I like to believe I am hard to impress given my experience and background in film and doubly so in respect to the genre of vampire cinema (not being a fan considering the field’s artistic limitations). Moreover, when regarding short works by unestablished filmmakers, more often than not, I find myself wanting after the final frame. It is with this in mind that Carlos Gananian achieves the impossible: With his newest feature, Akai, he creates a beautiful work of vampirism which I wholehearted applaud in most every respect.

Akai is a tale about an unnamed vampire, played by Gustavo Arantes, who is plagued by his plight as well as its Sisyphean implications. With a palette every bit as articulated and crafted as David Lynch’s, like his American predecessor, Gananian compliments his theme twice over, once with a brief snippet of a ticking clock, a “Repetition” brand timepiece, and the appearance of two prostitutes, both played by Roberta Youssef. Hence, not only is our central figure’s world innately torturous, but it seems that, either through routine or goaded insanity, most every person appears the same to the vampire.

The first facet of Akai that impresses itself upon the viewer is that it is an almost completely silent work. Granted, this may well be the consequence of a limited budget and a dodge of otherwise avoidable problems, yet for the director, much like Daniel Myrick when making The Blair Witch Project, remains conscious and–more importantly–contentious, of his limitations. Ever since the advent of sound in cinema, filmmakers all-too-frequently take the easy route by telling instead of showing. As Stanley Kubrick reminds us, film is a medium of images first and foremost. As such, dialogue and soundtrack exist to compliment a work, not do the brunt of a film’s labor. Having said that, Gananian devises a scenario in which there is little to be said, for it is the void of sound, of vocalized emotion, which encompasses, nay enshrouds, his story. Also, it is with this that Sérgio Ugeda’s beautiful piano-driven score accentuates the isolation of Gananian’s central character, and to harrowing ends.

Furthermore, aside from the engaging premise and its presentation, Gananian takes the time, like so few beginning filmmakers, to make sure that every facet of his film is as he intends it. On that note, lighting–an often overlooked component of amateur filmmaking–is patiently controlled so as to achieve optimum effect. During a time when lighting goes unnoticed with most audiences in that the majority, if not all, of the films which are readily viewed are conducted by professionals, it is indeed a rare occurrence to be greeted by a novice who understands and, moreover, respects the art of the craft.

Akai is a somber meditation in a genre rife with verbosity and hyperactive storylines. The crime in this is that most creators of vampire cinema do not respect their audiences enough to dive into the psychology and philosophy of the subject matter, no less develop and present something of substance from the negligent activity called thought. Of course, it is no surprise that, even more sporadically, a true work of art appears as a result. However, Carlos Gananian does just that, and to an aplomb, which has goaded the even rarer occurrence: I wish Gananian well in his burgeoning career as a filmmaker and look forward to each and every masterful work he will undoubtedly produce in the future.

-Egregious Gurnow