Parents' Guide to El Conde

Director Pablo Larrain (Jackie, Neruda) helms a beautifully shot film in black and white, with sweeping gothic shots of Chile, pastoral images, and grotesque violence. But while the cinematography of El Conde soars like the vampires in their capes through the night skies of Chile, the focus of his film gets a bit lost amidst the gore. This horror satire struggles to find some kind of meaning or purpose to its one-note gag, and consequently, these failures nag like the bite from a mosquito, rather than fully compel like one from a bat or vampire. If this grotesque metaphor is to suggest anything, it's to imply that the latter might have pointed to a film that was clearer and more focused, a film that forced the viewer to succumb to the fantasy and unholy thrill of being taken by vampiric darkness rather than be annoyed by it. And yet, for some viewers, El Conde, which means "The Count" in English, might still hold this kind of enchantment, like it does for the character of Carmen, who sets about her task dutifully and righteously, yet often seemingly oblivious to the mighty and very real dangers of her quest.

Also oblivious is Pinochet himself, aging, bored, and tired of living, verifiably indifferent to the world, the innocent, and his family, who swarm around him like vultures. And while it's perhaps part of the joke, Pinochet seems almost confused by how the world and modernity see him. And thus this primary "bit," that Pincochet was (or is still) actually an undying vampire and literal demon of the night, fails to really cohere, also wearing off quickly, as the film devolves into the tried-and-true formula of family (and church) squabbles and fights over possible hidden fortunes. Interspersed with flashback exposition dumps, prompts, and excuses to show incredible gore and moments of darkly comic relief, the film quickly starts to feel like it's heading nowhere important, interesting, or different.