The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo Just Won Cannes—And the Internet Can't Decide if It's Genius or Garbage
Diego Céspedes just pulled off what every rising auteur dreams of—snatching the top prize at Cannes' Un Certain Regard for The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo. But not everyone's feeling the love. In fact, some critics are whispering behind-the-scenes that this was the “safest edgy pick” the jury could've made.
And honestly? They might have a point.
Because this film isn't just a period piece—it's a full-blown fever dream set in an ‘80s Chilean mining town where fear spreads faster than logic. AIDS paranoia, queer blame, and one preteen girl's psychic crusade? Buckle up.
Why It's a Cinematic Middle Finger to Polite Storytelling
Here's the twist: The Mysterious Gaze of the Flamingo isn't “just” another coming-of-age tale with arthouse polish. It's a daring allegory on how communities create monsters to feel safe—and then believe in them like gospel. The story follows 12-year-old Lidia, the only girl in a fear-stricken town where an unexplained illness is ravaging the population.
But here's the kicker: locals think the disease spreads through the eyes of gay men. Read that again.
This film's premise is as outrageous as it is bold—queer panic reimagined through sci-fi superstitions and moral decay. Céspedes doesn't just dip into history. He gouges it, rewires it, and throws it back on screen with flamingo-feather flair.
The Hidden Code: What You Probably Missed
Think Safe (1995) meets Pan's Labyrinth, with a splash of Y Tu Mamá También. This isn't a passive watch. The film weaponizes its surrealism. The flamingo—more than a bird, less than a symbol—becomes the totem of fear and desire. Céspedes never explains it. That's the point.
In one eerie shot, Lidia stares into a rearview mirror. The flamingo's eye stares back. No CGI. Just vibes. Symbolism on symbolism.
One crew member reportedly said during a wrap interview: “We all cried after the mirror scene. No idea why. It just felt like something died.”
This is arthouse cinema's emotional sleight of hand at its finest.
Meanwhile, at the Awards—Chaos, Controversy, and BDSM Romance
Let's not pretend Flamingo was the only headline-grabber:
- Best Screenplay: Pillion by Harry Lighton—yes, the BDSM queer romance with Harry Melling and Alexander Skarsgård. Critics are calling it “Fifty Shades on a Vespa.”
- Jury Prize: A Poet by Simón Mesa Soto. Shot on 16mm, it's either a masterstroke or a mess—depending on how you feel about a lead actor who reportedly improvised 80% of his lines while chewing sugarcane.
- Best Performance: A tie between Cléo Diara (I Only Rest in the Storm) and Frank Dillane (Urchin). Dillane's junkie redemption arc hit raw nerves—and some claim he should've won the top prize.
So yeah. The Jury made some bold calls. But giving Flamingo the top prize? That's a statement.
What This Means for Queer Cinema in Latin America
This isn't Céspedes' first rodeo. His short The Summer of the Electric Lion flirted with the same themes—innocence, repression, magical realism. But Flamingo blasts them open.
Here's the uncomfortable truth: Queer cinema out of Latin America often has to bleed to be seen. Céspedes made it scream. And now, Cannes is listening.
Flashback: Remember 2016's ‘The Ornithologist'?
Similar bird, same queer undercurrents. João Pedro Rodrigues also used avian metaphors to explore queer identity through absurdist mythology. Cannes ignored it. But Céspedes, with a narrative both more grounded and more explosive, finally cracked the code.
And audiences? They're split.
Would You Watch This or Just Read the Wiki Summary?
That's the million-peso question. Flamingo is one of those rare films that dares you to feel uncomfortable—and then leaves you with more questions than closure.
It's brave. It's messy. It might be historic.
But would you sit through two hours of whispered gay panic and metaphysical feather metaphors? No judgment.
…Okay, maybe a little judgment.
