Rotterdam Review: Lois Patiño’s Shakespeare-Inspired Ariel Wastes Its Captivating Concept

      A few years ago, directors Lois Patiño and Matías Piñeiro collaborated on what was intended to be a loose adaptation of Shakespeare’s The Tempest. The outcome, the short film Sycorax, felt like a convergence of two like-minded creators. Piñeiro’s talent for revitalizing Shakespeare’s texts and integrating them into modern contexts aligned beautifully with Patiño’s sharp perception of the ethereal. The narrative follows a fictional filmmaker (played by Piñeiro regular Agustina Muñoz) who travels through the Azores in search of an actress to portray the titular witch from The Tempest. Sycorax radiated the whimsical essence of Piñeiro’s “Shakespeareads” while also embodying the sensual, hypnotic quality seen in Patiño’s works like Red Moon Tide or Samsara. It was a unique joint endeavor where both directors harmonized seamlessly, capitalizing on each other's strengths.

      Ariel, based on an original concept by Piñeiro and Patiño but solely written and directed by Patiño, draws inspiration again from The Tempest, sending Muñoz back to the Azores. This time, she is not in the role of director but as an actress invited to the island to star in the play. Essentially, she plays herself, and within a film filled with characters impersonating others, she appears as a sort of anomaly. “The whole island is a theatre,” a hotel receptionist notes at the beginning: each day, various Shakespeare productions commence at dawn and conclude at sunset, only to restart the next morning, reminiscent of Groundhog Day. Consequently, Muñoz, unable to locate the theater company that drew her to the Azores, encounters locals portraying characters from Romeo and Juliet, Othello, Hamlet, and more—many dressed in period attire, performing without any audience present. It mirrors the idea of Islands of Characters in Search of an Author, a nod to a play by Italian dramatist Luigi Pirandello mentioned early on.

      However, Ariel is not particularly focused on exploring the contrast between its modern setting and the individuals clad in capes and armor. This is largely because, as Muñoz’s journey takes her from one performance to another, the film relinquishes any semblance of realism, unfolding in a surreal realm suspended in both time and space. Patiño gradually shifts from the urban environment of the earlier scenes to the mist-enshrouded, expansive landscapes of the Azores. It is within these windswept meadows and steep cliffs that most of Ariel unfolds. Similar to Albert Serra’s Honor de Cavalleria or Bruno Dumont’s Joan of Arc diptych (2017-2019), nature emerges as a grand, unending stage with characters and stories sprouting from every direction. Cinematographer Ion de Sosa, known for The Sacred Spirit, transforms these vistas into ethereal settings; drenched in vibrant magentas and mauves, at its most dreamlike, Ariel evokes the surreal maritime tales of Raúl Ruiz, such as City of Pirates and Treasure Island.

      Instead of simple contrasts between past and present, truth and fiction, Ariel is driven by deeper existential inquiries. Who are these drifters Muñoz encounters? Why do they not recognize themselves as actors, people portraying others? What would happen if they strayed from Shakespeare’s revered texts—assuming they could? It makes sense that, among all the play’s characters, Patiño would select Ariel as the lead. In The Tempest, she is a shapeshifting spirit bound to serve the magician Prospero, who freed her from the tree where Sycorax had imprisoned her. In this film, Ariel is the role for which Muñoz was invited to the Azores, but she soon realizes that the part has already been taken by a woman who likely arrived before her. This woman, played by Irene Escolar, is recognized by Muñoz, who exclaims, “I just saw you play in a new film by Jonas Trueba!” (referring to 2022’s You Have to Come and See It). Nevertheless, this realization eludes Escolar; like everyone else in Ariel, she cannot or chooses not to exist outside of Shakespeare’s narrative.

      Reinterpreting fiction as a form of constraint rather than mere escapism offers an intriguing perspective. Yet, Ariel does not quite provoke thought as deeply as the questions it raises. Lacking the formal innovation that makes Piñeiro’s Shakespeare adaptations so captivating, the film gradually loses its enigmatic charm. There is only so much depth Patiño can extract from Muñoz’s wanderings; her numerous chance meetings with Romeo, Hamlet, and others feel empty, if not entirely numbing. Eventually, the constant shifting between plays and the characters’ repetitive calls to “write [their] own destiny” ceased to inspire new reflections, and for a time, I allowed myself to be swept away by the film's more