No | Film reviews, news & interviews
Pablo Larraín’s rigorous drama chronicles how a team of ad men toppled a dictator
There’s an episode in the first season of Mad Men in which the ad execs of Sterling Cooper brainstorm a campaign for Richard Nixon, just prior to the 1960 presidential election. Dramatic irony being what it is, it’s a rare opportunity to watch our anti-heroes working on a pitch (based chiefly around smear tactics) that is predestined to fail. By contrast, Pablo Larraín’s No chronicles how a team of ad men in 1980s Chile, led by Gael Garcia Bernal’s maverick René, put together a campaign to topple a dictator that we know will succeed against all odds.
No is the third film in a loose trilogy from Larraín, whose first two features Tony Manero and Post Mortem both took place during the darkest days of the Pinochet regime. Now it’s 1988, and the referendum to decide whether Pinochet will rule for another eight years is being held. Both the "Yes" and the "No" campaigns are entitled to 15 minutes of television advertising every night in the month leading up to the vote. Bernal’s much-in-demand René is enlisted to oversee the "No" campaign, which is widely regarded as a doomed charade that will only serve to legitimise the Pinochet government.
The Mad Men comparisons have been ubiquitous - it’s even referenced in the film’s tagline - and yet aside from that early Nixon vs Kennedy arc, the two have very little to do with one another. Where that series revels frequently in cynicism, and in the essentially hollow rewards of advertising as a career, No pulses with quiet passion.
Bernal gives a measured and fascinating performance as a man whose conflict comes less from a Draper-esque wandering eye and dark past than from genuine concerns for his own political integrity and his family’s safety. A subtly tense thread is established as the "No" campaign begins to gather steam and the Pinochet regime resort to scare tactics against René and his team, but Larraín doesn’t spend much energy on this and overall seems less interested in evoking a mood of dystopian fear than in chronicling both campaigns in painstaking, largely absorbing detail.
No is visually drab by design, filmed through a period-appropriate lens that establishes a sense of this as documentary more than storytelling; there are almost no wide shots, Larraín’s camera in perpetual close-up on faces, screens, logos. What’s presumably less intentional is the intermittently flat characterisation – René’s subdued efforts to reconnect with his wife (Antonia Zegers) and young son (Pascal Montero) never resonate emotionally, and there’s a general sense of these characters as archetypes rather than people.
Nonetheless, this is a rigorously drawn account of a remarkable coup that delves shrewdly into the machinations of political marketing.
Subscribe to theartsdesk.com
Thank you for continuing to read our work on theartsdesk.com. For unlimited access to every article in its entirety, including our archive of more than 7,000 pieces, we're asking for £2.95 per month or £25 per year. We feel it's a very good deal, and hope you do too.
To take an annual subscription now simply click here.
And if you're looking for that extra gift for a friend or family member, why not treat them to a theartsdesk.com gift subscription?
There's method in the visual madness of Michel Gondry's tale of tragically blighted love
Polanski's play on sex and power in this adaptation of an erotic-classic
Impressive, enigmatic debut from American indie director Daniel Patrick Carbone
Gael Garcia Bernal follows an immigrant journey in moving drama-doc
A Filipino New Wave classic draws on early cinema to attack American imperialism
Sweaty seamen and a seductive siren wreak havoc in Orson Welles’ confounding film noir
3D reboot of the myth is hard labour
Sequel to thoughtful action-horror hit deepens the dystopia
Jazz-world rollercoaster ride from John Cassavetes
David Gordon Green's latest marks a return to form for the mighty Nicolas Cage
Billy Wilder's peerless, deliriously funny sex-comedy is back on the big screen
Putting the 'yes' into Polyester: team players Divine - Glenn Milstead - and John Waters