In Zumeca, a new film from acclaimed Dominican filmmaker David Maler, the new world is born out of clashing forces of love, violence, and nature. The film, which is based on a true story, is an emotionally gripping and visually stunning telling of the first family of the Americas.
Zumeca premiered at the Slamdance Film Festival in Los Angeles on February 21, and ended up taking home the honor of Breakouts Feature Grand Jury Prize. As the first win of its kind for a Dominican-made film, Zumeca’s success is an impressive step forward for the Caribbean nation’s future as a global cinematic player. And Maler, who has been at the forefront of that push, wrote, directed, and produced the film.
Upon viewing, it becomes obvious that the movie is an incredibly personal one. Not just for Maler and his personal creative imprint, but also in the story that it tells.
Instead of revisiting the macro tale of Spanish conquistadors and Indigenous populations clashing in their early interactions, Maler presents the story on the micro level – via the heartening and heartbreaking relationship between a Spaniard man, Miguel (Ruben Ochandiano), and a Taíno woman, Zumeca (Angela Canó).
Their love, while confusing, informs the world going forward. Together, Zumeca and Miguel, breathe life into what will become of the Dominican Republic specifically and the new world more broadly.
In an interview for ScreenAge Wasteland, Maler explained how he first came across the eventual inspiration for the movie’s narrative in a children’s book written by Laura Amelia Cabral, which tells the same story. Maler went on to say that the story “just clicked at an emotional level, a very deep emotional level” for him. That emotional resonance bursts through every frame of the film.
Audience members will probably quickly draw parallels to Terrence Malick’s The New World, which gracefully and powerfully tells the story of John Smith and Pocahontas during early English colonial ventures in Virginia. Both in story and visual language, Zumeca is at very least in conversation with The New World.
Maler, however, while appreciative of the comparisons to any of Malick’s work, noted that “Tree of Life was more of a visual… [and]…sensory reference” for Zumeca’s ultimate cinematic language. Maler’s camera is a bit more static than Malick’s (in The New World, Tree of Life, and beyond) but similarly evokes feelings of connectivity between the human spirit and our natural world. The film’s black and white cinematography and 4:3 aspect ratio brilliantly captures the beauty of its world.
The island of Hispaniola that Dominicans call home is a character unto itself. The caves, rivers, and jungles that the Taíno people inhabit are impressively imposing but never quite escalate into being presented as intimidating. Maler captures the nature of his homeland with great reverence and a keen eye.
Although the story is ultimately fairly tragic in its content, Zumeca is a beautifully hopeful film. Maler and two of the film’s stars, Canó and Miguel Dionisios Ramos described the exercise to ScreenAge Wasteland as one defined by tapping into memories, and into lineage and DNA, deep within the collective subconscious. Canó explained that “even if they want to convince us that [this story has] been lost to time, it’s still there.”
Maler added that he saw the film as an opportunity to “reclaim important, very, very important memories that we’ve lost to time.” And Ramos noted that the film creates a bridge between the Taíno people and today’s world, because it’s in our soul, in our blood, and in our spirit. That bridge is communicated deftly by Canó, Ramos, and the rest of the cast.
Canó, who plays Zumeca with fierce determination, resilient emotional intelligence, and unimpeachable love, was awarded the Outstanding Acting Award by the Slamdance Grand Jury. Her powerful performance is the film’s heart and soul. Even those who don’t understand the Taíno language can register her character’s emotional depths through Canó’s outstanding facial expressions.
The final shot of the film, a medium close-up of Canó’s face, is a hauntingly beautiful one. It sits with you long after the end credits roll. A testament to the power of this film’s emotional core – one that we can all appreciate and identify with.
