Submarino volador

Cardboard boxes, aluminium foil, sewing thread and the drum of an industrial washing machine. These are some of the materials cunningly used in this peculiar science fiction, which intends to “open a crack in space and time in Cuba” to escape its present circumstances and dream of embodying an imagined future.
The film looks to the future, although all its tenderness shines through in the present as it attempts to bestow the power of imagination on everyday gestures, turning it into something material, real and of course, a community project. The whole family helps to construct a flying submarine so that Jonathan, the youngest, can pilot the flight and make his dream come true: perhaps not so much about reaching an unknown or artificial place, but doing so thanks to his family’s hard work and involvement, as they proudly and happily apply their skills.

Who is teaching whom? Who is getting the most enjoyment out of getting this fantasy off the ground? Little Jonathan or the adults around him? The film dilutes the boundary between childhood and adult life in a delicious reminder of the power of innocence and our constant need for a certain idea of utopia. 

Anna Brufau