In Cilaos (2016), Restrepo’s most celebrated film to date, a young woman (played by Réunion-born singer Christine Salem) fulfills a promise to her dead mother to find her long-absent father, a womanizing alcoholic named “La Bouche” (“The Mouth”); she eventually learns that he, too, has died, and her pursuit of him into the underworld leads to a cathartic jam session between her and other musicians touched by death.
La Bouche (2017) picks up with a group of singers and dancers beseeching the aging title character (Guinean percussionist Mohamed Bangoura, a.k.a.
After having this reflection, I bought a Super 8 camera, six rolls of black-and-white film, and one color roll.
My wife and constant collaborator Sophie Zuber and I took a journey together into an isolated region of Colombia to shoot.
Restrepo’s films, made virtually by hand, are amateur in the most primitive and useful sense of the term: They pulse with artisanal passion for the subjects that they record.
The news of Restrepo’s recent turn towards preparing his first feature-length work made this moment seem an especially adequate one to discuss his artistic corpus up to now.
The characters in Camilo Restrepo’s films make art in the face of death.