From Silent Starts to a National Film Voice: Venezuela’s Cinematic Journey
In many countries examined in this cycle, cinema began as a straightforward “show” format, importing moving pictures for audiences to view. Venezuela followed a different path: film production started almost at once, and cinema took root inside the country. The medium arrived in Venezuela in the late 19th century, during a period of political upheaval and rapid regime changes that culminated in two successive dictatorships. By 1897, residents of Maracaibo were already witnessing the first Venezuelan film, A famous specialist is pulling his teeth at the Grand Hotel Europe, a work some scholars regard as a proto-horror documentary. Today, January marks Cinema Day in Venezuela in commemoration of those early screenings.
Over the first decade of Venezuelan film, at least eight movies were shot and three crews operated nationwide. Yet, as Andrés Bello Arturo Serrano of the Catholic University notes, locals initially showed little enthusiasm for domestically produced tapes. Screenings seldom sold out. Undeterred, enthusiasts persisted. The 1910s saw Venezuelan filmmakers expand into narrative cinema, producing not only documentary pieces but also artistic stories. One of the earliest examples was Lady of the Camellia, a playful adaptation riffing on Alexandre Dumas fils’ novel about a fallen romance. Around this time, Venezuela also found a natural resource gold mine: oil discoveries in Lake Maracaibo spurred rapid industrial growth that would shape the country’s trajectory for decades.
Soon after, production companies and a film school emerged in Venezuela. Yet Serrano argues that the country lagged behind the United States and the Soviet Union in cinematic expertise. While David Wark Griffith was shaping epic features like Intolerance and Sergei Eisenstein was crafting Battleship Potemkin, Venezuela had yet to produce a professional filmmaker. The period also saw state-directed propaganda distort the artistic film language, with attempts at an elegant, critical cinema giving way to state-backed narratives praising the dictator Juan Gomez. After his death in 1935, heavy state involvement faded and traditional film work gradually regained ground.
Venezuela’s first sound film arrived with a flourish. Researchers describe the 1938 work Taboga/Hacia el calvario as the moment when cinema demonstrated its potential as a powerful visual medium. Director Rafael Riviero presented a three-part piece featuring a prologue and two musical numbers, with the standout sequence set on Panama Island, where cameras captured musicians interwoven with landscapes and song.
The 1940s introduced a more commercial energy to Venezuelan cinema. Local producers attempted to mirror Mexican hits to attract audiences, but with a distinctly local twist—often capturing vast open spaces and scenes rooted in national folklore. Co-production grew as Venezuelan filmmakers paired talent with Mexican productions to broaden appeal and invite foreign attention.
In 1950, Isabelle’s Yacht Arrives This Afternoon, a drama about a sailor who betrays his wife with a cabaret dancer, played at the Cannes Film Festival and earned the Best Cinematography Award. Producer Luis Guillermo Villegas Blanco, founder of Bolívar Films, aimed to spark a robust national industry. The production process was rigorous: Arturo de Cordova spent months on Margarita Island to immerse himself in the role. Yet the venture struggled; Bolivar Films produced eight features between 1949 and 1953, all of which underperformed at the box office, eventually shifting focus back to documentaries, commercials, and news. Still, the era is remembered as a genuine artistic awakening for Venezuelan cinema.
Venezuelan cinema reached Cannes again in 1959 with Araya, a poetic documentary about salt miners that is often credited with inaugurating a socio-critical strand in national film. While the film finally released in Venezuela in 1977, its Cannes reception highlighted a shift toward social commentary. Margot Benacerraf, a notable documentary filmmaker, stands among the pioneers, but she was far from alone. By the early 1990s, Venezuelan cinema counted dozens of women in the director’s chair and across more than seventy-five feature films, a level of female participation matched only by a few Latin American peers. Posts and stories directed by women frequently confronted social issues, from abortion to environmental concerns, and several earned international recognition, including Oscar nominations for the country in certain years. In 1987, Solveig Hogestein’s Police’s Wife Maku outperformed American blockbusters at home and raised the profile of Venezuelan storytelling.
The 1970s marked a turning point when cinema in Venezuela became a national cultural movement backed by substantial state investment, thanks in part to rising oil revenues. The era is often called the country’s golden age of cinema. Foreign talents, including Mexican Mauricio Wallerstein, Italian Franco Rubartelli, and Bolivian Jorge Sanginez, moved to the country, contributing to a vibrant creative climate. Wallerstein’s 1973 film When I Want to Cry, I Don’t Cry, featuring three contemporaries from different social backgrounds, became a box-office hit and helped spark a wave of what would be termed the “new Venezuelan cinema.” Influential figures in this movement included Clemente de la Cerda. His 1976 work I Am a Criminal, about a Caracas slum boy, longtemps stood as the most popular Venezuelan film in history, even surpassing iconic titles in popular memory. The era also produced Smoking Fish by Roman Chalbaud, a melodrama that explored enterprise within the shadows of a tightly woven urban milieu.
Film production peaked in the mid-1980s, then declined along with the broader economy. Oil nationalization and inefficient management pushed the economy into recession. 1986 stands out as a high point when locally produced films drew more than four million viewers, a remarkable turnout in the country’s cinematic history. Subsequent years brought a downturn driven by economic shocks, bold policy shifts, and political volatility. By 1994, box office activity had shrunk dramatically, with modest domestic ticket sales. Despite a formal 1993 law intended to protect the film sector, practical support remained elusive until revisions came later.
Into the 2000s, the ascent and setback cycle continued under the leftist leadership of Hugo Chávez. The country saw a mix of renaissance and restriction. A breakthrough occurred in 2005 when Jonathan Yakubovich’s Express Kidnapping became a major success at home and marked the first Venezuelan feature acquired by a major Hollywood distributor, Miramax, for U.S. release. That same year, U.S. sanctions intensified, and Chávez criticized the director, labeling him part of a conspiratorial plot against the Bolivarian project. Yakubovich eventually left the country.
In 2006, Chávez supported the Fundación Villa del Cine, known as Cinemaville, to reduce Hollywood’s market dominance and foster local production. The center increased opportunities to screened Venezuelan films; yet it earned a reputation for being more than just a movie factory.
With Nicolás Maduro’s ascent, the economy faltered again amid corruption and sanctions. Yet the 2010s brought a revival in Venezuelan cinema, marked by sharper social themes and political urgency. Films such as Jorge Tilg Armand’s Loneliness and Gustavo Rondon Córdoba’s The Family explored endurance during the country’s worst crises. The documentary Chavismo: The Plague of the 21st Century became a stark, self-examining piece.The decade also spotlighted queer life on screen, a development supported by revised laws and government funding. Venezuelan productions like Mariana Rondón’s Naughty Hair, Miguel Ferrari’s Blue, Pink and Not So Pink, and Lorenzo Vigas’s From a Distance gained international attention and helped redefine the era’s visual language.
Despite continuing economic pressures and political tensions, the national film industry persists. It remains a space where bold storytelling pushes through prejudice and hardship, determined not to vanish—one more chapter in a long, stubborn, and evolving cinematic history.
***
Ancient texts of the cycle – about Iranian, Saudi Arabia, North Korea and Afghanistan.