Many moons ago, I was a hardcore Salsa addict. I was dancing so much Salsa that I had the metabolism of a teenage boy. I could eat burgers and nuggets at midnight and still magically lose weight.
So when I heard that there was going to be a Salsa movie at this year’s Spanish and Latin American Film Festival, I called dibs on reviewing it.
La Salsa Vive or “Salsa Lives” is Colombian director Juan Carvajal’s ode to Salsa. In particular, the movie focuses on Salsa’s history and offers an insight into why both the musical genre and dance continue to thrive.
Without reading the synopsis for this documentary, it would be natural to assume that such an exploration would start in Cuba. After all, the general consensus is that Salsa was born of Cuban Son.
However, La Salsa Vive concentrates on two key Salsa cities – New York and Cali, Colombia. New York is where Salsa percolated into an emerging genre. Cali is where the genre gained a stronghold and became a powerful cultural force.
Instead of taking the formal tone of a documentary, La Salsa Vive tells the story of Salsa through the people who lived it. Filmed scenes are intercut with snippets of interviews with Salsa icons, archival footage and videos of performances. As a result, rather than feeling authoritative, La Salsa Vive acts like a detective, teasing out details from a collective memory.
This is a smart directorial choice that reflects the dynamic nature of culture. Culture is not prescriptive and depending on where someone sits in the Salsa hierarchy, they bring different perspectives. This allows viewers to form their own understanding of Salsa.
But here is where things get messy.
Much like the frenetic nature of Cali Salsa, La Salsa Vive’s intercuts feel too fast for viewers to fully appreciate. While Cali Salsa is exhilarating to watch, I struggled keeping up with some of the interviews.
And this is a shame because the movie features soundbites from significant players in the Salsa scene. These include singer-composers, Ruben Blades and Henry Fiol, who offer intimate knowledge of the musical history of the genre. Luis Eduardo Hernandez, the dancer and entrepreneur known as “El Mulato” champions the social aspects and the importance of Salsa as a dance form.
These people are pioneers in the field – yet I couldn’t recall all their names because there were no captions to remind me of who they were. The only reason I was able to include these names in my review is that I had the luxury of a screener to rewind and rewatch.
The combined effect of these two missteps is that I felt a bit lost at times, which made it harder for me to fully immerse myself in this documentary.
However, this could be a byproduct of my perspective as someone who is keen on the more in-depth look at Salsa and its roots. A casual viewer with no prior experience of the genre would probably be able to immerse themselves better and treat this movie as a taster.
That said, someone new to the genre may have trouble with other parts of the movie due to the jargon used. For example, Salsa is an umbrella term that covers various Latin musical styles such as Son, Mambo, Bolero, Guaracha and Guajira. While this is a factual statement, it sounds like a shopping list. It would have been nice to have had examples of these styles to add more depth.
Similarly, the movie assumes that the viewer would know all the instruments in a Salsa orchestra such as the clave and timbales. Even if there was limited time for a proper introduction, an inset picture with caption would have added value to the Salsa newbie.
I can understand the disdain for subtitles, particularly if a filmmaker values an uninterrupted view. However, considering that they are already using subtitles for some of the Salsa lyrics throughout the movie, it is clear that Carvajal is not as bothered by their inclusion.
In fact, the subtitles work particularly well for the central point of Carvajal’s film – that Salsa is egalitarian. It is the genre of the people for the people.
This is especially clear in the Salsa songs featured in the movie. These included a tribute to Cali, a song lamenting the decline of Salsa and a song about someone going through their fridge in search of food.
In the same way that the songs cover all subjects, the strength of this film is its acknowledgment of everyone involved in keeping Salsa alive. There are the dancers who demonstrate how Salsa isn’t just a fun thing to do but helped them get through life. In a full circle moment, we see the audience of fans supporting their heroes, clearly inspired by their dancing. There’s the spotlight on the Melomanitos – instead of a book club, this group of young Salsa fanatics discuss the music and roots of the genre. They also organise group activities, including one where they got to meet Ruben Blades.
There is even a brief history lesson of how both the government and cartels fuelled the momentum for Salsa’s growth in Cali. These two opposing forces embedded Salsa in Colombian culture. Salsa was no longer a hobby; it was a national pastime. It also served as a balm for societal malaise, particularly during the late 90s. While the money for the extravagant parties disappeared, the collective fondness for Salsa ensured its survival.
Salsa also unexpectedly provided an income stream from tourism. Travelling Salseros are keen to learn Cali-style Salsa and dance (and record themselves) in the electric ambience of the local Salsa clubs.
This ambience is emulated well in the documentary. The closing shot of a street party is reminiscent of The Carnival of Brazil. While the street party does not have the same colourful feathers and showy floats that define Carnival, seeing everyone dancing and smiling reminds me of how addictive Salsa is.
In fact, throughout the movie, you see people of all ages and backgrounds enjoying Salsa – whether it’s the musicians singing their hearts out, the performance couple executing show-stopping moves or the music aficionados sitting in a Salsa library in the middle of an hours-long marathon of El Gran Combo songs. In a world where people are afraid of losing their culture to modern preoccupations, La Salsa Vive assures us that there isn’t just hope that Salsa will continue to thrive. It’s a promise that it will remain immortal.
La Salsa Vive is now playing as part of the HSBC Spanish and Latin American Film Festival.