With inequality as rampant as it can get and failed political structures eroding more and more as time shows their inherent futility, the milieu of the Latin American urban center has truly evolved into a no man’s land, a non-place of sheltered privilege juxtaposed to chaotic urgency, a “phantom city” as the initial narrator of Juanita Onzaga’s The Jungle Knows You Better Than You Do calls what she used to think as her hometown of Bogotá. The past tense of the latter statement has to do with her moving on from the Colombian capital, a setting that for her can only evoke violence and forgotten bodies, a sense of phantasmagoria close-knit with her family history.
At its core, The Jungle Knows You Better Than You Do is an exploratory search for meaning in a desolate landscape. The film’s point of view might be rendered through the emotional and spiritual journey of a pair of siblings looking for their father’s lost spirit, yet the specificity of their pursuit soon feels universal. The sprawling highway and seemingly anonymous stretch of concrete buildings that open the film are not mere geographical signifiers. The weight they carry is molded by personal history, by the inescapable association with the memory of fading moments and missing people. It doesn’t matter which face one projects onto the gray walking bridge or what landmark event happened on the night-shift metro route; the aura of melancholy is a shared and widespread feeling in this tropical settlement.
For The Jungle Knows You Better Than You Do’s initial narrator, experiencing the city again means facing the identitary turmoil of no longer recognizing the environs that oversaw her formative years and being confronted by guilt. The anarchic environment she left her brother in is no longer a distant abstraction but a dense and overwhelming reality, living and breathing right in front of her, its ominous nature as palpable as it could be.
Once the hypnotic trail of nondescript buildings and city lights fades away, a gigantic moshpit is shown from an aerial shot. The clashing of black-shirted bodies is depicted in an initially impressionistic fashion, closer in look to a micro-cellular organism or a tectonic landslide than an extreme music show. The camera soon switches its perspective, positioning itself like a passive observer within the great ritual dance of dissonance and cathartic brashness. There, the smoke machines and laser lights create an ethereal visual realm where everything slows down to a crawl, and figures resemble lost souls in a wavering abyss. That is where the omnipresent narrator finds her brother: one of the masked figures seeking solace in counter-cultural expression.