Evita in wonderland: Pulqui and the workshop of underdevelopment.
Alejandro Fernandez Moujan's Pulqui: An Instant in a Country's Happiness (2007) is one of the most provocative documentary films to come out of Argentina in recent years. A story of lost dreams, Pulqui reflects on the well-known political cataclysms of Saul Menem's cannibalistic neoliberalism and Fernando de la Rua's parsimonious center-left politics, through a revision of history starting with the 1955 military coup that overthrew Juan Domingo Peron's first presidency.
The film's action centres on the construction of a model version of the legendary Pulqui II jet fighter plane. The Pulqui I was designed for Peron in the late 1940s with the collaboration of Emil Dewoitine from France, and Enrique Cardeilhac and Norberto L. Morchio from Argentina. The Pulqui II, a much improved version of the plane that flew for the first time on June 16 1950, had been designed by world-renown Luftwaffe engineer Kurt Tank, who entered the country with a fake passport. The plane represented a daring technological accomplishment for the Argentine military as it could compete with the American Sabre F-86 and the Russian MIG-15. Aviation was considered to play a central, creative role in the industrial economic plans of Peron's government:
To form the most sacred and most important of missions there is the art and technique of flying; an art that many see but few comprehend, because in flying, as with any other art, what is fundamental is the artist complemented by the elements that allow for the development of the genius of man, as a vital part of that art. (1)
Fighter planes are among the most blatant and rich symbols of military power. In Pulqui, spectators are invited to share in the pleasure of rebuilding an iconic symbol of industrial achievement. (2) The documentary follows Daniel Santoro, a painter and sculptor, and Miguel Biancuzzo, a craftsman and theatre set designer, as they build the model (half the size of the original plane) over a five-month period--an effort to resurrect an artifact that represented the once-powerful rise of Argentina as an industrial player on the post-WWII geopolitical landscape. As the film advances steadily towards the final flight of the model, audiences are invited to consider the value of labor in a neoliberal Third World country that seems to favor financial speculation over investment in the education of a national labor force, and importing foreign products over protectionist policies.
From its title, one can tell that Fernandez Moujan's fourth film Pulqui: An instant in a Country's Happiness is about lost dreams. The film expresses the awkward and clumsy search for new forms of artistic expression in Argentina. The title of the film evokes a common feeling among Argentines these days; many maintain that they have to think back to Peron's first Justicialista government to recall any sense of a country progressing forward. Pulqui, which means 'arrow' in the indigenous language Mapuche, revisits a period of Argentine history when state propaganda emphasized the value of labor. The documentary clearly celebrates Peronism's politics of social inclusion but does not ingenuously embrace the movement's ideological principles. In its depiction of the way in which the protagonists resurrect symbolic artifacts with unconventional tools, the film prompts spectators to re-examine the past and think critically about the present.
Towards the beginning of the film, we see the Valentin Alsina Bridge. A vehicle crossing the Riachuelo River bears Santoro towards his friend's workshop. The bridge is an important political symbol for the history of Peronism, as it connects the city of Buenos Aires to its abandoned industrial belt. The bridge also serves as a symbolic frontier between the urban space capable of withstanding an economic crisis and the rest of the country. Accordingly, we see beat-up trucks loaded with cardboard making their way across the bridge, puffing smoke and transporting the waste of the middle and upper classes. The men that hang perilously from the sides of the trucks constitute a new class of workers commonly known as cartoneros, cardboard collectors.
A friend of Fernandez Moujan once mused about the striking view from the bridge in the afternoon: "The day I saw it ... I started to think that the Valentin Alsina Bridge was once an emblem of the Peronist labor movement, a place where all the large metallurgic industries were, entire neighborhoods constructed by Peron's government ..." (3) The Alsina Bridge is a legendary site for Peronists for another reason, as well; it was one of the boundaries crossed in the October 17, 1945 mobilization to Plaza de Mayo to demand the release of Peron from prison. As Daniel James notes, with this protest march, workers subverted once and for all the notions of spatial hierarchy that had defined class relations in Argentina up to that point. (4) According to Fernandez Moujan, during the Golden Age of Peronism, before the 1955 coup d'etat, one would routinely see thousands of workers leaving the factories like an ocean wave. These workers would not have become the cartoneros of today, he suggests, if the country hadn't fallen out of step with its industrial march. And yet he feels admiration for the cartoneros: "I admire how the people are able to recreate and organize solidarity ties and build an admirable structure of labor and survival." (5)
There are four main protagonists in Pulqui: plastic artist Daniel Santoro, craftsman and set designer Miguel Biancuzzo, Pulqui (the jet plane and its model), and the ghostly figure of Eva Peron. Santoro--painter, sinologist, set designer, inventor--is well known in Argentina for his playful renditions of Peronist iconography. Although Santoro was born a few years before the 1955 coup, he is fascinated by Peron's first years in office. His art, which appropriates and resignifies traditional Peronist images, is especially geared toward a contemporary Argentine public. He draws inspiration from the political propaganda that appeared in textbooks and posters during the General's first presidency. Susana Rosano argues that Peron was the first Argentine leader to develop a whole iconography for his political campaign that can be read today as a master narrative. (6) The master narrative targeted all ages; school books for children featured the illustrations of the saintly and protective figure of Evita, the spiritual leader of all school teachers and their pupils. As Mariano Plotkin argues in Mariana es San Peron (Tomorrow is Saint Peron), these texts more importantly "introduced new social actors and reformulated the traditional image of the role of the State". (7)
Miguel Biancuzzo is a different kind of artist and a different kind of Peronist than Santoro. He is an old-school craftsman from an age when it was still honorable to make something sturdy and functional. For years he has been building opera sets for Argentina's prestigious Colon Theatre in his workshop in Valentin Alsina, on the outskirts of Buenos Aires. He thinks of himself as a good craftsman and believes that his labor is an expression of his moral values. This is underscored in a sequence when Santoro, who often assumes the position of the interviewer in the film, asks him to describe the hammer he is using to shape a piece of aluminum into a ring for the nose of the model plane. Biancuzzo proudly explains that it is a double-face machinist hammer made by the Albacete Company in Spain. Eventually, when the Spanish and Italian hammer companies disappeared, he had to start making his own. Raising another hammer, he addresses Santoro and the camera: "These are made in casa ... We were able to copy them pretty well. Maybe one day they will also become historic ... but not today." He adds that he engraved the number 22 on the hammer. "Nobody knows why but you can draw your own conclusions." His works are a clear reference to August 22, 1951, the day hundreds of thousands of followers pleaded with Eva Peron to accept the vice-presidency of the Justicialista party.
Biancuzzo's workshop is straight out of the technical school tradition--escuelas fabricas as they are called in Argentina). (8) The workshop is a very large corrugated metal building that once held a replica of a locomotive he built for Leonardo Favio's film Gatica: El Mono (1993), the tragic story of a Peronist boxing champion. Toward the beginning of Pulqui, the camera follows Santoro as he opens a large door with the letters VP ("Viva Peron") spray painted on the front. Biancuzzo's taller (workshop) is a space characterized by resourcefulness and talent, but on a deeper level it is a place where the unfinished process of mourning continues. In the taller, symbolic objects that carry a great deal of weight in the Argentine imaginary are excavated, reconstructed, analyzed, and revalued.
The absurd adventure of building a model of Pulqui stands for hundreds of other quixotic projects conceived in what I will call the "workshop of underdevelopment": an intermediary zone between First World industrial production and artisanal creation, typical of underdeveloped countries. The workshop of underdevelopment is both a symbolic space and the principal location in Pulqui, as most of the documentary's action takes place in Biancuzzo's taller. The protagonists go out of their way to explain the difficult choices they have to make in the construction and design of the model plane. They seem to want audiences to understand that there are risks to building such an object without the help of high-precision machinery.
Pulqui opens with its ghostly heroine. In a lyrical and moving fantasy sequence, Evita, dressed in a black business suit, and a school girl, wearing the traditional white apron used in public schools, are seated on a fallen tree in the forest. The ground is covered with leaves. Both have their backs turned to the camera. A ring of light shines around Evita's head. It is hard to hear what the two are saying over the natural sounds of the forest. The schoolgirl complains that they are giving her too much homework and then comments that she thinks Evita's blonde hair is beautiful. "I confess that I like yours more," Evita replies, caressing the girl's black hair. The scene ends abruptly and we are left alone in the middle of the forest. The sound of water and birds chirping becomes almost overbearing as the camera moves effortlessly among the trees. The image of the forest slowly dissolves into an archival image of the real Pulqui taking off as Peron, dressed in white uniform of the air force, watches. The jet engine roars as the sequence ends.
Evita's resurrected image in the forest offers relief. For Peronists, this sequence suggests comfort. The film's audiences know that the heroine of the story succumbed to cancer long ago just as they know about the desecration of her and her husband's corpses. Evita's body was preserved by the Spanish embalmer Dr. Pedro Ara, and both of the General's hands were cut off with a chainsaw when his mausoleum in the Chacarita Cemetery was broken into in 1987. A letter asking for a ransom of $8 million dollars was subsequently sent to a few Peronist members of congress. Journalists David Cox and Damian Nabot in their book La segunda muerte (Peron's Second Death), suggest that this profanation was a ritualistic act to condemn Peron's spirit to eternal unrest. The bizarre incident remains unresolved but one thing has become clear: the Peronist political family has been constantly challenged in their efforts to mourn their leaders. (9)
Daniel James reminds us of the special "intimacy" that the Justicialista or Peronist movement was able to institute with the working class. (10) Evita played a crucial role in fostering this intimacy. Within the ideological arch of Peronism, Evita assumed the responsibilities of the perfect mother, her duties being both to protect and teach her children. (11) Her role is reinforced in the film by the strategic placement of propaganda footage displaying the accomplishments of the Peronist government: the building of schools, recreation centers for orphan children, etc. This role as heroic guardian of the people assumes an even greater dimension in the documentary. For those who still believe (like Santoro, Biancuzzo and Fernandez Moujan) that to work is to put into action one's intellectual and physical potential, and who think that work should compliment the needs of the community, Evita represents a steadfast symbol of redemption for the tradition of the state as guardian of the worker's craft.
The opening scene of the film reestablishes a lost connection between audiences and the heroine. As the film progresses, demands are made on the spectators to participate in a difficult archeological excavation of symbols. Santoro's paintings assume the role of the documentary voiceover in the film. Two works in particular illustrate the peculiar way in which the painter resignifies Evita. Both paintings depict Evita and the schoolgirl in a world of danger and salvation. In the first painting, which shows up about one third of the way into the documentary, Evita is standing tall but half of her face is in the shadow and her expression is that of someone in mourning. She holds the hand of a schoolgirl who has witnessed the violent usurpation of power by the Military Junta. Fernandez Moujan juxtaposes newsreel footage with Santoro's painting in the film in order to illustrate not only the violence deployed during the coup--represented by shots of the burning government palace and a menacing flight of bombers--but also how young Argentines like himself retreated into fantasy to protect themselves from the trauma of events.
The second painting can be read as the representation of a place of refuge and salvation. In it, Evita and the schoolgirl float along a river sailing towards a magical city. The spectator learns in the third act of the film that this magical place is the City of Children, an entertainment park built by Evita. On the bank of the river, a winged animal rubs its skin against a tree. Along with shots of the painting we hear the sound of water running and birds chirping. The memory of Evita is transported from the real site of trauma, the bombed Plaza de Mayo and the Government Palace, to the tranquil landscape of the forest and river.
According to Plotkin, Peronist literature explains history not as a process but as a succession of cataclysms that redefined reality and can still be felt in the present. For Plotkin, this mechanism legitimized many policies in the symbolic plane "as it related contemporary events to replicas in an unquestioning past." (12) Santoro has not only been able to represent this mechanism in his work but has given it a more powerful dimension. He believes that most ideologies make a promise about what they can achieve in the future, but either they don't get a chance to put them into practice or their hopes are crushed by opposing forces: "Peronism, on the contrary is an ideology that lives in the past and holds a promise for the future. It is an ideology one wishes to come back to." (13) In the context of the film, his pictorial work seems to reflect the often forgotten factors that one should consider when thinking back on the significance of Peronism for the working class. These factors, as James reminds us, were "pride, self-respect and dignity." (14)
The style of the documentary positions the spectator in intimate contact with the protagonists in their working environments. Fernandez Moujan shot Pulqui on video, assisted only by a sound person, and edited the film himself. The film's theme, particularly its emphasis on two workers and the relationship of their craft to an allegorical artifact, calls to mind Vittorio De Sica's classic neorealist films. Argentine film critic Eduardo Rojas says that one of the things that caught his attention in Pulqui was the mixture of manual, artisanal and artistic labor. He suggests that in the workshop both types seem to coexist, and further, that the protagonists of Pulqui derive their ethics and aesthetic from manual labor. (15)
Fernandez Moujan's previous film Espejo para cuando me pruebe el smoking (2005) looks at the practice of artist-sculptor Ricardo Longhini and, in a similar vein, traces an artist's journey as he attempts to document art in the wake of Argentina's economic collapse. Espejo, like Pulqui, shows an artist attempting to make theory, as Longhini says in the film, coincide with the final product. On his way to the cinema, Longhini is caught in the middle of the protests of December 2001 when hundreds of people took to the streets to bring down De la Rua's government. During the battle around Plaza de Mayo which left seven people dead, Longhini collected rubber pellets, grenade rings, political pamphlets and pieces of sidewalk that were used as ammunition. Longhini's work "Argentinitos: 20 de Diciembre, 2001" is crafted out of these remains. In the workshop of underdevelopment, the greatest task seems to be to discover how opposing elements can fit together to reveal their essential qualities. Espejo also shows the courage and dedication of an artist who struggles to sell his work in order to maintain his workshop and bring food to the table. (16)
The first act of Pulqui takes the spectator through the conceptual design of the model plane, the presentation of the blueprints, the careful selection of materials, and the construction of the resurrected object. In contrast to the original Pulqui, the reproduction will have no engine. This common project that brings Biancuzzo and Santoro together also provides the film's structure. According to the film's narrative premise, the reason for building the plane resides in Santoro's concept of "future archeology," an excavation of political signifiers that still have the capacity to articulate a vision for the nation:
From my point of view, Pulqui, as a work of art, represents the desire to want to take off, that desire for Argentina once again to be a nation that can represent us, one that can fulfill our dreams. That is why these things are always related to the theme of happiness. And this also evokes that old country of happiness that Peronism embodied in its heyday. (17)
Although the actual construction of the model plane took six months, watching the documentary, one gets the impression that it was completed in just a few frantic days. Santoro's confrontational presence gives Pulqui such a strong conceptual drive that at times he seems to be the film's director. He has a good feel for dramatic tension and pushes Biancuzzo to disagree with him in order to resolve the film's narrative turning points. As a result, Biancuzzo takes on the role of the honest and sometimes naive craftsman who fights to preserve the set of principles that led him to accept Santoro's challenge in the first place. The confrontation between the two friends comes to a boiling point in the workshop when Biancuzzo complains to Santoro that he has been dishonest about the project's aspirations and calls him insatiable. First Santoro asked him to make a half-size model plane, then to make the model plane somehow fly. Finally, he wants the plane to land without being damaged so that it can later be displayed in a museum exposition. In order to convince his friend to keep working, he invokes a popular mantra typical of the workshop of underdevelopment: "demosle para adelante" ["let's keep on going"]. Biancuzzo echoes his friend's attitude: "... vamos aprendiendo a medida que lo hagamos ... no hay otra manera" ["we will learn as we go. ... there's no other way"]. This mantra suggests that the lack of tools or familiarity with the object to be built should not curtail someone's ambition, but it also implies that creativity among artisans does not depend on the sanction of an apathetic overseer. When Biancuzzo expresses concern that the plane will be damaged if they try to make it fly, Santoro reacts with amusement to his friend's sentimental attachment to the object: "Nobody is responsible if the toy breaks," he tells his friend. "We all break it."
Three quarters of the way into the film, Santoro and Biancuzzo take their project to an alley behind the workshop for a test flight. The model is mounted on a trailer and dragged along the improvised runway with the hope that it will somehow take to the air like a kite. The plane attempts to take off but tips and one of its wing scrapes against the asphalt, setting off sparks. Biancuzzo is terribly disappointed. Santoro, on the other hand is elated. The plane wanted to take fly, he explains, but it was restrained by the ties that secured it to the trailer. After this failed attempt, they head back to the workshop to rebuild the battered model.
Santoro picks the City of Children, a location rich in sentimental associations for Peronism, for the location of the second test flight. The City of Children is one of the largest amusement parks for children in Latin America in operation today. It was built with Evita's sponsorship in the 1950s on a golf course that belonged to Swift, an American meatpacking company. The buildings, partially inspired by medieval stories, and the Grimm fairy tales, were erected by 1600 workers. According to a few sources, including Santoro, Walt Disney visited the site and was inspired to build his park in the United States. (18) In sharp contrast to Disneyland/Disneyworld, the City of Children was designed as both an entertainment park and a place for civic instruction. Nestled in a grove of trees, its visitors find child-sized buildings representing the important institutions of democratic societies such as the House of Representatives, a school, a church and an airport. Once a year, children gather and hold a parliamentary session to suggest changes in local government legislation that might enhance their lives. The amusement park is often conceptualized as "a space that aids in education and the formation of citizens." (19)
The camera follows the model plane as it paraded through Buenos Aires on top of a truck bed, looking strangely because of its scaled-down size. When it arrives at the City of Children's minuscule airport, Biancuzzo complains that the runaway is too short and that there are too many tree branches around that could damage the model plane. By contrast, for Santoro there is no other option than to attempt to fly the plane. An ellipsis interrupts the continuity of events and the spectator is precluded from watching the take-off. Instead, we witness a discussion between the two protagonists as they examine a series of photographs of the take-off in which we see the model hovering a few feet off the ground trailing a mysterious cloud of smoke. Santoro is elated about what he sees as Pulqui's "desire to fly." He says: "it wanted to show us that it was a plane, not a kite. It wanted to take off. It's revenge from when it smashed itself against the ground."
In an interview, Biancuzzo reveals why he, on the other hand, was heartbroken and frustrated at this moment in the documentary film:
For me the fact that the plane crashed was very disconcerting. Do you think that if we make another it would be same? It won't be the same because all the great things that this plane generated are exceptional because I'm not a plane engineer, I don't know how to make shit of these types of things. This came out because I did everything; I put all of myself into it. Everyone here seems to have a vision, but I don't think anybody remembers--I say this with a touch of irony--the guy who carried out the job. (20)
Another confrontation between the two friends occurs when Santoro tells Biancuzzo that a section of the wing will have to be removed in order to transport the plane in the most affordable freight crate to the Emilio Caraffa museum in Cordoba. Biancuzzo doesn't accept the idea of amputating 15% of the wing. He is proud of his manual work and demands respect for the integrity of the model plane. He doesn't seem to care that the plane will eventually become an art object in an exhibition. Santoro's cold reaction to his friend's concerns comes as a surprise, especially given the tragic history of physical desecration which haunts his work.
In his introduction to Manual de un nino peronista (Manual Of A Peronist Child), a book of Santoro's most celebrated paintings, Raul Santana emphasizes that images of amputation and desecration haunt and resurface repeatedly in the artist's work:
In his dream- fed up by voices, scraps, and evidence from said decade- Santoro viewed the huge territory of the Peronist's protectionist state. And he viewed it with his constructive sense, metaphoric architectures, violent and vertiginous perspectives, and even Peronism's black legend appeared with images full of irony. The tragedy was also present when the artist inquired into the destiny's mark that made an enigma out of the leader's corpses. The General's hands floated here. Evita's embalmed corpse disappeared there. The corpses, always the corpses. What did this world of amputation mean? What did the leaders' corpses have to do with history? Santoro seems to confirm that his imagination is also a way of knowledge. (21)
Thus, one would think that Santoro would identify with his friend's fears, especially when an esteemed Peronist object is targeted for amputation. In Manual de un nino peronista, Santoro himself attests to his proclivity to explore the dark side of justicialismo and confront the tragic events that have shaped its history. Without exonerating Santoro for his manipulative strategies and his insensivity, we can understand why he disagreed with Biancuzzo's refusal to amputate the plane's wing. For Santoro, the alternate symbolic life that the model plane will have after it leaves the workshop is more important than its precise physical integrity. The plane's ultimate purpose as an art object dominates the narrative thrust of the documentary from this point on.
In the final sequence of Pulqui, the camera takes to the air and flies over Buenos Aires' abandoned industrial belt. We hear engine noises and the sound of metal rumbling in the wind. Since its inception, it was obvious that because of its scaled down size the model plane could not have a pilot. The camera takes the place of a pilot, inviting spectators to mount the plane and join in the symbolic flight over the landscape of disaster capitalism. By the end of the film, Santoro and Biancuzzo have resurrected the Peronist flying machine, but the director has the last word. He insures that there is no sign of triumph in the model plane's first and last flight. Abandoned factories, a polluted river, a truck transporting a group of young men in its bed: what we survey from the sky is a nostalgic tour of what might have been. Fernandez Moujan describes this sequence with bitterness:
Pulqui's final flight over the ruins and the slums, and the cartoneros ... for me that flight is the angel of history that is looking at the past with all its ruins, and what the angel wants is to raise the dead and awaken the great moments of times passed. (22)
The word "utopia" suggests the ambition to attain what should be but cannot be realized. Pulqui espouses the idea that Peronism was a social project curtailed by the reactionary forces of the Argentine military and the right-wing liberals who, fearing the rise of a unionized working-class brought about the destruction of their labor practices. Biancuzzo, Santoro and Fernandez Moujan, in bringing symbolic objects like the Pulqui and Evita back from the spectral world of the afterlife, present a heroic, albeit not always harmonious, intervention in the uncompleted bereavement process of the Justicialista project. Although there is a touch of nostalgia in their intervention, the act of recovery is full of creative optimism, exemplified by the forest sequence depicting Evita and the schoolgirl. The forest, in the context of Peronism's afterlife, is a refuge from the forces of destruction. Fernandez Moujan visualizes the forest as a place where Pulqui rests after being mutilated and destroyed, until the two protagonists rescue it and make it fly once again. (23) As a trope in classic children stories, it also serves as a geographical nexus between childhood innocence and the broken dreams of adult lives; a place where sweet grandmothers turn into devouring wolves. The telos of the documentary positions both Biancuzzo and Santoro as Quixotic heroes. Their heroism opposes with dignity the destructive forces of capitalism. As with Cervantes' Don Quixote, their stances seem pathetic and absurd from a First World, free-market perspective. But from within the discursive universe of the protectionist Peronist state, their actions make perfect sense. Biancuzzo and Santoro heroically conserve the last vestiges of craft heritage. These days, the First World may find itself in need of the Biancuzzos and Santoros of the Third World. It is yet unclear what types of tools will be needed to excavate and reconstruct in the ruins of disaster capitalism.
Tomas F. Crowder Taraborrelli is Visiting Assistant Professor of Latin American Studies at Soka University of America. He was a Fellow in the Humanities at Standford University and a contributor to Italian Neorealism and Global Cinema (2007), and is currently co-editing a forthcoming anthology entitled Film and Genocide with Kristi Wilson.
(1) Juan Domingo Peron, Selection de sus escritos, conferencias y discursos (Buenos Aires: Editorial Sintesis, 1973): 189.
(2) One could criticize the documentary for not making any reference to the ideologically suspicious engineers that collaborated in the design and con struction of Pulqui I and II. At no point in the film do the protagonists or the director comment on this issue.
(3) Pablo Croci, "Pulqui o el angel de la historia," El angel exterminador, luly/August, 2007.
(4) Daniel James, Resistance and Integration: Peronism and the Argentine Working Class, 1946-1976 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988): 32.
(5) Croci, 2.
(6) Susana Rosano, "El parafso perdido del peronismo, en clave hermeica," Universidad Nacional de Rosario, 2007: 1. http://www.unsam.edu.ar/home/material/rosano.pdf.
(7) Mariano Plotkin, Manana es San Peron: Propaganda, rituales politicos en el regimen peronista (1946-1955) (Buenos Aires: Ariel, 1994): 180.
(8) Peron's Constitution of 1949 articulated the guiding principles that strove to offer people the educational opportunity to join the national labor force. Juan Jose Hernandez Arregui, a prominent Peronist intellectual who in the 1970s inspired a generation of young activists to accept justicialismo as a path to socialism, acknowledges that the establishment of technical schools for working youth was among the most important economic policies of Peron's government. According to Hernandez Arregui, this policy sought to establish economic independence by nationalizing different branches of the economy. See J.J, Hernandez Arregui, Peronismo y Socialismo (Buenos Aires: Ediciones Hachea, 1972): 216.
(9) When Peron's body was relocated to the mausoleum in San Vicente in 2006, there were shootings among the crowd that had gathered to witness the burial.
(10) James, 13.
(11) See J.M. Taylor, Eva Peron: The Myths of a Woman, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1979): 92.
(12) Plotkin, 195.
(13) Daniel Santoro, Manual de un nino peronista (Buenos Aires: La Marca, 2002): 8.
(14) lames, 25.
(15) Javier Porta Fouz and Eduardo Rojas, "Uno interiormente siempre es un artista," El Amante, July 2007.
(16) In a very revealing scene, Longhini shows a faucet covered with duct tape and plumber's putty that he found in the building that he used as his work shop before he moved in. It is a surreal artifact; layer upon layer of putty and tape that could barely plug the holes of the rusting faucet--a perfect allegory of underdevelopment.
(17) Oscar Ranzani, "Pulqui, objeto volador justicialista," Pagina 12, April 2007.
(18) Suyay Benedetti, "La Ciudad de los Nihos, un clasico," Pagina 12, August 2006.
(19) Benedetti, 1.
(20) Fouz and Rojas, 20.
(21) Santana, 5.
(22) Croci, 3.
(23) Croci, 3.
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|Author:||Crowder-Taraborrelli, Tomas F.|
|Article Type:||Critical essay|
|Date:||Jun 22, 2009|
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