“A fascinating and disconcerting morality tale about a man who believes that violence is necessary, and how obedience can cause irreversible consequences.“

Perhaps the most decisive day in Chile’s history was the 11th of September 1973. It marks the day a military coup against Salvador Allende began, leading to his death and the rise of Augusto Pinochet, who plunged the country into a dictatorship that would last for nearly two decades. The events that surrounded this monumental occasion have been dissected and analysed from every conceivable angle, since it saw the dismantling of Chilean politics piece by piece, changing the course of history in the process. An attempt to offer further insights into this violent chapter in the country’s history comes in the form of The Red Hangar (Hangar rojo), in which Juan Pablo Sallato explores the circumstances surrounding Captain Jorge Silva, a military officer, being ordered to turn an air force base into a torture chamber for captives. The film follows his efforts to quietly resist getting involved, but ultimately shows just how little power he wields when it becomes clear that he will be forced to not only obey his superiors but also to actively assist in their brutal actions, by any means necessary. The Red Hangar is part of a small but memorable group of war films in which we don’t actually witness any conflict on screen, but rather focus on the events that take place behind closed doors. It shows that war is not always fought on the battlefield, but rather in offices and corridors, where all heroism and grandeur is lost, replaced only by the tension of knowing the entire fate of society rests in the hands of a few volatile individuals. A slow-paced, restrained drama that forces the viewer into a state of vigilance, The Red Hangar is a fascinating and disconcerting morality tale about a man who believes that violence is necessary, and how obedience can cause irreversible consequences.

The Red Hangar is a film influenced heavily by historical events, but knowledge of the actual incident is not that important in determining the viewer’s relationship with this story. The director chooses to take a very specific occurrence and use it as the foundation for a quietly ambitious chamber drama, one in which form is almost as important as message. A deliberately slow-paced film that uses its unhurried structure to challenge the viewer to sit and observe, where we usually find that films that center around tense historical events tend to compress far too much information into only a couple of hours. Here, the audience is forced to sit in the silence, watching these characters hesitate and question their decisions, which informs much of its narrative momentum. The extended pauses and constant focus on the stillness in between the decisions draw our attention, and position us as voyeurs, quietly watching choices being made that will impact far more people than we realise. It may seem like a passive approach, but it is one that not only gives the film a particular mood but also provides The Red Hangar with an additional layer of artistry. The black-and-white photography, which strips the film of all warmth and familiarity and replaces it with cold, clinical imagery, gives it the feeling of being plucked directly from the past (evoking Cold War-era thrillers made by the likes of John Frankenheimer and Alan J. Pakula), while the sound design – consisting of distant engines, closing doors and heavy footsteps, creates an unsettling atmosphere. It all contributes to an intentional emotional distance placed between the audience and these characters, operating as a quiet drama in which we are confined to the interiors where power is exercised not through brute force or direct violence, but rather in a more procedural, cynical manner.

The Red Hangar is not just visually austere – the themes that drive the film are just as bleak and harrowing. The centerpiece of this film is the idea that violence is unavoidable in these situations (at least as far as these characters are concerned), but rather than depicting it on screen, it remains marginal and unseen. This reinforces the sense that the world is governed by systems of terror that operate quietly and with razor-sharp, professional precision in which all emotion is stripped away in favor of achieving certain administrative goals. Jorge Silva is a mostly forgotten figure (dying in relative obscurity after fleeing Chile in the aftermath of the coup), which makes him a strong candidate to serve as the focus of this film – he’s a man with some principles, but enough authority to not just be seen as someone forced to follow orders. This creates an interesting dynamic, since his actions do align with villainy (and he is never shown to be sympathetic), but contrasts his own inner turmoil with the belief that someone in his position should strive to cling to procedure, if for no other reason than to avoid being held responsible for the atrocities that will undoubtedly be committed, regardless of his involvement. The Red Hangar explores the “no other option” mindset we often find in times of war and political conflict, the extremist view that such battles are binary, rooted in not only political ideology, but also obedience and fear, which are not often used as the focal point for these stories. Through all of this, the film observes, and eventually dismantles, the myth of omnipotent military leaders who also have a handle on the situation, instead reframing them as neurotic, hesitant and deeply fragile men who engage in petty rivalries and shows of aggression, even within their own allied borders.

While it is steeped in real events and follows the story relatively closely, accuracy is not a high priority with The Red Hangar, which is not attempting to be an authentic re-enactment, but rather an artistic interpretation of one small moment in the history of the Chilean coup. In just over 80 minutes, Sallato crafts a film that contains many complex discussions – a depiction of how institutional violence is ingrained in power structures, the bureaucratic brutality of war and political conflict and, perhaps most prominently, a stark revelation that the real horror in these situations lies in how easily violence becomes routine when it becomes an act of obedience. It may be based on real events that occurred in Chile, but it is universally applicable, since the film is about systems of power and their inherent exploitation. The restraint makes the film more psychologically disturbing, as it reorders actual atrocities into something organised and preconceived, which is far more unsettling, since it implies much bigger goals are consistently in play. Through using one particular story and focusing on a man who is caught between following orders and proving his own influence, the film becomes a provocative character study – it avoids redemption arcs or any kind of moral clarity and instead examines these people as detached representatives of political systems that care more about power than the well-being of their people. Ultimately, The Red Hangar may be based in the past, but it carries an urgency today, since we find authority hiding behind procedure and a false sense of order, which makes this a universally applicable story of the corruption that comes when power collides with routine. By the end, the viewer is not shocked or traumatised, but rather uncomfortably alert and more aware than ever of the fact that catastrophe isn’t always spontaneous, but can be the result of nothing more than pure obedience and the desire to assert whatever power one has, regardless of the cost.

(c) Image copyright – Villano