Argentine writer-director Juan José Campanella’s follow-up feature to his slow-burning 2009 thriller The Secret in Their Eyes, which won an Academy Award for best foreign-language film, is a reworking of José A. Martínez Suárez’s 1976 Los muchachos de antes no usaban arsénico.
El cuento de las comadrejas is a dark comedy centering on Mara Ordaz (Graciela Borges), an aging diva who clings to the memory of her storied acting career, which brought her not only popularity but numerous accolades, including the Oscar she displays prominently in the foyer of her gorgeously maintained estate. She lives a reclusive life there with her wheelchair-bound husband Pedro (Luis Brandoni), who was also a film actor until incapacitated in an auto accident.
Other residents include two men who were part of Mara’s regular filmmaking team, director Norberto Imbert (Oscar Martínez) and screenwriter Martín Saravia (Marcos Mundstock), a cynical, catty duo who enjoy snidely ridiculing everyone and everything—including themselves; why they are living in Ordaz’s home, despite her disdain, involves a secret concerning their missing wives that will be revealed late in the story.
This nasty but stable arrangement is disrupted by the arrival of two young schemers from Buenos Aires, Bárbara Otamendi (Clara Lago) and Francisco Gourmand (Nicolás Francella), who drive up pretending to be lost and expressing amazement when they recognize Mara as one of their favorite stars. In fact, they are real estate developers anxious to persuade Mara to sell her house and move with Pedro into a Buenos Aires apartment.
Their scheme is countered by Norberto and Martín, adding a touch of Sleuth to the reminders of Sunset Boulevard and What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? the movie has already evoked. The gamesmanship—emphasized by the chess and billiards always going on—grows increasingly sharp, and the symbolism of Norberto hunting the weasels constantly invading the property becomes ever more evident.
At over two hours The Weasels’ Tale overstays its welcome somewhat, with the occasional appeals to sentiment and an elongated final confrontation not quite hitting the mark. But the stream of humorously bitchy dialogue and amusingly broad performances provide solid compensation, and the look of the picture—with an elaborate production design by Nelson Noel Luty, extravagant costumes by Cecilia Monti, and luxurious cinematography by Felix Monti—is another pleasure. All in all, a tasty blend of sweet-and-sour comedy. Recommended.