar.ia (2024) was produced by Camauer, Crep Films, and Lahaye Media. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Leomark and Black Mandala. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I can assure readers that the provided sights and sounds are, mostly, good: as I said above, I’m not a fan of forced visual trickery effects and clumsy dubbing, but … sigh … it is what it is. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? Disappointingly, the disc is empty of anything, including even a Main Menu. Talk about your bargain basement!
Mildly Recommended.
Despite a litany of narrative problems, Mar.ia (2024) occasionally delivers a few respectable moments. However, doesn’t packaging a ‘message movie’ beneath the slick veneer of genre exploitation make the storytellers arguably as guilty here as the world they’re trying to condemn? While I’m not opposed to didactic mythmaking, I’m at a loss to understand precisely what lesson Grieco and Loreti wish to take away from their fictional exposé: (1) treat women better or (2) don’t smash a robot? Those two morals aren’t exactly mutually exclusive, and their yarn could’ve been more fulfilling if it had greater context.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Allied Vaughn provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Mar.ia (2024) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Mildly Recommended.
Despite a litany of narrative problems, Mar.ia (2024) occasionally delivers a few respectable moments. However, doesn’t packaging a ‘message movie’ beneath the slick veneer of genre exploitation make the storytellers arguably as guilty here as the world they’re trying to condemn? While I’m not opposed to didactic mythmaking, I’m at a loss to understand precisely what lesson Grieco and Loreti wish to take away from their fictional exposé: (1) treat women better or (2) don’t smash a robot? Those two morals aren’t exactly mutually exclusive, and their yarn could’ve been more fulfilling if it had greater context.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Allied Vaughn provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Mar.ia (2024) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
RSS Feed