“Objectivity Is Unattainable”: Lucrecia Martel Discusses the Creation of Her First Documentary

      Lucrecia Martel is one of the prominent chroniclers of life on land that has been taken. With sharp wit and clarity, her work exposes the false narratives of white settlers without resorting to empty platitudes. She often emphasizes that although her films address the devastation of indigenous territories, she does not classify them as indigenous films. This distinction matters to her, as she believes that such films should originate from and be guided by those communities. For more than thirty years, spanning numerous shorts and four narrative features, Martel critiques the privileges of the white bourgeoisie in Argentina, revealing the decay within their society. What makes Martel compelling is her refusal to indulge in self-pity or performative allyship. By focusing the lens on her own people, including herself, she does not allow for any excuse or absolution. Even with the best intentions, the original sin of colonialism casts a lasting shadow.

      Shifting her focus to documentary filmmaking, Martel embarks on her first documentary feature. Using archival footage, courtroom visuals, and breathtaking drone shots of the Argentinian landscape, Our Land (Nuestra Tierra) presents a poignant examination of the assassination of Chuschagasta leader, Javier Chocobar. As a pivotal figure in asserting his community's land rights, Chocobar recorded his own murder by three white settlers in 2009. Confronting them with a camera while they encroached on his territory, he became a victim of brutal settler violence. Nearly two decades later, Martel aims to reveal the overt corruption and disturbing double standards surrounding the murder trial. While the Chuschagasta community grapples with bureaucratic hurdles and questions regarding their very existence, the assailants remain unpunished. Martel infuses the proceedings with her characteristic dark humor, often drawn from the settlers’ failure to recognize their own privilege and hypocrisy. By allowing them to speak for themselves, she gives them enough rope to hang themselves. Her ongoing exploration of cinematic language as a means of examining communication is evident, underscored by a striking moment where a bird collides with her drone, symbolically suggesting the land's rejection of the presence of outsiders.

      Before the release of Our Land on Friday, I had the opportunity to sit down with Lucrecia Martel to discuss the film, her approach to starting fresh with each project, the joy found in indigenous culture, the recent restoration of The Headless Woman, and much more.

      Thanks to Cordelia Montes for interpreting.

      The Film Stage: While Our Land revisits themes present in your previous works, it marks your first venture into documentary. How does your approach differ when entering this realm?

      Lucrecia Martel: Each film feels like a new beginning for me. I’m not sure if it’s the significant gaps between films, but it always seems like a fresh start. With a topic and material as weighty as this, it has compelled me to rethink cinema and the concept of history, as history itself is narrative in nature. Therefore, I believe it’s unavoidable to shift my approach.

      At first glance, this might seem like an indigenous film, but you have resisted that label. Can you elaborate on that and how you blended their story with the foolishness of the white settlers?

      I felt fortunate that I didn’t have to do much to highlight the arbitrary and deceitful nature of land appropriation. I don’t categorize this as an indigenous film because it wasn’t shaped or led by an indigenous community. Instead, it addresses deeply rooted issues in Argentinian history, primarily our failure to recognize our substantial indigenous identity.

      Were the Chuschagasta people hesitant about your presence to tell their story?

      Absolutely. It was a process filled with dialogue and negotiations. The community, at times, believed the film could expedite the trial. Their previous references were limited to news reports or brief documentaries, and they had not anticipated an accurate portrayal of their narrative. I don’t think they realized how profoundly a documentary could delve into their reality until they watched the finished product collaboratively.

      Photo by Colleen Sturtevant, courtesy of Film at Lincoln Center

      You successfully avoid framing this entirely as a painful experience. The Chuschagasta people are seen thriving and joyful through archival images and in their lives today, rather than solely focusing on their suffering.

      I was very mindful of the perception that this narrative might be seen as merely historical. In Argentina, discussions about indigenous experiences often center on the past. I wanted it to resonate as current and even somewhat future-facing. When we think of indigenous communities, we typically view them through a narrow lens, often assuming they're merely laborers for landowners without understanding their lives or identities.

      When they appear in news stories, it’s usually in tragic contexts, often focusing on loss or distress. We rarely get a chance to witness their reflections on life or see them in moments of happiness. I also believed it was vital to capture how they perceive themselves, their own photographs,