Un Paraiso Bajo las Estrellas.

Adorable Lies (1991) from Cuban director Gerardo Chijona is an excellent comedy with dramatic touches, about the illusion of fame, show business dreams, and the continuous search (almost as a sport) for sexual adventures among Cubans. Rooted in the individual circumstances of its central characters, the film makes a brilliant commentary on Cuban society in general. It projects from the particular to the broad-spectrum of what it means to be Cuban, converting the "world of show business " into a microcosm of all Cuba, something that would become even more notable in Chijona's subsequent film (A Paradise Under the Stars, 1999).

The leading character in Adorable Lies, Jorge Luis, is a young man trying to make it as a screenwriter. While his wife struggles to keep up with the daily household chores, he pounds his typewriter ---- pretending that it is an "Apple Macintosh", virtually impossible to come by in Havana -- and writes the screenplays that his friend, the movie director, is hoping will embark both of them on their way to success and fame. When Jorge meets Isabel at a movie premiere, he discreetly takes off his wedding ring, uses a phony name, and begins a long process of seduction, doing his best to project the "glamour" that presumably rubs off on him because he is a screenwriter. Isabel, in turn, is married to an older man, a corrupt government official who takes advantage of his travels abroad to buy electric household appliances, (a bit of smuggling that is forbidden to officials who represent the Cuban government).

While Jorge Luis's wife harbors the suspicion that he has become "gay" because he no longer pays attention to her in bed, he starts a torrid affair with Isabel, that will unleash a series of mishaps. Eventually, as chance would have it, the unfaithful pair of lovers run into their mates in a restaurant, setting off a riotous and comedic public mêlée.

The movie's well timed comic pace is largely due to Chijona's exceptional directorial skills, but also to screenwriter Senel Paz, who two years later would write Strawberry and Chocolate (directed by Tomás Gutiérrez Alea, 1993). The cast members deserve abundant praise for their performances. Noteworthy are Isabel Santos for her expressive, deftly nuanced portrayal of Isabel, along with Luis Alberto García as the unfaithful/conquering husband, and Mirta Ibarra, who plays the part of Nancy, a suicidal maniac, (her attempts at suicide, real or otherwise, are very frequent, but obviously she never succeeds). Nancy's final "suicidal" fit turns into a slap at the reliability of public services: she turns on the gas in the kitchen and lies down on the bed, ready to die, but of course doesn't realize that the gas company has shut off the service without giving notice. It is interesting to note that Nancy (both character and actress) were later "exported" from Adorable Lies to Strawberry and Chocolate, where she kept right on with her mania for frustrated "suicides".

Adorable Lies is much more than an enjoyable film; it is also the first Cuban comedy from the national "Rectification" period that dared to make direct reference to the double moral standard, the corruption, and the inefficiency of government officials and public services.

Eight years later, Director Chijona produced his second comedy, A Paradise Under the Stars (1999), this time with a pace so frantic as to be almost slapstick. Practically the entire story of the film revolves in some way about the celebrated cabaret "Tropicana." From the Cuban Revolution's earliest days in 1959, the Club Tropicana has had its ups and downs, but the upsurge in tourism in the 90's brought it splendidly back to life. A Paradise Under the Stars was hatched with the idea of creating a group of characters, fleshing them out with their life stories, complete with mistakes and foibles, while always managing to stay close to the milieu of the nightclub. The key to this device is in the fact that the Tropicana is also a metaphor for Cuba as a whole, symbolizing the festive, colorful, radiant and rhythmic spirit of its inhabitants. As in Adorable Lies and other recent comedies, the film contains many critical and humorous references aimed at life in present-day Cuba. For example, when Cándido comes back to life during his wake, and confesses that he could not get into heaven because admission and everything else there had to be paid for "in dollars".

The very comical story concerns love, jealousy, infidelity, passionate temperaments, racial equality (or difference), and above all, the intense desire of the protagonist, Sissy, to become a star at the Tropicana.

Once again, director Gerardo Chijona succeeds at the difficult task of coaxing top-flight performances from the entire ensemble, as though he were a juggler keeping several oranges in the air at all times. Although the actors are remarkably good, it is his superb direction that succeeds in making them shine. Enrique Molina (Cándido) acts the part of the shrieking, tyrannical father with the fierce machismo demanded by his role. In contrast, Promedio's character (Litico Rodríguez) is all sweetness and superstition. He is Cándido's partner, who early-on "discovers" the apparent family relationship between Cándido and young Sergio (both have a mole on the right buttock), and accordingly tries to stop the incest that is about to happen between Sissy and Sergio, a pair of fiancées who have no idea that they are sister and brother. The actresses are also outstanding in their roles, but nothing less could be expected from Daisy Granados and Alicia Bustamante, whose long theatrical and movie experience guarantees a stellar result. Doing notably well in his role is Vladimir Cruz (Sergio), an actor who has struggled for several years to distance himself from the character he played in Strawberry and Chocolate. The true artistic marvel, however, is Thais Valdés, who electrifies us with her sensual, earthy portrayal of Sissy, unlike anything else in her previous brilliant performances in many other films (including Adorable Lies). She is called upon to be daughter, ingénue, chorus girl, girlfriend, lover and mother, all delivered to perfection with a resoundingly broad register throughout every moment of her several transformations.

One might get the idea that this delightful comedy is no more than a "commercial" for the Club Tropicana, but a reverse reading is also possible: the Tropicana (also known by the name of A Paradise Under the Stars) provided the film with the opportunity to find a metaphor to express the indomitable spirit that flows through Cuban life, despite the country's economic problems. It is a festive spirit, filled with music, color, movement. As is shown at the end, it is also the expression of a racial melting pot (the poet Nicolás Guillén spoke of a "Cuban color" that was neither white nor black, but the perfect synthesis of the two), and an optimistic song that celebrates life. It all combines to make this film one of Cuban moviemaking's most enjoyable comedies ever!

Jorge Ruffinelli was born in Uruguay, and he is currently a Professor of Latin American literature and cinema at the Department of Spanish and Portuguese at Stanford University. He has published several books on Latin American writers and filmmakers, and has participated in the International Havana Film Festival. During the last seven years he has been preparing the First Encyclopedia of Latin American Cinema, which will be released in 2002.