Yakona (2014)
Cast: Tony Two Hawks Molina, Jeremy Guiterrez, Jacqueline Claire
Director: Paul Collins, Anlo Sepulveda
Country: USA
Genre: Documentary
Editor’s Notes: Yakona opens in limited release this Friday, October 24th.
Anlo Sepulveda and Paul Collins’ documentary Yakona begins with a shot of what looks like constellations in movement in the sky or the post-Big Bang. But as the shot unfolds, it reveals speckles of light dancing in dark-lit water, an underwater perspective of the surface. Subsequently, a montage of thunder and lightning, fire in a cave, the sun as a red ball of thermal energy, time-lapse photography of the Earth’s rotation, clouds passing, and water trickling paints a picture of a pre-lapsarian world, that is, uncontaminated by humans and in tranquillity. This dramatic prologue establishes not only the film’s poetic form but also its theme of nature’s elements and life cycles. At first glance, the film’s emphasis on the poetics of the elemental and cyclical denotes seemingly no politics. Yet the poetic arrangement of footage as it focuses specifically on the historic San Marcos River in Texas ultimately addresses issues of water conservation and ecosystem protection in an effective and largely non-didactic way.
At first glance, the film’s emphasis on the poetics of the elemental and cyclical denotes seemingly no politics.
Crucial to the film’s poetics-as-politics is the marked presence of the Coahuiltecan language native to the area of San Marcos, Texas. Firstly, the film’s title in Coahuiltecan means ‘rising water.’ Secondly, at several points in the film, intertitles of other Coahuiltecan words also appear: yanaguana, ‘sacred water’; a’x petekue’t, ‘turbulent water; and apatpayantzanan apam, ‘return to life.’ These intertitles not only demarcate different phases, or passages, of the film but also express the film’s privileging of cyclical time as opposed to linear time. If linear time is pessimistic in its belief of an end of things, then cyclical time is optimistic in its belief of the renewal of things, hence the ‘return to life.’ Above all, these intertitles underline how the film takes the perspective of the San Marcos River as a living, breathing thing.
The privileging of cyclical time and the river’s perspective dictates the arrangement of the minutiae and movement of underwater life in the yanaguana section. The camera operates like a sea creature whose underwater perspective reveals the geography of a different planet, seemingly CGI-generated, but actually stunning underwater nature in its raw state. In this way, this first section continues the portrait of a pre-lapsarian world painted in the prologue. Yet a pre-lapsarian world it remains even when the film introduces human figures—Native Americans, specifically—in the land- and water-scapes. An affinity between the people, land, and water develops. The sequence of a woman staring into the water and plunging her face into it visualises most succinctly this relationship between Native Americans, land, and water; it is photographed as if it were a ritual of interfacing and initiating affinity.
An underwater sequence of a bird struggling to break free from a turtle’s clutches in the a’x petekue’t section also possesses a ritualistic tone. The staged scenes of Native Americans and Texas Rangers placed at different moments of the section operate with a similar purpose. As such, the history of the river is also the history of the tribes that are native to the area surrounding the river.
… the film injects the powerful element of nostalgia in its poetic account of (and call for) water conservation and the protection of ecosystems that the San Marcos Springs and River represent.
But also a part of this history is the fifties-era Aquarena Springs theme park and resort in San Marcos, presented in part through archival footage. If the theme park had been a modern ritualistic mode of interface between the river and (non-Native American) people, especially through its river tours, then its demise becomes all the more tragic. The footage of the removal of the theme park’s famous underwater ‘submarine’ theatre, which had staged aquatic shows and performances, also becomes more affecting.
In fact, some of the film’s interesting segments involve people interfacing with water, above all through sports, other leisure activities, and graduation. The everydayness of these ‘rituals’ with water has an obvious universal appeal. But by connecting these water ‘rituals’ to the complete demolition of the remaining Aquarena Springs theme park structures only a few years ago, the film injects the powerful element of nostalgia in its poetic account of (and call for) water conservation and the protection of ecosystems that the San Marcos Springs and River represent.
On the negative side, the New Age-like music that accompanies a great deal of the footage weakens portions of the film and runs the risk of being derivative. At times, such music overpowers the natural sound of things, which contradicts the unadorned nature of the imagery. On the positive side, the power of the imagery is undeniable, as the former Aquarena Springs and the current Meadows Center for Water and the Environment.
On the negative side, the New Age-like music that accompanies a great deal of the footage weakens portions of the film and runs the risk of being derivative. At times, such music overpowers the natural sound of things, which contradicts the unadorned nature of the imagery. On the positive side, the power of the imagery is undeniable, as the former Aquarena Springs and the current Meadows Center for Water and the Environment.
