Okay, first of all, Machetera’s not a fan. Oliver Stone’s films have always struck her as unsubtle, and she hated Comandante, which oddly, puts her in the same camp as the gusanos who thought it was so dangerous that it ought not to be shown in the U.S. at all, and forced Stone to return to Havana to film an addendum, which they liked even less (but so did Machetera, although surely for different reasons). It’s not just that she had to go through all kinds of terrible contortions just to view it (buying it on Amazon.uk for heaven’s sake and then sacrificing one of the four lifetime chances to change the country code on the computer in order to see the forbidden piece of junk), but that after all of that she couldn’t even sit through the whole thing. Slow is an understatement.
Just as it took the insertion of Quentin Tarantino into Pulp Fiction for Machetera to appreciate John Travolta’s singular acting genius (nothing reveals that so well as a non-actor interacting with a real one), Stone’s self-insertion as “journalist” reveals a similar problem. He’s not a journalist, but he’s not an actor either, so it doesn’t work very well when he tries to play one. It’s easy to understand why our friends down south cooperated with him on the making of the film – the question is whether Stone’s insufferable attitude will drown the message. Honestly, he’s torture to watch.
All right…how does Machetera know South of the Border won’t be any better? It hasn’t even been released. Well, there’s one rather unpromising indicator: Stone can’t even pronounce “Chávez.” Shehvéz? Please. Is Stone’s crew so afraid of him that nobody could pipe up to tell him the accents are there for a reason? Or do they derive some secret pleasure from watching Stone make a fool of himself? Anything’s possible.
Say it…Chá chá chá Vez (like pez, just with a v). It’s not that hard!