Tilted horizon to the right: two long zoom-ins on an industrial site at the foot of a mountain, followed by quick close-up shots, like descriptive flashes of the area. Then, a pulsating use of the zoom: while observing the factory, the heart of the camera no longer finds its usual rhythm. And in this slow, continuous pulsing, the gaze moves from the factory to the vegetation around the industrial area, adjacent to the body of the filmmaker. Cactus spines close this first part (a rhythmic score), and a colored sequence opens to my eyes, showing a seascape of acid tones. Flashing yellows and greens that for a moment take me away from Puchuncaví and remind me of the seascape in Godard's Le livre d'image. The sun is slowly setting, and the horizon is filmed at various angles. In the background: two cargo ships, and, to their left, only partially revealed, the factory, smoking.

 

The superimpositions begin to appear in this sequence. At first, and for a long moment, they are discreet, fleeting. The sea looks like a green skin that is constantly stretching, and the black silhouettes of the rocks look like lacerations. An image imposes itself on the sea: from left to right a face appears and disappears. An instant of joy?
 

Fragments of faces reappear superimposed with increasing frequency: a cheek, a closed eye. And the fast flowing sea: the filmmaker's gaze flies over the waves, from left to right. I seem to be able to see a multitude of bodies, but I'm not sure. Who are these people inhabiting this acid sea? Have they passed through here before? Have their bodies left their own imprint on the landscape?
 

The camera's axis tilts again, dramatically; now it is the sea that becomes a patch of color surrounded by black - a stain of waves that flows down and disappears, leaving the overlaid images to appear more vivid. Then, the sea and the horizon are scanned with varying, sometimes obsessive movements. As the sun goes down, darkness overtakes for an instant, revealing other superimposed images: silhouettes in movement on a luminescent, yellow, almost golden background: dancing figures, running figures, perhaps a fight. Are these images of a strike?

 

In the black-and-white sequence that closes the film, Muñoz again films the factory and what appears to be the area above it: the mountain, its twin peaks, and its soil. But this time the camera movement she chooses for capturing these images is as if she was simulating the motion of her body filming on a boat: even on land she films from the sea. 
 

In the last shot the camera slowly settles back on the industrial landscape. I close my eyes and remember the first time I watched Jeannette Muñoz's films. The screening of various fragments from Puchuncaví moved me deeply: I had rarely seen images that showed how much one can observe the world, be it in its worst or best parts, with eyes full of love.