Iván Mora’s ensemble character study, Sin otoño, sin primavera (No Autumn, No Spring) is set in one of Ecuador’s largest and most densely populated cities, Guayaquil, which seams together the story of ten middle class lives, some directly connected, others only by proximity. The film is a comment on love, life, sex, and drugs, all within the confines of Guayaquil's diverse borders.
One of the most endearing aspects of the film comes from Mora’s choice to place the focus not on a single character but on a group. By doing so, Mora shifts the focus from a singular experience to something more universal. This also allows for Guayaquil itself to become a character in the film, arguably the film’s most important. The city takes on a visual vitality, while simultaneously being undermined by the characters' reactions to it. Mora, along with cinematographer Olivier Auverlau, allows the colorful nature of the city to both harbor feelings of vibrancy as well as oppression. There is a palpable sense of alienation, desperation. Mora is adept at presenting this duality, neither completely condemning or praising the city for the actions of its citizens.
Mora's style is impressive but he often flaunts his prowess through a series of unnecessary camera movements and angles that do little more than call attention to the cinematography. In one shot the camera flips with a box, as it is positioned ‘right side up.’ The purpose of this shot, which is included during a trivial montage, is completely unnecessary, coming off as nothing more than a gimmick. The film is littered with such directorial decisions. Beyond the often-jarring cinematography, the real heart of the film seems to lie in Mora’s concepts of sexuality. Almost all of the film’s most moving scenes include some kind of sexual component. While most of the actors put forward strong performances, they, with a single exception, tend to blend with each other and fail to transcend their place within the film. The exception is Paulina Obrist, who plays the terminally ill Antonia. Secluded within her lavish home, Obrist’s natural performance imbues Antonia with a realistic sense of pathos, sensuality, and vulnerability, she is stunning.
By and large, the biggest obstacle of the film is finding a way to compartmentalize its many characters, storylines, and plot points. Mora’s spastic visual style — jump cuts, non-chronological editing, etc — and an ambiguous temporality combine to create something of a jarring experience for viewers. While this is also instrumental in the delivering the film’s overall message, which aims at presenting a snapshot of experiences taken from the diverse city of Guayaquil, it ultimately creates a disconnect between the audience and the characters. Identification is limited to mere fleeting moments. The hodgepodge of disordered stories leaves the viewer in a state of constant flux, working towards pieces together the puzzle. In spite of the small failure by Mora to never completely allow viewers to recover from a sense of disassociation, Sin otoño, sin primavera is still a challenging a worthwhile experience.
