Choco Lava Memories

Choco Lava Memories is a strong, disturbing fifteen-minute tale of depression and trauma. Pretty dour stuff, and the look, tone and performances of this short only add to the uncontrollable feeling of misery our protagonist is succumbing to in the story. We follow a woman who is haunted by bizarre memories of her grandmother’s last moments. These abrasive yet hallucinatory images consist of the grandmother – lit in a murky blue light – presenting our dazed protagonist with a cake; then, something seemingly terrible takes place, although the filmmakers play their hand close to the chest – it's all sound and suggestion. Meanwhile, in the present, our well-acted main character struggles to maintain her life. She disconnects with, or is uncared for, by her boyfriend and father, and she quits her job. She spirals into an all-consuming slump, and for a viewer it’s difficult to witness (to the film’s credit).

If there’s a dysfunction to the narrative and its themes, however, it could very well be argued that the hints at suicide as the horrific impending event – in the case of both the grandmother and the granddaughter – could leave the viewer feeling slightly uncomfortable, and not in the ‘horror’, ‘scare-factor’ way it’s intended. It’s difficult to understand what the filmmakers wish to say through this device (though arguably it’s the fact that one can label it a ‘device’ which is the problem). But if there’s one definite strength to this aspect of the piece, it’s the horrifying concept of a cyclical form; repeating the past, no matter what the action or event is. And in the script’s defence, this film is very much about mental illness, and how depression can result in feeling closed off from the people you might need at your worst moment. The build-up is tangible, atmospheric, and intelligent; and while the disturbing final reveal may divide audiences in terms of taste (and a willingness to meet the film on its own, rather unpleasant, terms), the cinematic power can still be found in the disruptive mood and tight pacing.

What is undeniable about this movie is that we feel connected to our psychologically vulnerable protagonist. A couple different formal and aesthetic decisions make this possible: the first is that the fragmentary presentation of memory messes with the psyche of not only the character but of the audience as well. It also provides an additional layer to the story; the inner and outer life as a single fractured, fluctuating perception.

The second is that the desaturated colour palette, but simultaneously vivid, digitally sharpened detail, accurately captures the perspective of an individual suffering with depression – at least in abstract terms. I concede that when one is depressed in reality, the world does not look like a digital image; however, the world does become hyperrealist in such a way that both overwhelms the senses and numbs the soul. This is what Choco Lava Memories captures perfectly, even though it was not shot on a super high-quality camera. The director understands the production limitations and allows these limitations to inform a perceptive visual style.