Spanish Film Festival is on in Melbourne, and this beautifully crafted true-life drama about a bus driver from the outskirts of Barcelona was a good pick.
47 is the number of the bus driven by the film’s main protagonist, Manolo Vital (Eduard Fernandez). A quiet gruff man and something of a faded revolutionary, Manolo makes a long daily journey into the centre of Barcelona from his home in Torre Baró, a neighbourhood not to be found on the official city map. In a flashback set in the 1950s, Manolo is one of the many refugees fleeing the troubled regions of Andalusia and Extremadura. They settle in a shanty town on a steep hillside outside of Barcelona, where they’re barely tolerated by the authorities despite paying for their plots of land.
By 1978, Manolo’s crude little shack has transformed into a properly built house, where he lives with his daughter and wife, a former nun and now a teacher. Some things however never changed, and Torre Baró is still largely neglected by the city government. There is no public transport or proper infrastructure, and the locals constantly struggle with power and water supply. As the crisis worsens and lack of support leads to tragedy, Manolo is slowly driven to take matters into his own hands.
When I say “slowly” I really mean it, because the story here is definitely a slow-burner. Manolo, we’re given to understand, is not a man who resorts to drastic action easily, and it takes a lot to make him finally snap. Eduard Fernandez is simply wonderful as a rock-solid anchor for the film, bringing warmth and gravitas to a taciturn but likable character that you instantly want to root for. We spend a lot of time with Manolo as he goes about his daily routine, ready to lend an ear to his regular passengers and their personal problems. The movie is also a sympathetic portrait of a tightly knit community that built itself up from nothing, making you pine if not for the reality of living in a small place where everyone knows everyone, then at least the idea of it.
Visually, El 47 goes for the immediacy and authenticity of a documentary, at times even splicing the real historical footage of Barcelona’s streets and buses with film footage made to look like something from the archives. It was interesting to get a very different perspective on the city I visited and loved a few years ago. Another small touch I liked was the colour of the subtitles shifting depending on whether Catalan or Spanish language was spoken. It can be tempting for the outsiders to think of other countries as some sort of monolith, when in reality the history between the various groups making up a country can be very complicated.
I’ve no doubt that the real story of Torre Baró and its fight for survival was simplified for this historical drama, and the movie certainly doesn’t re-invent the wheel with its familiar beats, but I could just feel my entire cinema cheer quietly at the well-earned emotional pay-off. The film tugs at your heartstrings in the best possible way, and its strong themes of social justice and difference one person can make feel truly universal.
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