Written by Andreas Babiolakis

Filmography Worship is a series where we review every single feature of filmmakers that have made our Wall of Directors

There are two sides to the coin of Pablo Larraín, the Chilean filmmaker who never makes the same film twice (even if he is known for having common themes in his films: the Larraín who brings up inventive ways to discuss Chilean politics (particularly the dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet), and the Larraín who aims to dismantle what biographical pictures look like. Larraín is no stranger to film festivals and prestigious awards, having made waves at these circuits for almost two full decades. I’ll flat-out say it: Larraín is one of my favourite contemporary directors out there. I think he is incredibly consistent, and his worst film is still worth checking out. I’m always interested to see what he’s going to tackle next, mainly because I usually cannot predict how his future projects will fare. I think Larraín deserves all of his flowers, and I hope that this article will help spark the conversation for those of you who need to brush up on this fascinating filmmaker’s filmography. Let’s not waste any time. Here are the films of Pablo Larraín ranked from worst to best.

11. Fuga

It’s easy to flag Fuga as Larraín’s worst film, but that doesn’t mean that it’s terrible or anything. In fact, for a debut feature film, Fuga is stuffed with interesting ideas and takes on what a tortured artist or mind can endure or experience. This film shows a strong relationship Larraín has with the arts, not just as a director (throughout Fuga, we see interesting takes on how the storyline can be expressed through music and the creation of melodies). I do think that Fuga has a bit of a complex with Larraín trying to throw everything at the wall to see what will stick, and I’d argue that most concepts do work; it can just feel like it’s trying a bit too hard to do too many things is all. Nonetheless, if this is as bad as Larraín gets, he’s doing insanely well as an auteur, and I do recommend Fuga to any readers who may be even the mildest bit interested. You may be pleasantly surprised at how much promise this film boasts.

10. Tony Manero

You’d think that a film about a man with a middle-aged crisis and an obsession with Saturday Night Fever — down to mimicking the John Travolta character of Tony Manero (hence the film’s title) — would be stupid. You’d be wrong. The purpose for centering this film around the disco protagonist is to both mirror how Saturday Night Fever depicted music as a catharsis during distress, and contrast the societal suffering during the Pinochet years of Chile. The end result mostly works, and we get a story about a lonely, conflicted man finding solace in the shoes of another; for a brief moment, he is a superstar. If you have a thing for good films with peculiar subject matters that most other directors wouldn’t touch, Tony Manero is one to watch, and it’s an early sign of Larraín’s willingness to explore new ideas.

9. The Club

I’m a sucker for films with strong allegories, and The Club is such an example. Picture this: an isolated house that is the domicile for a handful of retired Catholic priests, and one new member is going to shake everything up. A clever depiction of the patterns of abuse and guilt that can be found in organized religion, as well as an experiment to see what would happen in close quarters, The Club is a claustrophobic drama that makes you feel like you’re spying on holy figures when they think they’re alone. It’s an uneasy film, but it would have to be in order for it to work. I feel like Larraín has achieved more with some of his other cinematic hypotheses, but The Club is still successful enough to check out if you are already a fan of his films.

8. El Conde

Most of Larraín’s Chilean films take place in the shadows of the Pinochet dictatorship, but none are as scathing and upfront about the politician as, say, El Conde: a bleak satire that likens Pinochet to a vampire who simply won’t die (there’s much truth in this). While not a film that everyone will love right off the bat (heh), I find El Conde to be stirring and unforgettable; I’ve only seen it once when I reviewed it, and there are still quite a few parts and elements that haven’t left my mind. If there was ever a film that was angry about someone in power, El Conde might be the most frustrated and livid. If you’re curious to see what a satire with incredible scorn to the point of sadism looks like, El Conde is that film: an unforgiving comedy that makes a detested figure the biggest joke in Chilean history.

7. Post Mortem

Every person has a story, and Larraín has a grim way of expressing this in Post Mortem: an early release in his career, and the first sign that Larraín could not only have refreshing ideas, he could make truly special films as well. Set during the 1973 Chilean coup d’état, Larraín focuses on disappearing characters and mass graves: two storylines that don’t bode well. While a unique look at how political corruption can lead to the deaths of many (all of whom are innocent and loved people), Post Mortem has bad news written all over it from the start, as if it is lying to itself for its entire duration. Larraín only got better from this point on, but Post Mortem was the last film before his breakthrough turning point, and you can sense that he is on the cusp of greatness here.

6. Maria

The last film in Larraín’s trilogy of films featuring important, twentieth-century women and their psychological torments, Maria — about opera sensation, Maria Callas — is barely the worst of the three films; this may be because it is the most experimental and takes the largest risks, which can leave you out in the cold occasionally. For what it’s worth, I think Maria is sensational (I consider every Larraín film from this point of the list onward terrific), and I understood the film as one of the more antithetical biopics you may find. This is as arthouse and self-reflective as biopics get. Most of the story isn’t explicitly told, but, rather, you feel Callas’ story while she sings (and tries to regain her voice during her final hours). Angelina Jolie as Callas broke my heart from very early on, and the film was as if I was visited by the spirit of the musical titan. I don’t expect Maria to work with every viewer, but I have to be true to myself here and say that it won me over instantly and never let me go.

5. Ema

It goes to show that Larraín released his most stripped-down, bare-basics film, Ema, after his English language breakout with Jackie, but that doesn’t mean Ema is dull by any means. If anything, it’s great to see a typically venturing director create a straight-forward drama because he is still coming forth with themes and visions that take an ordinary family tragedy and dials it up a notch. Ema is gorgeous, heartbreaking, and hypnotic cinema: one that questions what a spark in a family dynamic looks like, and the quests to find it again that can result in either success or disaster (the fact that Larraín takes the concept of warmth very literally here is something to behold). Ema is radiant, visceral, and stirring, and it proves that Larraín is a master even when he is at his most restrained.

4. Spencer

After the success of Jackie, Larraín returned with another vital figure of twentieth-century pop culture: Princess Diana of Wales. Spencer stars Kristen Stewart as the beloved royal with the best performance of her career. We face the close proximity of the holiday season as Diana is forced to face her in-laws after news of her husband, Prince Charles, and his affair has made its rounds. As we are trapped within Diana’s mind, we feel the anguish of someone who has had an enormous amount of pressure rested on her shoulders (and, even still, she is forced to save face). Connecting Jackie’s bleak realism with the psychological breakage of Maria, Spencer is comfortable sporting both worlds in this trilogy that gradually shatters how biopics can be made; it hasn’t completely destroyed the traditions of the genre, but it’s artistic enough to stand out from its peers.

3. Neruda

If we look at directors who have released two amazing films in one year, Larraín has to be a part of that conversation with how successful he was in 2016. First, we have Neruda, which feels a bit like a precursor to Larraín’s experiment with biographical pictures. What does it mean to make a biopic? To tell the story of another person, particularly someone famous who has already made their claim in other ways? Neruda is a cat-and-mouse chase between poet and politician Pablo Neruda and a ficticious officer named Óscar. On paper, Neruda is a response to the dangers of Chile’s most toxic political years with some thrilling payoffs. When you dig deeper, Larraín is actually creating a dialogue on story versus legacy. How do we honour truth if we are forever shaping our findings into something palatable to the masses? As if Neruda wasn’t exhilarating at face-value, it may be Larraín’s most daring gamble: a historical thriller that is aware of its own perpetuations.

2. No

One of the best director-actor duos of recent memory is that of Larraín and star Gael García Bernal (who also appears in films like Neruda and Ema), and their strongest effort together is No (which doubles as Larraín’s best Chilean film). While almost all of Larraín’s films are full of artistry, there’s something valuable about how No is a high point in his career while also being his least aesthetic effort (in fact, the whole film is shot on U-matic 3:4 so it appears like news footage from the eighties, making No feel like we’re watching actual tapes of the events in the film). A nuanced dossier on the sins of the advertising world (while also applauding how marketing was used for the greater good in trying to unite Chile against Pinochet’s effort to remain in power for another eight years), No is an example of Larraín knowing when to dial things back because the story possesses enough purpose and intensity to stand on its own two feet. No was Larraín’s turning point because the film is so stunning and powerful that it is impossible to ignore.

1. Jackie

Even though others may disagree, Jackie — Larraín’s first English-language film, and the debut of the trilogy of twenty-first century female icons — is the auteur’s magnum opus. I don’t even know if there’s a contest in my eyes, and that’s saying a lot when I consider at least half of his filmography brilliant. For me, this is a film where all of Larraín’s ideas and risks all pay off tremendously. Natalie Portman as Jacqueline Kennedy (right after the assassination of her husband, President John F. Kennedy, and while she is still struggling from trauma, grief, and the pressures of the nation) delivers one of her best performances to date. Larraín not only echoes the type of film producer Darren Aronofsky intended when the latter was initially slated to direct, he goes the distance with how harrowing a biopic can be; never has the Jackie Kennedy story been this raw, since her life was mostly romanticized before this point.

There are so many other examples of cast and crew operating at their very best, including Greta Gerwig’s best performance (as Nancy Tuckerman), and Stéphane Fontaine’s breathtaking cinematography. Of course, I must point out Mica Levi’s magnificent score, which I will forever go on record with championing it as one of the greatest scores in film (yeah, I said it, and I mean it). It truly feels like everyone was on the same page with pushing the boundaries of what a biopic can be in the twenty-first century (to kick off a trilogy of amazing women who tragically didn’t make it to the new millennium and all passed away young). Larraín’s Jackie is a triumphant look at relentless, self-destructing grief, the curse of memory, the dread of making choices when in a broken state, and the damnation of telling your experience to the world. I know that Larraín’s three biopics aren’t highly factual, but if you take them for what they are — three cinematic fables using the stories of real powerhouses — Pablo Larraín has pulled off a remarkable feat with this triptych of fame, sorrow, and the human experience, with Jackie — his masterpiece — standing tall as a gorgeously devastating portrait.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.

Filmography Worship: Ranking Every Pablo Larraín Film