North-American filmgoers are accustomed to movies that portray the drug trade to the south as a domestic concern, to be battled by some (see the excellent 2015 film Sicario), aided and abetted by others (The Mule, more recent, less stellar). Few films portray cartel members as anything other than faceless villains, or dig deep into the history of the trade.
Birds of Passage (Pájaros de verano), Colombia's foreign-language submission to the recent Academy Awards, takes an unusual tack on both fronts by examining the roots of a fictional cartel. And without glorifying the business or exonerating its participants, it suggests that such crimes can be the result of many small steps, individually defensible yet ultimately leading to bloodshed and misery.
The story opens in the late 1960s, and the marriage between Zaida (Natalia Reyes) and Rapayet (José Acosta). Both are members of the Wayúu, a proud indigenous group, native to what is now northern Colombia and Venezuela. (The word "alijuna," spoken often but never translated by the subtitles, is quickly understood to mean outsiders, literally "the ones who damage." That includes modern descendants of Spanish invaders as well as the more obvious American gringos.)
Rapayet and his buddy Moisés (Jhon Narváez) are at a café when they overhear some young American Peace Corps workers looking to score some weed. Moisés goes to his cousin to get some, the two make some easy money, and everyone is happy. It's that first, oh-so-defensible step.
Co-directors Carmina Martinez and José Acosta skip through the years that follow, with chapters set in 1971, 1979 and into the 1980s. In each segment the drug shipments are heavier, the payments bigger, and the threat (or actuality) of violence more pronounced. We also note, almost in passing, how the cars become more numerous and expensive, the dealers' houses more elegantly furnished.
