01/06/2017 - Lucija Stojevic puts her name to a mesmerising documentary on the life of legendary dancer, La Chana, co-produced by Iceland, Spain and the US

As a gypsy born in Barcelona in 1946, there is no going to school for little Antonia Santiago Amador. Instead, she grows up on the streets, earning herself a living through little odd jobs. From an early age, melodies play inside her head, tambourine rhythms. She is already possessed by the beat. Our self-taught chica begins to dance in secret. Instinctively, this little girl, who will one day become La Chana, practices complex flamenco rhythms whether at parties or to the tune of the radio. She listens attentively, doesn’t miss a trick. She trains, relentless, in her slippers. It’s her Uncle Chano, a professional guitarist, who inspires her stage name. He immediately recognises the talent of his niece and gives her a helping hand up, much to the family’s dismay. Good girls don’t dance. 

La Chana is fascinating, awe-inspiring, there’s no denying it. But there are two sides to La Chana and this duality is at the heart of La Chana [+see also:
trailer
film profile], the documentary by the young Croatian, Lucija Stojevic. Following on from a successful crowdfunding campaign for 12,000 euros, the director set about following the life - or lives - of the diva. This is a documentary that moves between the then and the now, between modern-day shots and photos pulled out of the archives, between the earliest steps of a young Antonia and the reduced mobility of her older self, all those years and frenetic zapateados having now caught up with her. The film shows La Chana, beautiful, buxom, as sensual as they come, with roses in her hair, lips painted, adorned with golden earrings, and Antonia, the submissive wife, cowed by her first husband, in a narrative that oscillates between frenzied melodies and silence.

In her presence, we are speechless, immobile; we wait, with bated breath. When will she stop? When?? TaTaTaTa. La Chana dances and time stands still. She is possessed by the devil of dance; her limbs, enchanted, stamp themselves down onto the ground. Flamenco is danced from the depths of the soul and brings freedom for our oppressed heroine, who will experience two moments of glory, first between 1966 and 1979 and then between 1985 and 1991. Between these two periods, she takes a break. Something to do with her heart… 

Lucija Stojevic successfully portrays not only La Chana, but also Antonia, the mother, the grandmother and the wife, all at once; a star with an eye – and an ear - for the minutest of details in a performance, but also an elderly lady who watches TV, stretched out on her couch, her faithful companion curled up on her lap. The focus of the film is the life and career of this artist, but it doesn’t stop there. In filming this artist, the director is also raising the question of artistic recognition and transmission. The film ends with La Chana taking to the stage to give a seated performance, where, surrounded by her musicians, she pounds out the rhythm, heel, toe, heel, toe, one last time. 

This film, produced by the Stojevic company, Noon Films (Spain), Bless Bless Films (US) and supported by the Icelandic Film Centre among others, was presented at the International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam and has already been screened at a number of festivals in Europe.

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(Translated from French by Michelle Mathery)