How The Little Prince can show Cuban generosity and abundance of love

Note: This story was written by Eckerd College film studies students John Burdette and Drew Moger with assistance from Eckerd film studies professor and Creative Loafing Tampa contributor Christina Petersen.

When asked about their greatest influence as storytellers, Rodrigo and Sebastián Barriuso, brothers and co-directors of Un Traductor (A Translator), which competed in the World Dramatic category in this year’s Sundance Film Festival, quickly name Antoine De Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince. First published in 1943 and one of the most translated books in the world (selling more than 150 million copies in 300 languages), The Little Prince tells the story of an adult lost in the Sahara desert who encounters a young boy from another planet. Over the course of their time together, the two exiles find common ground regardless of their apparent differences in age and geographic origin, a theme which finds new life in fact rather than fiction in Un Traductor.

For the Barriuso brothers, their love for storytelling came from their father who first introduced them to Saint-Exupéry’s novella and the brothers still read it, purchase copies of it — and their father collects it in different translations. They agree that it has been the story that has most influenced and continues to influence the way they tell stories.

Their latest story, Un Traductor, follows a Russian literature professor, Malin (Rodrigo Santoro) in 1989 Cuba who is also exiled from his home planet — the classroom — to another harsh and forbidding new landscape — Havana’s general hospital — to translate for Cuban doctors who are treating Chernobyl victims (thousands of whom were treated in Cuba after the disaster through a mutual agreement between Cuba and the Soviet Union). Malin is assigned to the children’s ward, much to his initial dislike, yet his natural inclinations as a teacher soon surface. He begins to invest his time, effort, and even his heart into providing more than just translations for these children who are suffering from tumors, infections, and other radiation ailments. At first Malin only sees pain and suffering in these children, but learns to provide love and care in the face of death with the help of the children’s ward nurse, Gladys, played by Maricel Álvarez. As Malin commits more and more of himself to helping these children, his own family dynamic changes, including his relationship with his wife, Isona, played by Yoandra Suárez. All in all, the film offers an authentic depiction of Cuba while delivering a powerful message that storytelling and art can be used to not just escape, but also to connect with others when there seems to be nothing in common.

After viewing the film, we had a chance to sit down with the directors to discuss the importance and significance of making this film as well as its importance in relation to their home country of Cuba. The Barriuso brothers admitted that they wanted their story to be about the group of doctors and translators who worked in the hospital to help these patients, specifically the children, and not just a single man’s journey. So while Malin was the main character, the brothers approached the film wanting him to represent all those who cared and gave everything they could to help. The film, in their words, “is about ordinary people doing extraordinary tasks.” And the film succeeds in depicting average Cubans who gave their heart, sometimes too much of it, to help bring joy and healing to those who suffered. This story, like The Little Prince, inspires and showcases the power of storytelling in how it brings individuals together — regardless of their background.

The Barriusos’ background, though, also helped them make the story personal and authentic. As much as the brothers wanted to focus on portraying the Cuban translators as heroes and telling an unknown story, they also wanted to shed light on the people and society of their often misunderstood home country. When asked what it was like bringing a film that takes place in and about Cuba to American audiences, they responded that they hoped to debunk the stereotypes many Americans carry with them about Cuban culture and how Cubans actually live. The Barriusos want people to see Cuba as a country that does have its own problems, but also recognize that it is not the underdeveloped island that many in the United States have seen it as.

The Barriusos achieve just that in Un Traductor by showing us the vibrancy of the Cuban culture and the warmth of their hearts. They noted that despite having little, especially during the Special Period after the collapse of the Soviet Union, Cuba was still able to give so much to the Chernobyl victims. Cuba continued taking in and caring for these victims until 2011. By depicting the Cuban generosity in film, the brothers hope others will stop seeing Cuba as a poor country that cannot help or function on its own and also use their film to encourage other countries to do more to help when people are suffering.

All in all, we recommend Un Traductor as one of the top films to be on the lookout for coming out of Sundance. With strong performances, an emotionally gripping script, and an arresting visual style that juxtaposes the suffering that takes place in the hospital with Cuba’s natural beauty, we are hoping Un Traductor will be picked up by a distributor so more audiences can celebrate and connect to this story. No matter how much you know about the film’s backstory, you will remain on the edge of your seat until the final credits, which may find you gasping with surprise and reaching for your tissues, as many did at the film’s premiere in Park City, realizing that the Barriusos’ story is much more personal than you could’ve possibly imagined.

This article appears in Feb 15-22, 2018.