THE STORY – Set in 1998 against the backdrop of Granada’s musical scene, the plot fictionalizes the creative process behind Los Planetas’ third album.
THE CAST – Daniel Ibáñez, Cristalino, Stéphanie Magnin, Mario Fernádez “Mafo”, Javier “Chesco” Ruiz & Edu Rejón
THE TEAM – Isaki Lacuesta (Director/Writer), Pol Rodríguez (Director) & Fernando Navarro (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 109 minutes
For many of us, we yearn for any novelty or re-invention when telling a familiar story. There’s an appreciation for a well-formed foundation to build upon, and sometimes tropes are hard to avoid completely. However, the constant barrage of the same predictable explorations can become tiresome, even when justified by proven results from the past. Few subgenres capture this sentiment quite like the musician biopic. Countless entries are produced yearly, spawning from the assembly line of pre-packaged structures that rarely break from such rigid formalities. That’s why when one comes along that tries to break that mold, it’s looked at with a lot more intrigue and curiosity. For “Saturn Return,” there is a bit of this attempt to be bolder with the framework while also mixing in some of those traditionalist ideals. The results are an interesting showcase that struggles to make its depiction thoroughly engaging.
Now, when “Saturn Return” is described as a musician biopic, that is true…sort of. At the center of this story is Los Planetas, a Spanish indie rock band that emerged in the 1990s. What this endeavor aims to reveal, however, is more of an inspiration for the turmoil surrounding the group as they embark on creating their new album. The bassist, May (Stéphanie Magnin), has decided to part ways with the group, leaving the remaining players in emotional distress. The lead singer (Daniel Ibañéz) attempts to wrangle in the high pressure of delivering a work satisfying the record label and his creative expression. Tensions are only increased with the actions of the guitarist (Cristalino) as he nurses his heroin addiction. Including a new drummer (Mafo) is seen as both a step toward stability and a disruptive force that clashes against the established chaos. As demons are excised, the group comes together to create a defining piece of art for themselves, bringing them a sense of gratification.
It’s a strange mission to recollect the impact of a notable band but convey it in a way that can leave avenues for anyone to connect with the material. Suffice it to say that not everyone may have an immediate recognition of this group, particularly anyone outside of Spain during this period. For directors Isaki Lacuesta and Pol Rodríguez, the objective seems to be creating an atmosphere evocative of the real-life participants without ever being a conclusive recreation of their lives, as evident by most of the characters remaining nameless. As such, the filmmaking employs dreamy imagery and fantastical sequences to represent the inner turmoil of these individuals. These efforts often result in bold moments that make an impression, especially as the heightened drama creates a compelling contrast against the softer musical landscape. The examination of this interiority is an intriguing aspect that comments on this discordance.
All that being said, it is difficult to become fully invested in a narrative that never truly provides a solid structure to examine its environment. Since all these characters are never given names, their identities are hazy archetypes that listlessly flow from one moment to the next without any real definition or unique arc to pursue. The perspective often switches between the members, with the narration attempting to give guidance, but ultimately becomes more of a dizzying method that is more frustrating in execution. Tracking all these disparate characters is an exhausting enterprise, not helped by their vague motivations and weak characterizations. Perhaps this is blasphemy to anyone with more knowledge of Los Planetas and their journey to create “A Week Inside an Engine of a Bus,” which seems to be a very well-regarded piece of original music. However, this tactic leaves anyone without that working knowledge at a significant disadvantage, making the specificities inscrutable and any relatable element of the storytelling to become broad and unremarkable.
Still, there is a great deal to admire from the performances that serve this tale. Ibañéz contains a lot of passion that boils under the surface, making him a moody persona that reaches inside for great emotional depth. The interplay he has with every scene partner is endearing but also capable of changing with the volatile circumstances, which makes his portrayal effective. The same goes for Cristalino, who infuses every scene with a captivating aura. Considering the histrionic aspects of that character’s journey, it’s remarkable how understated he plays the role, giving way to an internalized yet engrossing performance. Those two make the most impact, which is a shame because Magnin certainly had the potential to be more engaging were it not for her spotty appearances within the narrative, and Mafo is only serviceable in what he ultimately delivers.
On some level, it is actually impressive that “Saturn Return” aims to explore real-life subjects in a manner that doesn’t stick to strict rules in how this information is delivered. The opening title cards freely admit this is not meant to be an exact re-telling of any particular event but more of an exhibition of the legend surrounding them. On that front, the commentary on emotional yearning – not just for artistic satisfaction, but for communal harmony – is a fascinating concept unfortunately hindered by meandering storytelling that offers hollow and broadly drawn characters at the forefront. Simply being a slightly different iteration of a tired genre is not enough to make an enthralling work. What is presented could have been more alluring had it been more interested in the individuals at the heart of this story.
