The Haunting Legacy of Venezuela’s Unfinished Revolution

In the midst of a global pandemic and rising authoritarianism, the world has been watching as the United States attempts to exert its influence over Venezuela, a country struggling to overcome decades of economic collapse and social unrest. Behind this drama lies a more profound story: one of land ownership, historical trauma, and the complexities of inherited legacy.

Jorge Thielen Armand’s latest film, Death Has No Master, explores these themes with unflinching intensity. The movie follows Caro, an anxious foreigner played by Asia Argento, as she returns to her inherited plantation in Venezuela. She becomes embroiled in a complex web of historical tensions and personal traumas.

The film is not just a commentary on the US incursion into Venezuela but also a deeply personal exploration of Armand’s own family history. His feature debut La Soledad, which examined the economic collapse of Venezuela, was shot at the same dilapidated mansion that now serves as the setting for Death Has No Master.

One of the most striking aspects of Death Has No Master is its refusal to simplify the complex moralities at play. By keeping his characters on a level playing field, Armand subverts traditional notions of victimhood and ownership. Instead, he reveals the messy truth: that land is not owned but controlled by force. This is a searing indictment of the colonial project, which has left its mark on Venezuela’s psyche.

Asia Argento describes the film as “dealing with my own blood, my inheritance.” Her character, Caro, is haunted by her abusive father and the legacy of colonialism that continues to shape her life. This personal struggle reflects the collective darkness that Venezuelans feel.

The film’s use of surrealism and abstraction serves as a powerful metaphor for the ways in which history can be distorted or erased. Time feels collapsed in Death Has No Master, with the colonial past occupying the present. Cacao beans, symbols of riches and historical violence, serve as a potent reminder of the country’s troubled legacy.

In an era where borders are increasingly blurred and the world is becoming more interconnected, Armand’s film serves as a timely warning: that our individual and collective legacies are tied to the histories we try to forget. As he notes, “Land isn’t owned, ever. It’s just controlled by the use of force.”

As the US continues its efforts to exert influence over Venezuela, Death Has No Master offers a powerful reminder of the complexities of colonialism and the ongoing struggle for land ownership. This is not just a story about one country or one regime but a reflection of our shared human condition – with all its attendant traumas, legacies, and unfinished business.

The film leaves us with more questions than answers: what does it mean to inherit a legacy of trauma? How do we navigate the messy complexities of colonialism and power dynamics? And what does this tell us about our own complicity in these systems?

These are not easy questions to confront, but they are necessary ones. As Death Has No Master reminds us, the past is always present – and it’s up to us to grapple with its unfinished business.

The film’s final frames linger on the image of Caro, lost in a world that is both familiar and strange. She embodies the struggle of Venezuela itself: a country caught between its colonial legacy and its dreams of freedom. As we watch her fade into the shadows, we are left to ponder the haunting legacy of Venezuela’s unfinished revolution – and our own complicity in its ongoing drama.