Chelsea Lupkin
At its surface, Moises Aisemberg’s Dulce Dolor is about a piñata that comes to life at a little girl’s birthday party. But much like the subtle innuendo of its title, which translates to ‘The Sweetest Blow’, it has a dark risqué concept at its core.
At first glance, it’s easy to see why Aisemberg’s film caught our attention: the visual splendor of the costume that adorns the lead actress as the piñata incarnate. According to Aisemberg, it took up to four hours a day to put the makeup and costume onto the actress. The paper on her face had to be individually glued—piece by piece. The dedication was well worth it because the art direction in this short is just as unique as the concept itself.
Dulce Dolor explores one woman’s—or in this case, piñata’s—sexual awakening as she begins to understand and accept her masochistic sexual identity. More intriguing is the use of a piñata as a metaphor for this experience. In Mexico, the candy wielding devices are a part of the culture and kids are taught to enjoy destroying the anthropomorphic creatures—notably Disney Princess-like figures. This destructive pleasure inspired Aisemberg and allowed him to explore the violence that a piñata is subjected to while also scrutinizing the topic of sadomasochism in his film’s universe.
Aisemberg explains in depth: “The short is about acceptance. At first, the piñata comes to life and does not understand what is happening, but eventually realizes that she enjoys the beating. It also functions as a metaphor for the first time a woman has sex. It’s about knowing who you really are and lead a healthy relationship with yourself and others.”
Dulce Dolor has no dialogue between its lead characters, yet the actors’ performances are so emotive that it doesn’t hinder the story.
There’s a wonderfully innocent and timid relationship that forms between the trash man and the damsel in distress piñata girl who he finds on his route. He woos her on screen and you can’t help but root for him despite the ultimate fear that he ignites in her. You can sense that she’s starting to understand her nature, but can’t seem to go all the way as the film progresses. At times, you may forget that she’s a piñata, but Aisemberg reminds us of the protagonist’s “piñata-hood meets womanhood” in the uncanny way she adapts her to her new world—like showing that she must be wrapped in a trash bag to go swimming because she’s made of paper.
When you finally get to see the piñata princess accept that violence is her sexual savior, you’ll be strangely satisfied that Aisemberg took her metaphor as far as he did.
Aisemberg is currently working on his first feature, which is another psychological drama, but about a morbidly obese 12 year-old going through an early sexual awakening.