La estrella azul shines a spotlight on key periods in the life of the Spanish rock n' roll musician Mauricio Aznar - not that you need to know anything about Aznar or his music in order to appreciate the film. His story, about making the effort to pull yourself out of a rut, the undertaking of a journey in search of meaning, the unexpected discovery of a place that feels like home far from where you're from, and the struggle to hold on to a good feeling in the face of familiar pressures, has a universal appeal.
When La estrella azul opens, Mauricio, the leader of a popular band in the northeastern Spanish city of Zaragoza, is in bad shape, overwhelmed by feelings of anxiety and depression, addicted to heroin, and fighting with his fed-up girlfriend. In order to shake himself out of the funk, he decides to go to Argentina to get in touch with the traditional "folklore" music he has loved since he was a child. After a rough start to the trip, his searching takes him to the home of Don Carlos, a musician who has written a number of the genre's more popular songs but lives with his family in humble conditions, ignored by the country's premier folklore festival. There, Mauricio apprentices himself, learning to play the local style of music (chacarera) at the feet of the master, but also immersing himself in a simple and generous lifestyle that is far different from what he knew back home in Zaragoza. As Mauricio becomes enchanted by the people and music of the remote region of Santiago del Estero, so too do we.
As moving as Mauricio's journey to Argentina is, the film's last quarter, which I'll avoid giving any detail about here, turns the poignancy up to 11. The way the film resolves Mauricio's story is both original and moving, weaving together the dramatization of his life with scenes involving real people who knew him that could have appeared in a documentary. I'd have a hard time citing an ending to a biographical film more deeply affecting than this one.
La estrella azul's director, Javier Macipe, deserves credit for telling Mauricio's story in an original and natural manner. The film uses a number of clever visual innovations - keep an eye out for the ingenious way in which Mauricio's drug addiction is depicted - that serve a purpose within the plot, without straying into the use of flashy visual tricks for their own sake. I'm not always a fan of films breaking the fourth wall, but I found that the way it was done here was justified and particularly effective in delivering the film's emotionally-charged conclusion.
The film's actors do a fine job, as well. Pepe Lorente, whose deep voice transmits no shortage of gravitas, gives a charismatic performance as Mauricio. And the use of non-professional actors, including actual members of the Carabajal family and even a few people who lived some of the film's events, give the scenes in Santiago del Estero an especially authentic feel.
Finally, La estrella azul is a movie about musicians, and a big part of enjoying the film is listening to its music. Mauricio's voyage to Argentina is almost defined by its omnipresent folklore music - he describes it as "like the force in Star Wars" - a potent combination of guitar, violin, and drums that draws you into the life of Santiago del Estero, and will likely get your foot tapping as well. Another happy discovery was the music of Mauricio Aznar himself, including the jangly, heart-on-your-sleeve rockabilly of his band Más Birras. The introduction to this music, probably not as widely known as it deserves to be, is another asset of a film that has no shortage of them.
But even if you have no particular interest in the music, this is a well-crafted and affecting film that deserves an uninterrupted viewing in a darkened room. Mauricio Aznar's story touches upon the universal, and La estrella azul tells it eloquently.
