Fear can be a sort of disease, leading to irrational behavior and madness if not kept in check. Roman Polanski’s Repulsion showed how an irrational fear of rape distorts to a fear of sex and ultimately a fear of life itself. Similarly, Claudia Llosa’s The Milk of Sorrow (La Teta Asustada, and no, that’s not a literal translation; it translates to “The Frightened Teat”) takes the fear Polanski explored and reconstitutes it in a historical setting where rape was once a common instrument of terror. During two decades of civil war in Peru, women, particularly those of indigenous heritage, were indiscriminately raped, while their men were just as thoughtlessly killed. Although the war ended nearly a decade ago, the memory of such atrocities is conveyed in detail to the viewer through a folk song heard over a black screen at the opening of Llosa’s dark comedy.
After her mother’s death, the beautiful Fausta (Magaly Solier) collapses while her surviving family members plan her cousin’s upcoming wedding. Her Uncle Lucido (Marino Ballón) rushes her to the hospital, where the doctor informs him Fausta’s spell is the result of a potato she inserted in her vagina. Lucido ignores the medical advice, claiming that she suffers instead from “la teta asustada,” the fear and sadness from Peru’s 20-year civil war passed on through her mother’s milk. Fausta explains she inserted the potato to calm her constant fear of being raped, but now faces another dilemma: how to pay for her mother’s burial in a different village. She finds extra employment at the home of aging concert pianist Aida (Susi Sánchez). Despite setbacks due to her illness, Fausta catches Aida’s attention through her singing of folk songs, a tradition passed down by her mother. Aida bribes the introverted Fausta to sing her songs, and the two form a sort of bond. Fausta also finds herself drawn to Aida’s gardener, the gentle Noe (Efraín Solis). Through these new relationships, she confronts her disease of irrational paranoia and the offending tuber.
Outside of Fausta, there is little evidence in Llosa’s film of the effects of a prolonged civil war. After the graphic description that opens the film, Llosa presents life in Lima and the surrounding villages as largely detached from the violence that once engulfed it. Even Fausta’s fear serves as more of a silent reminder of the “terrorism,” as it is referred to, an off-screen sign whose pieces occasionally fall into frame like the discarded bits of potato Fausta removes. Indeed, Llosa seems to have chosen weddings as a motif in order to show the disconnect between war/Fausta’s isolation and the rest of Peru’s desire to move forward. As her uncle puts it, the death of Fausta’s mother, a victim of war, cannot co-exist with her cousin’s wedding. Llosa, likewise, seems to be more at home filming the rhythmic wedding sequences, which breathe life into an otherwise bleak landscape.
As Fausta becomes more isolated, she can only turn to death to comfort her. Rather than lie next to one of the living suitors who court her, Fausta crawls into bed with her mummified mother, who originally imparted the fear that cripples her, both figuratively through “la teta asustada” and literally through the oral tradition. Yet at the same time, Fausta’s need to honor her mother forces her into the outside world. For the first time, Fausta seems truly happy when she hears her mother’s song turned into a piano concerto before a sophisticated Lima audience. Llosa ultimately feels there is a duality in the family’s role, that it must both harm and nurture. Uncle Lucido serves a similar function, both cruel and caring. When he sneaks up on Fausta in a threatening manner, he simulates a rape attack, but at the same time instills in her a desire for life.
Apart from shots of Fausta cuddling with her dead mother, Llosa resists the surreal and twisted style that Polanski developed in Repulsion. Although she recognizes the gravity of the subject matter, she handles it with a darkly comic touch and a hint of magic realism. However, Polanski’s film managed to delve into the human mind as few have since. Llosa, on the other hand, prefers to limit her exploration to the visible world. Perhaps this explains the central metaphor of the film: “la teta asustada” reduces the psychological darkness to an outward disease that can be cured by simply choosing to live.