‘A Poet’ review: Mines comedy from pathetic failure-to-launch writer

Art isn’t easy, Stephen Sondheim articulated about the creative process. Then again, if one’s chosen art seems especially out of reach, life is no piece of cake either. Colombian writer-director Simón Mesa Soto’s acutely observed Cannes-recognized “A Poet” lays bare that torment with the tale of a has-been writer for whom exquisite suffering has curdled into garden-variety middle-age failure. Given a modicum of hope, there’s always room to make matters worse.

There’s a wry grace to this misadventure-palooza, forged in the key of melancholic mid-career Woody Allen but with variations on those themes which achieve their own pointedly funny clarity, especially where Ubeimar Rios’ all-time portrayal of a sad sack is concerned.

Decades from his prize-winning days as a published young poet, Oscar (Rios) is now divorced, creatively blocked and penniless, living with his ailing mother (Margarita Soto), estranged from his teenage daughter (Alisson Correa) and prone to crying fits of self-pity when he isn’t drunkenly raving to anyone who will listen about the sorry state of the written word in his country. Threatened with eviction by his fed-up family unless he takes an open slot teaching poetry at a high school, Oscar swallows his pride and takes the gig.

His mood changes when he’s introduced to the lyrical, honest notebook musings of unassuming student Yurlady (quietly effective newcomer Rebeca Andrade), who lives in a cramped apartment with four generations of family. Oscar sees a chance to redeem himself by becoming the girl’s mentor, aiming to get her into both a celebrated poetry school and prize-giving festival run by his high-profile rival Efrain (a believably arrogant Guillermo Cardona). Whether Yurlady wants public recognition is another matter, since she’s only ever viewed writing as a private outlet for expression. Oscar, meanwhile, his idealism reawakened, sees an opportunity for an underprivileged kid with raw talent to escape her meager existence.

Good intentions run into craven expectations, however, and invariably, the types of terrible choices and consequences that, in Soto’s admirably unsentimental narrative style, wouldn’t be out of place in either a silent-era disaster comedy or a darkly tragic indie. “A Poet” is neither, though, as if suspicious of sticking to one tone when the subject is as vast as art.

Hence, this nimble, propulsive movie, given a loose intimacy by Juan Sarmiento’s 16mm cinematography, proves to be oddly heartfelt when seemingly most cruel about Oscar’s hapless earnestness. (Soto’s cheeky use of music is one clue: A sad clarinet or jokey needle drop is quickly cut off before you have a chance to read into its deployment.)

“A Poet” rides its wave of misfit compassion so beautifully because its contradictions live inside Rios’s howling, pitiable shambles of a character, who at times looks like someone sketched by a cynical animator but finished by a sympathetic colorist. That you’re never entirely sure if Oscar is going to be the adult or the child in any given scene creates a wonderfully funny tension. It’s one of the best performances of this past year and if Rios never acted again, it’d be a one-off for the ages, perfectly encapsulated in the strange, forced, teary half-smile of Oscar that closes this remarkable movie like an inky smudge on a passionately scribbled first draft.

Art isn’t easy, Stephen Sondheim articulated about the creative process. Then again, if one’s chosen art seems especially out of reach, life is no piece of cake either. Colombian writer-director Simón Mesa Soto’s acutely observed Cannes-recognized “A Poet” lays bare that torment with the tale of a has-been writer for whom exquisite suffering has curdled into garden-variety middle-age failure. Given a modicum of hope, there’s always room to make matters worse.

There’s a wry grace to this misadventure-palooza, forged in the key of melancholic mid-career Woody Allen but with variations on those themes which achieve their own pointedly funny clarity, especially where Ubeimar Rios’ all-time portrayal of a sad sack is concerned.

Decades from his prize-winning days as a published young poet, Oscar (Rios) is now divorced, creatively blocked and penniless, living with his ailing mother (Margarita Soto), estranged from his teenage daughter (Alisson Correa) and prone to crying fits of self-pity when he isn’t drunkenly raving to anyone who will listen about the sorry state of the written word in his country. Threatened with eviction by his fed-up family unless he takes an open slot teaching poetry at a high school, Oscar swallows his pride and takes the gig.

His mood changes when he’s introduced to the lyrical, honest notebook musings of unassuming student Yurlady (quietly effective newcomer Rebeca Andrade), who lives in a cramped apartment with four generations of family. Oscar sees a chance to redeem himself by becoming the girl’s mentor, aiming to get her into both a celebrated poetry school and prize-giving festival run by his high-profile rival Efrain (a believably arrogant Guillermo Cardona). Whether Yurlady wants public recognition is another matter, since she’s only ever viewed writing as a private outlet for expression. Oscar, meanwhile, his idealism reawakened, sees an opportunity for an underprivileged kid with raw talent to escape her meager existence.

Good intentions run into craven expectations, however, and invariably, the types of terrible choices and consequences that, in Soto’s admirably unsentimental narrative style, wouldn’t be out of place in either a silent-era disaster comedy or a darkly tragic indie. “A Poet” is neither, though, as if suspicious of sticking to one tone when the subject is as vast as art.

Hence, this nimble, propulsive movie, given a loose intimacy by Juan Sarmiento’s 16mm cinematography, proves to be oddly heartfelt when seemingly most cruel about Oscar’s hapless earnestness. (Soto’s cheeky use of music is one clue: A sad clarinet or jokey needle drop is quickly cut off before you have a chance to read into its deployment.)

“A Poet” rides its wave of misfit compassion so beautifully because its contradictions live inside Rios’s howling, pitiable shambles of a character, who at times looks like someone sketched by a cynical animator but finished by a sympathetic colorist. That you’re never entirely sure if Oscar is going to be the adult or the child in any given scene creates a wonderfully funny tension. It’s one of the best performances of this past year and if Rios never acted again, it’d be a one-off for the ages, perfectly encapsulated in the strange, forced, teary half-smile of Oscar that closes this remarkable movie like an inky smudge on a passionately scribbled first draft.

Art isn’t easy, Stephen Sondheim articulated about the creative process. Then again, if one’s chosen art seems especially out of reach, life is no piece of cake either. Colombian writer-director Simón Mesa Soto’s acutely observed Cannes-recognized “A Poet” lays bare that torment with the tale of a has-been writer for whom exquisite suffering has curdled into garden-variety middle-age failure. Given a modicum of hope, there’s always room to make matters worse.

There’s a wry grace to this misadventure-palooza, forged in the key of melancholic mid-career Woody Allen but with variations on those themes which achieve their own pointedly funny clarity, especially where Ubeimar Rios’ all-time portrayal of a sad sack is concerned.

Decades from his prize-winning days as a published young poet, Oscar (Rios) is now divorced, creatively blocked and penniless, living with his ailing mother (Margarita Soto), estranged from his teenage daughter (Alisson Correa) and prone to crying fits of self-pity when he isn’t drunkenly raving to anyone who will listen about the sorry state of the written word in his country. Threatened with eviction by his fed-up family unless he takes an open slot teaching poetry at a high school, Oscar swallows his pride and takes the gig.

His mood changes when he’s introduced to the lyrical, honest notebook musings of unassuming student Yurlady (quietly effective newcomer Rebeca Andrade), who lives in a cramped apartment with four generations of family. Oscar sees a chance to redeem himself by becoming the girl’s mentor, aiming to get her into both a celebrated poetry school and prize-giving festival run by his high-profile rival Efrain (a believably arrogant Guillermo Cardona). Whether Yurlady wants public recognition is another matter, since she’s only ever viewed writing as a private outlet for expression. Oscar, meanwhile, his idealism reawakened, sees an opportunity for an underprivileged kid with raw talent to escape her meager existence.

Good intentions run into craven expectations, however, and invariably, the types of terrible choices and consequences that, in Soto’s admirably unsentimental narrative style, wouldn’t be out of place in either a silent-era disaster comedy or a darkly tragic indie. “A Poet” is neither, though, as if suspicious of sticking to one tone when the subject is as vast as art.

Hence, this nimble, propulsive movie, given a loose intimacy by Juan Sarmiento’s 16mm cinematography, proves to be oddly heartfelt when seemingly most cruel about Oscar’s hapless earnestness. (Soto’s cheeky use of music is one clue: A sad clarinet or jokey needle drop is quickly cut off before you have a chance to read into its deployment.)

“A Poet” rides its wave of misfit compassion so beautifully because its contradictions live inside Rios’s howling, pitiable shambles of a character, who at times looks like someone sketched by a cynical animator but finished by a sympathetic colorist. That you’re never entirely sure if Oscar is going to be the adult or the child in any given scene creates a wonderfully funny tension. It’s one of the best performances of this past year and if Rios never acted again, it’d be a one-off for the ages, perfectly encapsulated in the strange, forced, teary half-smile of Oscar that closes this remarkable movie like an inky smudge on a passionately scribbled first draft.

Art isn’t easy, Stephen Sondheim articulated about the creative process. Then again, if one’s chosen art seems especially out of reach, life is no piece of cake either. Colombian writer-director Simón Mesa Soto’s acutely observed Cannes-recognized “A Poet” lays bare that torment with the tale of a has-been writer for whom exquisite suffering has curdled into garden-variety middle-age failure. Given a modicum of hope, there’s always room to make matters worse.

There’s a wry grace to this misadventure-palooza, forged in the key of melancholic mid-career Woody Allen but with variations on those themes which achieve their own pointedly funny clarity, especially where Ubeimar Rios’ all-time portrayal of a sad sack is concerned.

Decades from his prize-winning days as a published young poet, Oscar (Rios) is now divorced, creatively blocked and penniless, living with his ailing mother (Margarita Soto), estranged from his teenage daughter (Alisson Correa) and prone to crying fits of self-pity when he isn’t drunkenly raving to anyone who will listen about the sorry state of the written word in his country. Threatened with eviction by his fed-up family unless he takes an open slot teaching poetry at a high school, Oscar swallows his pride and takes the gig.

His mood changes when he’s introduced to the lyrical, honest notebook musings of unassuming student Yurlady (quietly effective newcomer Rebeca Andrade), who lives in a cramped apartment with four generations of family. Oscar sees a chance to redeem himself by becoming the girl’s mentor, aiming to get her into both a celebrated poetry school and prize-giving festival run by his high-profile rival Efrain (a believably arrogant Guillermo Cardona). Whether Yurlady wants public recognition is another matter, since she’s only ever viewed writing as a private outlet for expression. Oscar, meanwhile, his idealism reawakened, sees an opportunity for an underprivileged kid with raw talent to escape her meager existence.

Good intentions run into craven expectations, however, and invariably, the types of terrible choices and consequences that, in Soto’s admirably unsentimental narrative style, wouldn’t be out of place in either a silent-era disaster comedy or a darkly tragic indie. “A Poet” is neither, though, as if suspicious of sticking to one tone when the subject is as vast as art.

Hence, this nimble, propulsive movie, given a loose intimacy by Juan Sarmiento’s 16mm cinematography, proves to be oddly heartfelt when seemingly most cruel about Oscar’s hapless earnestness. (Soto’s cheeky use of music is one clue: A sad clarinet or jokey needle drop is quickly cut off before you have a chance to read into its deployment.)

“A Poet” rides its wave of misfit compassion so beautifully because its contradictions live inside Rios’s howling, pitiable shambles of a character, who at times looks like someone sketched by a cynical animator but finished by a sympathetic colorist. That you’re never entirely sure if Oscar is going to be the adult or the child in any given scene creates a wonderfully funny tension. It’s one of the best performances of this past year and if Rios never acted again, it’d be a one-off for the ages, perfectly encapsulated in the strange, forced, teary half-smile of Oscar that closes this remarkable movie like an inky smudge on a passionately scribbled first draft.

Art isn’t easy, Stephen Sondheim articulated about the creative process. Then again, if one’s chosen art seems especially out of reach, life is no piece of cake either. Colombian writer-director Simón Mesa Soto’s acutely observed Cannes-recognized “A Poet” lays bare that torment with the tale of a has-been writer for whom exquisite suffering has curdled into garden-variety middle-age failure. Given a modicum of hope, there’s always room to make matters worse.

There’s a wry grace to this misadventure-palooza, forged in the key of melancholic mid-career Woody Allen but with variations on those themes which achieve their own pointedly funny clarity, especially where Ubeimar Rios’ all-time portrayal of a sad sack is concerned.

Decades from his prize-winning days as a published young poet, Oscar (Rios) is now divorced, creatively blocked and penniless, living with his ailing mother (Margarita Soto), estranged from his teenage daughter (Alisson Correa) and prone to crying fits of self-pity when he isn’t drunkenly raving to anyone who will listen about the sorry state of the written word in his country. Threatened with eviction by his fed-up family unless he takes an open slot teaching poetry at a high school, Oscar swallows his pride and takes the gig.

His mood changes when he’s introduced to the lyrical, honest notebook musings of unassuming student Yurlady (quietly effective newcomer Rebeca Andrade), who lives in a cramped apartment with four generations of family. Oscar sees a chance to redeem himself by becoming the girl’s mentor, aiming to get her into both a celebrated poetry school and prize-giving festival run by his high-profile rival Efrain (a believably arrogant Guillermo Cardona). Whether Yurlady wants public recognition is another matter, since she’s only ever viewed writing as a private outlet for expression. Oscar, meanwhile, his idealism reawakened, sees an opportunity for an underprivileged kid with raw talent to escape her meager existence.

Good intentions run into craven expectations, however, and invariably, the types of terrible choices and consequences that, in Soto’s admirably unsentimental narrative style, wouldn’t be out of place in either a silent-era disaster comedy or a darkly tragic indie. “A Poet” is neither, though, as if suspicious of sticking to one tone when the subject is as vast as art.

Hence, this nimble, propulsive movie, given a loose intimacy by Juan Sarmiento’s 16mm cinematography, proves to be oddly heartfelt when seemingly most cruel about Oscar’s hapless earnestness. (Soto’s cheeky use of music is one clue: A sad clarinet or jokey needle drop is quickly cut off before you have a chance to read into its deployment.)

“A Poet” rides its wave of misfit compassion so beautifully because its contradictions live inside Rios’s howling, pitiable shambles of a character, who at times looks like someone sketched by a cynical animator but finished by a sympathetic colorist. That you’re never entirely sure if Oscar is going to be the adult or the child in any given scene creates a wonderfully funny tension. It’s one of the best performances of this past year and if Rios never acted again, it’d be a one-off for the ages, perfectly encapsulated in the strange, forced, teary half-smile of Oscar that closes this remarkable movie like an inky smudge on a passionately scribbled first draft.

Art isn’t easy, Stephen Sondheim articulated about the creative process. Then again, if one’s chosen art seems especially out of reach, life is no piece of cake either. Colombian writer-director Simón Mesa Soto’s acutely observed Cannes-recognized “A Poet” lays bare that torment with the tale of a has-been writer for whom exquisite suffering has curdled into garden-variety middle-age failure. Given a modicum of hope, there’s always room to make matters worse.

There’s a wry grace to this misadventure-palooza, forged in the key of melancholic mid-career Woody Allen but with variations on those themes which achieve their own pointedly funny clarity, especially where Ubeimar Rios’ all-time portrayal of a sad sack is concerned.

Decades from his prize-winning days as a published young poet, Oscar (Rios) is now divorced, creatively blocked and penniless, living with his ailing mother (Margarita Soto), estranged from his teenage daughter (Alisson Correa) and prone to crying fits of self-pity when he isn’t drunkenly raving to anyone who will listen about the sorry state of the written word in his country. Threatened with eviction by his fed-up family unless he takes an open slot teaching poetry at a high school, Oscar swallows his pride and takes the gig.

His mood changes when he’s introduced to the lyrical, honest notebook musings of unassuming student Yurlady (quietly effective newcomer Rebeca Andrade), who lives in a cramped apartment with four generations of family. Oscar sees a chance to redeem himself by becoming the girl’s mentor, aiming to get her into both a celebrated poetry school and prize-giving festival run by his high-profile rival Efrain (a believably arrogant Guillermo Cardona). Whether Yurlady wants public recognition is another matter, since she’s only ever viewed writing as a private outlet for expression. Oscar, meanwhile, his idealism reawakened, sees an opportunity for an underprivileged kid with raw talent to escape her meager existence.

Good intentions run into craven expectations, however, and invariably, the types of terrible choices and consequences that, in Soto’s admirably unsentimental narrative style, wouldn’t be out of place in either a silent-era disaster comedy or a darkly tragic indie. “A Poet” is neither, though, as if suspicious of sticking to one tone when the subject is as vast as art.

Hence, this nimble, propulsive movie, given a loose intimacy by Juan Sarmiento’s 16mm cinematography, proves to be oddly heartfelt when seemingly most cruel about Oscar’s hapless earnestness. (Soto’s cheeky use of music is one clue: A sad clarinet or jokey needle drop is quickly cut off before you have a chance to read into its deployment.)

“A Poet” rides its wave of misfit compassion so beautifully because its contradictions live inside Rios’s howling, pitiable shambles of a character, who at times looks like someone sketched by a cynical animator but finished by a sympathetic colorist. That you’re never entirely sure if Oscar is going to be the adult or the child in any given scene creates a wonderfully funny tension. It’s one of the best performances of this past year and if Rios never acted again, it’d be a one-off for the ages, perfectly encapsulated in the strange, forced, teary half-smile of Oscar that closes this remarkable movie like an inky smudge on a passionately scribbled first draft.

Art isn’t easy, Stephen Sondheim articulated about the creative process. Then again, if one’s chosen art seems especially out of reach, life is no piece of cake either. Colombian writer-director Simón Mesa Soto’s acutely observed Cannes-recognized “A Poet” lays bare that torment with the tale of a has-been writer for whom exquisite suffering has curdled into garden-variety middle-age failure. Given a modicum of hope, there’s always room to make matters worse.

There’s a wry grace to this misadventure-palooza, forged in the key of melancholic mid-career Woody Allen but with variations on those themes which achieve their own pointedly funny clarity, especially where Ubeimar Rios’ all-time portrayal of a sad sack is concerned.

Decades from his prize-winning days as a published young poet, Oscar (Rios) is now divorced, creatively blocked and penniless, living with his ailing mother (Margarita Soto), estranged from his teenage daughter (Alisson Correa) and prone to crying fits of self-pity when he isn’t drunkenly raving to anyone who will listen about the sorry state of the written word in his country. Threatened with eviction by his fed-up family unless he takes an open slot teaching poetry at a high school, Oscar swallows his pride and takes the gig.

His mood changes when he’s introduced to the lyrical, honest notebook musings of unassuming student Yurlady (quietly effective newcomer Rebeca Andrade), who lives in a cramped apartment with four generations of family. Oscar sees a chance to redeem himself by becoming the girl’s mentor, aiming to get her into both a celebrated poetry school and prize-giving festival run by his high-profile rival Efrain (a believably arrogant Guillermo Cardona). Whether Yurlady wants public recognition is another matter, since she’s only ever viewed writing as a private outlet for expression. Oscar, meanwhile, his idealism reawakened, sees an opportunity for an underprivileged kid with raw talent to escape her meager existence.

Good intentions run into craven expectations, however, and invariably, the types of terrible choices and consequences that, in Soto’s admirably unsentimental narrative style, wouldn’t be out of place in either a silent-era disaster comedy or a darkly tragic indie. “A Poet” is neither, though, as if suspicious of sticking to one tone when the subject is as vast as art.

Hence, this nimble, propulsive movie, given a loose intimacy by Juan Sarmiento’s 16mm cinematography, proves to be oddly heartfelt when seemingly most cruel about Oscar’s hapless earnestness. (Soto’s cheeky use of music is one clue: A sad clarinet or jokey needle drop is quickly cut off before you have a chance to read into its deployment.)

“A Poet” rides its wave of misfit compassion so beautifully because its contradictions live inside Rios’s howling, pitiable shambles of a character, who at times looks like someone sketched by a cynical animator but finished by a sympathetic colorist. That you’re never entirely sure if Oscar is going to be the adult or the child in any given scene creates a wonderfully funny tension. It’s one of the best performances of this past year and if Rios never acted again, it’d be a one-off for the ages, perfectly encapsulated in the strange, forced, teary half-smile of Oscar that closes this remarkable movie like an inky smudge on a passionately scribbled first draft.

Art isn’t easy, Stephen Sondheim articulated about the creative process. Then again, if one’s chosen art seems especially out of reach, life is no piece of cake either. Colombian writer-director Simón Mesa Soto’s acutely observed Cannes-recognized “A Poet” lays bare that torment with the tale of a has-been writer for whom exquisite suffering has curdled into garden-variety middle-age failure. Given a modicum of hope, there’s always room to make matters worse.

There’s a wry grace to this misadventure-palooza, forged in the key of melancholic mid-career Woody Allen but with variations on those themes which achieve their own pointedly funny clarity, especially where Ubeimar Rios’ all-time portrayal of a sad sack is concerned.

Decades from his prize-winning days as a published young poet, Oscar (Rios) is now divorced, creatively blocked and penniless, living with his ailing mother (Margarita Soto), estranged from his teenage daughter (Alisson Correa) and prone to crying fits of self-pity when he isn’t drunkenly raving to anyone who will listen about the sorry state of the written word in his country. Threatened with eviction by his fed-up family unless he takes an open slot teaching poetry at a high school, Oscar swallows his pride and takes the gig.

His mood changes when he’s introduced to the lyrical, honest notebook musings of unassuming student Yurlady (quietly effective newcomer Rebeca Andrade), who lives in a cramped apartment with four generations of family. Oscar sees a chance to redeem himself by becoming the girl’s mentor, aiming to get her into both a celebrated poetry school and prize-giving festival run by his high-profile rival Efrain (a believably arrogant Guillermo Cardona). Whether Yurlady wants public recognition is another matter, since she’s only ever viewed writing as a private outlet for expression. Oscar, meanwhile, his idealism reawakened, sees an opportunity for an underprivileged kid with raw talent to escape her meager existence.

Good intentions run into craven expectations, however, and invariably, the types of terrible choices and consequences that, in Soto’s admirably unsentimental narrative style, wouldn’t be out of place in either a silent-era disaster comedy or a darkly tragic indie. “A Poet” is neither, though, as if suspicious of sticking to one tone when the subject is as vast as art.

Hence, this nimble, propulsive movie, given a loose intimacy by Juan Sarmiento’s 16mm cinematography, proves to be oddly heartfelt when seemingly most cruel about Oscar’s hapless earnestness. (Soto’s cheeky use of music is one clue: A sad clarinet or jokey needle drop is quickly cut off before you have a chance to read into its deployment.)

“A Poet” rides its wave of misfit compassion so beautifully because its contradictions live inside Rios’s howling, pitiable shambles of a character, who at times looks like someone sketched by a cynical animator but finished by a sympathetic colorist. That you’re never entirely sure if Oscar is going to be the adult or the child in any given scene creates a wonderfully funny tension. It’s one of the best performances of this past year and if Rios never acted again, it’d be a one-off for the ages, perfectly encapsulated in the strange, forced, teary half-smile of Oscar that closes this remarkable movie like an inky smudge on a passionately scribbled first draft.