The latest film from particular and peculiar Canadian-Mexican auteur Nicolás Pereda might flirt at times with a plot, but to view it this way is actually fool's gold.
It is much more, specifically, a study of character in a connected series of small scenarios that try to understand its lead character, or his type of character, in the context of modern rural Mexico. While it does not quite hit the comedic or experimental payoffs of Fauna, which was my entry point into Pereda’s work half a decade ago (and still the benchmark I compare all his work to), Copper is a more grounded piece than his previous film, Lázaro at Night, which left me bewildered in the dark with its difficult-to-connect diptych of stories: one mundane and one fantastical.
Keeping things in the key of mundane, the story here follows Lázaro (Lázaro Gabino Rodriguez, the lead of all three of Pereda’s recent films) a thirty-something layabout, who shirks every form of responsibility thrown his way. He only works a couple days a week at the nearby copper mine; not the more precious gold, silver, or platinum. I am confident that choice of metal is deliberate here.
He lives with his mother, and his mother’s sister, who he secretly, perhaps even unconsciously, pines for. Both women provide him room, domestic chores, and meals - and probably extra cash for cigarettes. Rodriguez is always a marvel to behold on screen. He is both an everyman and a chameleon, with his dark eyes, and nondescript frame, he still manages to be the most gangly person in the room.
Riding his motorcycle to work one day, Lázaro discovers a dead body on the side of the road. He stares at it silently for a while in the pounding sunshine, but then moves along. Why? Shock. Possibly, but likely not. He keeps it to himself because to deal with it would probably entail effort and paperwork down the line.
Riding his motorcycle to work one day, Lázaro discovers a dead body on the side of the road. He stares at it silently for a while in the pounding sunshine, but then moves along. Why? Shock. Possibly, but likely not. He keeps it to himself because to deal with it would probably entail effort and paperwork down the line.
Lázaro has been going back and forth with a series of doctors to get a medical exemption out of working, citing breathing issues. His prize is an oxygen tank and mask, which would fulfil a surface level medical aesthetic to not have to do his job in the mine. All of his doctors tell him if he wants to breathe better, he does not need an oxygen supply, he just needs to quit smoking. They then report him back to his boss for his shenanigans. Trying a new tactic, Lázaro tries to pimp his aunt out on a date, after one doctor indicates an attraction to her, in exchange for favours.
At a spare 78 minutes, Copper plays out more like a series of mini-episodes: Lázaro gets chewed out by his boss for trying to weasel his way out of an undemanding job; Lázaro barters with a mechanic around a battery replacement on his bike, which he does not want to pay even the at-cost price for the work done; Lázaro chaperones his aunt on her date with his doctor and, of course, abandons her to go get cigarettes.
At a spare 78 minutes, Copper plays out more like a series of mini-episodes: Lázaro gets chewed out by his boss for trying to weasel his way out of an undemanding job; Lázaro barters with a mechanic around a battery replacement on his bike, which he does not want to pay even the at-cost price for the work done; Lázaro chaperones his aunt on her date with his doctor and, of course, abandons her to go get cigarettes.
These scenes are connected, insofar as watching Lázaro dodge anything that would require effort is the glue. Early sequences do pay off later in the film, including his avoidance of reporting the body, but the consequences feel minor and do not add up to much beyond a soft satire of Mexican corruption and bureaucratic apathy. Blink and you might miss the symmetry.
This is exactly the point of Lázaro’s lazy existence, and the film itself. Somewhat similar to Sophia Coppola’s Somewhere, the image of a battered car, driving around in circles, and kicking up clouds of dust, is the takeaway metaphor for the film. Either that, or Lázaro biting his toenails alone in his sparse bedroom. Not exactly funny ha-hah, but definitely laughing on the inside kind of cringe to a certain sliver of viewers who can pick up on the visual and subtle character details.
It may be challenging to hone in on the wry, yet still kind of empathetic, comedy here, as the static shots, and lack of score make each of these scenes stretch to the maximum. Pereda has always had a gift for the examining mundane manners and graces (or, in most cases, a lack thereof) in his Mexican social tableaus. By letting the actors move about within his tight, spare, frames to keep the scene humming, he often makes films where little is happening on the surface, but plenty is there for the engaged viewer. Or, ironically, those who want to do some work.
Pereda’s cinema is a distant cousin to Hong Sang-Soo, but with far less eating and drinking, and far more scheming pettiness in the form of awkward small talk. Many of his regular repertoire of actors show up here (Mariana Villegas, Teresa Sánchez, Francisco Barreiro), and are each given a scene or two, typically while actually doing work, to give contrast with Lázaro’s perpetual avoidance towards doing nothing.
The results here may just be the driest, low-key, slacker comedy ever made. If you can attune yourself to Pereda’s whisper quiet sense of self-deprecation, almost polite humour, and gentle satire, there are several rewards to be savored in Copper.