Society of the Snow [dir. J. A. Bayona, 2023] (Review)
The harrowing true story, told better than ever before
Adapting a real-life tale for a movie can always be a tall ask, and even more so when the subject of the story is as well-known and discussed as the one covered in J.A. Bayona’s Society of the Snow (available now on Netflix). The crash of Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571, also known as the Andes Flight Disaster and the Miracle of the Andes, has been discussed to exhaustion in numerous media and film in particular. The tragic and heroic tale has been made into a feature both by Mexican (1976’s Survive!) and American (1993’s Alive) filmmakers as well as numerous documentaries released as recently as 2023. It’s been referenced by even more works, such as Stephen King’s “The Shining”, both “Rocko’s Modern Life” and “Rick & Morty”, and served as the inspiration for the Showtime series Yellowjackets.
The challenge, as I see it, is not necessarily in telling a story in an interesting and engaging way when so many others have already done. That certainly can force the question as to why someone is trying to tell the same story once again, but the question of why can be applied to even the most original of tales. What really made me nervous about Society was in how the other movies and references were handled – even the best of them focused on the lurid details of how the survivors remained so (specifically the cannibalism), the horrific conditions they had to endure trapped in the mountains, the supernatural heroism they displayed in reaching society again. What Society of the Snow would rather focus on, and why I think it’s one of 2023’s best films, is the humanity and dignity of the people who had to live it.
Previous iterations of this story have chosen to focus on Nando Parrado (played in Society by Augustín Pardella), and he was the man who eventually reached civilization and led the rescuers to the site of the plane. What Bayona would rather focus on, however, is Numa Turcatti (Enzo Vogrincic). Numa is our narrator, our point-of-view, and it is through his lense that we see everyone else in the film. Because his story wasn’t previously featured (this is the first adaptation to use the real names of everyone involved, with their or their family’s permission) it is possible and likely to go into this film without any knowledge of what will happen to him. Sure, this adds a narrative tension that otherwise wouldn’t be there, but it also allows us to see the well-known accident through fresh eyes. We can see Numa’s reticence about the flightpath, explained through some of the best in-character exposition imaginable just moments before the unthinkable, we share his horror at the slow descent into cannibalism despite knowing he will have to succumb in order to live, and we see both what the others meant to him and what he meant to them.
Bayona doesn’t just use this character shift in order to tell the story in a unique way, but also a variety of camera tricks borrowed from older and celebrated directors to emphasize exactly what he wants us to feel. Sergio Leone’s epic 1966 western The Good, The Bad and the Ugly is infamous for using almost entirely close-ups of faces and extreme wides of landscapes (sometimes within the same shot). The effect there is an exaggeration of emotions and a celebration of the natural beauty where the story takes place (the hills of Spain pretending to be the American west). In Society of the Snow the exact same technique is used with very similar results. We are forced to recon with the character’s distress as it plays in every line of their face, and we can marvel at the wonder of the Andes in winter, covered in rock and snow with clear skies.
What Bayona recognizes is that, in this kind of film, those extreme angles take us a layer deeper. These are men trapped at the top of a mountain range with no rescue in sight, something the vast majority of us will (hopefully) never have to experience ourselves. The wide shots of the mountains show more than just their majesty, but also the isolation they force on the people we care about. The close-ups not only showcase the survivor’s emotions but trap us, the viewers, in their frame of view and add to the claustrophobia. The best and most effective use of these types of shots in tandem come just after the midpoint. With a major days-long snowstorm slamming into their location the group have huddled in the ruins of the plane to keep warm and safe, which lasts just until an avalanche slams into them and buries everyone under feet of snow. Numa is the first to climb out, helping as many others as he can until just seventeen of the original forty remain. The camera is never more than a few inches from anyone’s face for minutes that feel like hours, until Numa finally finds a way out. The seventeen make their way out and as soon as they do the camera pulls back as far as it can, with the men just specks of black on the pure white of the snow. For the first time, the expanse doesn’t feel like an insurmountable obstacle but freedom and life. They’re far from saved, but they can breathe again, as can we.
It is that sequence that also reveals the other reason why Numa was the focus of this film – his sacrifice. In order to escape the caved in plane, Numa kicks a window open in frustration. He creates a hole big enough for everyone to climb through, but also cuts his ankle in the process which eventually leads to an infection. It doesn’t matter how much he chooses to ignore the growing problem, he will eventually succumb to his wounds. While the group is at their lowest, Numa will fail to wake up. He gave his life, ultimately, to get his friends out of danger. And it is at this moment where Roberto Canessa (Matías Recault) and Nando, the hero of every other telling but so far a tragic figure in this one, finds it within themselves to set out towards Chile to find help. Rather than give up at the loss of their friend they are more determined than ever to make sure that no life, Numa’s or anyone’s, was lost in vain.
They trek west and up the mountains for hours, hoping to find an easy path once they reach the top. Instead, in the other great super-wide shot of the movie, they see more mountains, more treachery. We look out at the same expanse and once again feel dread and isolation, there is so much left to go. But that is not what Nando sees – he sees a valley, and a path. He doesn’t care if the journey kills him, he vows to move forward and find help. Roberto joins him and they move forward. This is the other part of the story everyone knows – Nando and Roberto walking for ten days, on their own, through the Andes until they find help, leading rescuers (who had already given up hope) to the survivors, all of whom were still alive. The group on the mountain, listening to their miraculously working radio, find new life and energy when they hear about their friends’ success and eagerly await the rescue that is now, finally, on its way.
The movie never loses sight of the tragedy and the life lost. In a stroke of brilliance, the names and ages of every victim of the tragedy is listed when they’re found dead. All twenty-four people are remembered and their impact is felt every single time. Over the end credits we see the names of the actors displayed over pictures of the real people they portrayed. The way Bayona and his crew handled this tragic story with grace and humanity is beyond what is expected. The horrors never played for disgust, the heroism never unqualified. When the survivors are reunited with the family the mix of elation and despair is palpable. We see the men wash the dirt off their bodies, but we know that the mountain will never leave them.