Hispaniola is the second-largest island in the Caribbean, after Cuba, and is shared between two sovereign nations: the Dominican Republic to the east (covering two-thirds of the island) and Haiti to the west. The Dominican Republic (la República Dominicana), independent since 1844, gets its name from its capital, Santo Domingo. The city was named after Santo Domingo de Guzmán, the patron saint of astronomers and founder of the Dominican Order. Santo Domingo is home to the oldest permanent European settlement in the Americas, as well as its oldest university—la Universidad Autónoma de Santo Domingo—which was also founded by the Dominican Order.

The Dominican Republic has given the world the wonderful sounds of merengue and bachata. Its most famous musical ambassador is Juan Luis Guerra, who wrote one of the most beautiful love songs in the world, “Bachata Rosa”.

But first, as always, food.

The Caribbean Gals Night

To celebrate the Dominican Republic and Dominica (the subject of our previous entry), we decided to organise a Caribbean Gals Night—a special evening for the wonderful women of Virtual Nomad. We had 12 women around the table and, apart from enjoying a delicious menu, we also held a fun Dominican Republic trivia game. Since the Dominica portion of the menu was covered in the last entry, this post focuses on the dishes we enjoyed from the Dominican Republic.

Participating Virtual Nomads are referred to by city and place pseudonyms, which are unrelated to their actual origins.

It is a wonderful and joyous night and part from myself (Akureyri Lahore) and my daughter Lisboa (19), the attendees included Virtual Nomad veteran Acapulco Kilimanjaro, my fierce human rights warrior friend Lausanne Waikiki and her daughter Riviera (18), wonderful friends Seoul Antilles, Athina (Athens) Rarotonga and Alexandria Atacama, and Lisboa’s lovely friend Roma Aruba and fantastic newbies Bordeaux Santorini and Subaraya Barcelona. A few days later I invited dear friends Kyoto Dolomites and Cartagena Orinoco to enjoy the leftovers as they missed the Caribbean Night.

While the Dominican Republic does not have an official national dish, its most representative meal is widely considered to be  La Bandera Dominicana (the Dominican Flag). The dish consists of separate food components that together mirror the colours of the national flag:  red beans, white rice, and meat, traditionally accompanied by a salad and tostones (crispy, twice-fried plantains).

The beans are typically simmered in a rich tomato sauce infused with local herbs and spices. Because there are various traditional ways to prepare them, I decided to try two different styles. For the main Caribbean Gals Night, I cooked pinto beans with tomatoes, capsicum, and spices. For the leftover night with Kyoto Dolomites and Cartagena Orinoco, I prepared red beans in a tomato sauce with olives.

Since all these variations were vegetarian, I also prepared chicken to complete the dish (separate, not pictured) alongside white rice. Both featured a generous amount of fresh cilantro, onions and garlic. Both very rich dishes and I heard from the Virtual Nomad gals that the chicken blended beautifully with the dish.

An important component of la Bandera Dominicana is the salad. Wonderful, long-term Virtual Nomad, Acapulco Kilimanjaro brought a Mami’s Dominican Salad (first photo). It was quite similar to the Dominican Salad brought by my gorgeous friend Athina (Athens) Rarotonga. Both amazing salads and did not feel excessive at all. Since I was in charge of managing the menu, assigning two similar dishes was entirely my fault! However, it worked well in the end because twelve women can eat a lot of salad. Finally, the wonderful  Alexandria Atacama brought Dominican salted onions with vinegar.

A newbie to the group, my beautiful friend Surabaya Barcelona—who currently holds a high-level academic position at a Sydney university and is an experienced media researcher—brought croquetas in both meat and veggie versions. Croquetas are a typical part of Dominican finger foods known as picadera, but they are also frequently enjoyed as snacks. They are generally filled with either meat (typically chicken) or cheese, blended with a creamy béchamel sauce.

As previously mentioned, another essential part of La Bandera Dominicana is tostones—twice-fried slices of green plantain. Highly popular throughout Latin America and the Caribbean, they hold a similar place in local culinary traditions to potato chips in other parts of the world.

Finally, I also prepared an Ensalada de repollo y zanahoria—a salad of cabbage (using red cabbage in this case) and carrots with cilantro. While this salad usually includes raisins, most people I know aren’t fond of them in a savoury dish, so I decided to leave them out.

The Caribbean is of course famous for its tropical cocktails and delicious drinks. A gorgeous newbie to the group, Bordeaux Santorini, prepared a delicious Caribbean non-alcoholic beverage Morir soñando – to die dreaming – which is widely considered the national drink of the Dominican Republic. It is a creamy mix of fresh orange juice, evaporated milk, cane sugar and crushed ice. The origins are unknown but the drink likely emerged as a refreshing way to beat the heat by utilizing the region’s abundant sugar cane and fresh citric fruit. It tasted heavenly, and really delicious, and Bordeaux Santorini did a stellar job putting it together. 

We also have served Caribbean cocktails like Malibus and Margaritas, though they only attracted moderate interest compared to Morir soñando. 

We also incorporate a brand-new element into the Virtual Nomad stop: country trivia. Alexandria Atacama emerged as the champion of our inaugural Dominica/Dominican Republic trivia, with Acapulco Kilimanjaro taking the second place and Roma Aruba securing third.

From Ayiti to Hispaniola – and the longstanding brutal regimes

The Arawak-speaking Taíno people originally called the island [we now know as Hispaniola] by the names Ayiti or Quisqueya. They had inhabited the island for centuries before the arrival of the Spanish. At the time of European contact, the island was organised into five distinct chiefdoms.

Everything changed in 1492 when a fella called Cristóbal Colón (known in English as Christopher Columbus) landed on its shores and named the island La Española (Hispaniola). A few years later, in 1496, Santo Domingo was founded, serving as the very first permanent European colonial capital in the Americas. While the native resistance was fierce, it was tragically short-lived. Diseases introduced by the Europeans had a devastating impact on the indigenous population. As the Taíno population rapidly declined, the Spanish began importing enslaved people from Africa to supply forced labour. Over time, Spanish settlers married Taíno women, and while many modern-day Dominicans carry Taíno ancestry, no unmixed Taíno populations remain today.

The French arrived in the 1600s, drawn by the island’s strategic value and resource potential. In 1697, they took formal control of the western third of Hispaniola, a territory that would eventually become Haiti. Control of the eastern side continued to shift; Spain ceded Santo Domingo to France in 1795, only for the territory to return to Spanish rule in 1809.

A brief independence – known as the ephemeral independence – lasted for just two months in 1821. Following this, Haitian President Jean-Pierre Boyer marched east and unified the entire island under his administration. This transition proved incredibly difficult for the Dominicans, who faced harsh treatment and cultural suppression during a Haitian occupation that lasted 22 years.

In response, Juan Pablo Duarte formed La Trinitaria—a secret society dedicated entirely to achieving liberation. Through their efforts, the Dominican Republic successfully won its independence in 1844. Following a brief and controversial re-annexation to Spain, the nation finally secured its permanent sovereignty in 1865 after the grueling War of Restoration.

Enormous and chronic foreign debt eventually triggered a U.S. military occupation from 1916 to 1924. Shortly after the occupation ended, in 1930, the country fell under the brutal dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo, which lasted until his assassination by Dominican dissidents in 1961. Spanning 31 years, his regime was one of the longest non-royal dictatorships in history and was characterised by extreme violence and repression.

The economic growth achieved during the Trujillo era was entirely overshadowed by the dictator’s megalomania and narcissism. Trujillo demanded unconditional adoration: he renamed the capital city after himself, named its streets after his family members, and erected statues of himself across the nation. All of this occurred while he systematically oppressed the population and violently crushed any voice not singing according to his tune. He possessed an insatiable sexual appetite and reportedly felt entitled to any woman he set his eyes upon, including the wives and daughters of his own loyal followers. Families who attempted to hide their daughters from him were routinely tortured, and in many cases, murdered.. 

An estimated 50,000 people were killed on his orders. Driven by an intense hatred toward Haitians, Trujillo also orchestrated the 1937 Parsley Massacre, a mass killing that claimed the lives of between 15,000 and 35,000 Haitians. Throughout his rule, severe human rights abuses were rampant, the press was strictly controlled, and state funds were routinely funneled directly into the pockets of the Trujillo family.

On 25 November 1960, Trujillo orchestrated the assassination of three of the four Mirabal sisters (see the book about them below). The resulting domestic and international backlash signaled the beginning of the end for the dictator; public criticism grew rapidly, and the U.S. government finally withdrew its support from the regime. In their honor, the United Nations later designated 25 November as the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women.

Trujillo was assassinated in 1961 by a group of his own men (see the book about this below). Trujillo’s playboy son Ramfis avenged the killers, tried his luck with dictatorshipping and when that did not work, fled to Spain with family members – and stolen public funds. Spain, then living under the dictatorship of Francisco Franco, welcomed them with open arms. Some of Trujillo descendants still live in Madrid (Ramfis himself died in 1969). 

The country held its first free elections in 1962, but the democratically elected president was overthrown by a military coup seven months later. Following a period of intense political chaos, the U.S. intervened militarily once again in 1965, staying for a year.

Trujillo loyalist Joaquin Balaguer subsequently dominated the political landscape, serving as president for 22 non-consecutive years ((1960–1962, 1966–1978, and 1986–1996). Joaquin boy did not have the cleanest human rights record either; an estimated  11,000 people were killed or disappeared during his second term, and his regime faced widespread accusations of systemic electoral fraud. 

Since 1996, the political landscape has stabilised, and the country has consistently transitioned through democratically elected governments. Today, the Dominican Republic boasts the most visited island economy in the Caribbean, driven heavily by tourism, agriculture, and free-trade zones. Despite this robust economic growth, wealth inequality remains a challenge, with approximately 20% of the population still living below the poverty line.

Relationships with neighbouring Haiti have historically been difficult. In September 2013, the Constitutional Tribunal of the Dominican Republic issued a landmark ruling that stripped thousands of Dominicans of their nationality and citizenship. The decision retroactively modified birthright citizenship rules dating back to 1929, stating that children born to foreign-born parents without legal status did not qualify for Dominican nationality. This has left many Spanish-speaking Dominicans of Haitian descent stateless, depriving them of vital identity documents required to legally work, register their children, attend university, or open bank accounts.

Furthermore, according to the government’s General Directorate of Migration, the Dominican Republic deported 379,553 irregular foreigners—predominantly Haitian nationals—in 2025 alone. This strict immigration enforcement has continued into 2026; by early 2026, over 68,000 Haitians had already been deported, as the government maintains its policy objective to expel up to 10,000 undocumented people per week.

Four books from the Dominican Republic 

En el tiempo de las mariposas (Julia Alvares, 1994) 

The Mirabal sisters – Patria, Minerva and María Teresa – are national heroes in the Dominican Republic. Born into a wealthy, upper-middle class family, they became deeply involved in the Movimiento Revolucionario 14 de Junio (June 14th Revolutionary Movement) – Minerva and her husband Manolo were founding members – an underground resistance against the Trujillo dictatorship. 

On 25 November 1960, as the three sisters were returning from a visit to their incarcerated husbands (also members of the movement), they were ambushed and assassinated by Trujillo’s secret police. The sole surviving sister, Dedé, dedicated the rest of her life to keeping their memory alive and raising her slain sisters’ children alongside her own. In their honour, the United Nations later designated 25 November as the International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women.

Julia Alvarez reimagines the story of the sisters in her 1994 novel En el tiempo de las mariposas (translated into English as In the Time of the Butterflies). She gives voice to the four sisters, structuring their story across three distinct time periods. It is a significant book that brought the story of the Mirabal sisters back to life, and it has inspired multiple film adaptations—one starring Salma Hayek as Minerva, and another featuring Michelle Rodriguez (the latter of which featured the collaboration of Dedé). Alvarez wrote the book with the blessing and active collaboration of Dedé, as well as some of the children of the assassinated sisters.

Julia’s clear intention is to humanise the sisters by describing their desires, thoughts, anxieties, and doubts. She shows a clear preference for Minerva, the most famous of the siblings—the rebel sister who famously slapped Trujillo following his unwanted sexual advances on a dance floor. This incident is said to have sparked Trujillo’s persecution of the family and led to the incarceration of the girls’ father. In the book, Minerva is given wit and intellect, but also the biggest heart. Meanwhile, María Teresa is portrayed as a naive, childish young girl who joins the movement partly because she idolises Minerva, but also to attract a boyfriend. She is young and frightened. In contrast, Patria is initially profoundly religious but ends up questioning her faith; she is also portrayed as deeply sexual, which is one of the key reasons she chose not to become a nun.

But – were they truly like that in real life? It is tricky to reimagine real people and project internal thoughts and desires onto them. Dedé noted that the book is true to the spirit of the sisters and that the story, while fictionalised, remains very close to reality. I really wanted to like this book, and I did—just not to the extent of considering it a masterpiece. Too much emphasis is given to the sisters’ domestic and romantic lives, and not enough to their awakening to social injustice. While I admire the book and celebrate its existence, I was less engulfed or engaged than I would have liked. I enjoyed the chapters focusing on Minerva and Dedé, but much less so those about Patria and María Teresa. I understand the goal of humanising icons to present them as ordinary people with daily concerns and occupations, but their transition from upper-middle-class girls into full-blown activists was not as comprehensive as I had hoped.

La Fiesta del Chivo (Mario Vargas Llosa, 2000)

Mario Vargas Llosa is not Dominican, but rather a Nobel Prize-winning Peruvian author. He was a divisive and controversial figure, especially in his later years; though a radical leftist in his youth, he went on to endorse some of the most prominent far-right politicians in Latin America, including Keiko Fujimori in Peru and Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil. He also made controversial remarks regarding feminism and Indigenous movements. However, he is widely regarded as one of the most influential and exceptionally skilled writers from Latin America. While La ciudad y los perros (The Time of the Hero, 1963) is considered his most famous and foundational novel, La fiesta del chivo (The Feast of the Goat, 2000) is universally recognised as one of his masterpieces.

Julia’s book focuses on the Mirabal sisters, whereas Mario’s novel centers on the death of the man who ordered their assassination: Dictator Rafael Trujillo. The book blends historical facts with fiction, featuring a mix of real historical figures and fictional characters. The central event is the 1961 assassination of Trujillo by a group of his once-trusted men. The narrative intertwines the historical events of May 1961 with a fictionalised 1990s storyline following Urania, the middle-aged daughter of a formerly loyal Trujillo general, who returns to the Dominican Republic to visit her dying father and reflect on her youth under the regime. The novel gives voice not only to the dictator himself and this fictional protagonist, but also to several real-life figures, including many of his assassins, Trujillo’s notoriously brutal son Ramfis, and the puppet president—and later tyrant leader—Joaquín Balaguer.

The research invested into this book is remarkable. While several liberties are taken, many of the details are based on real historical events. It is a long book, and the middle section in particular feels longer than necessary, but the writing remains captivating for the most part. I frequently found myself pausing to look up the real-life stories of these individuals. The true horrors of the Trujillo regime bleed through the pages—the murders, the torture, the systematic hunting of young virgins, and the constant threat of rape and death faced by Dominican women, alongside the execution and torture facing Dominican men. It is an astute portrayal of a calculating, decaying psychopath with no conscience, the seemingly calm, docile, yet power-hungry Balaguer, and the men who ultimately decided to eliminate the dictator. Only two of those assassins survived; the rest were brutally tortured—passages that are genuinely difficult to read—and killed by Ramfis Trujillo and his father’s sadistic right-hand man, Johnny Abbes.

The Mirabal sisters are mentioned several times in this book; in a way Mario’s novel offers a certain sequel to Julia’s book; showing what happened after the Mirabal sisters were killed and how the dangerous Trujillo Cult was nearing its end (but sadly took decades to fade). Reading this book in 2026, about a megalomaniac, narcissistic, cruel leader of a cult centered around him is a reminder where the limitation of the freedom of speech, corrupted power, demonising the opposition and university education, and a special police to hunt minorities, can lead.

Dominica (Angie Cruz, 2019)

Almost like another link in the chain connecting Julia’s and Mario’s novels is Angie Cruz’s 2019 novel Dominicana, which seamlessly continues the narrative timeline, beginning on New Year’s Day in 1965. Angie is a Dominican-American author who drew inspiration for the book from her own mother’s immigration journey, as well as the collective experiences of the many Dominicanas who emigrated north to New York City. Having spent years interviewing women and listening to their personal histories, Cruz ultimately dedicated the novel to her mother and to all the unsung female heroes of the Dominican diaspora.

Once I sat down with this book, I could not put it down and read its 322 pages in a single sitting—something that hasn’t happened to me in a long while. It captured me from the very start and held me hostage until the end; it is one of those rare books whose conclusion you genuinely grieve. I loved it. While Julia Alvarez and especially Mario Vargas Llosa are incredibly skilled authors, the grit and vibrancy of Angie’s novel feels uniquely real. When the main character—Ana, a 15-year-old child bride trapped in an arranged marriage with falsified documents stating she is 19—arrives in a freezing New York City, you can feel the bitter cold right along with her. Ana does not speak the language and is initially completely dependent on her volatile, dominant husband, who is twice her age.

I loved it.

The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao (Junot Díaz, 2007) 

If I had known about the controversies surrounding Junot Díaz, I probably would not have read this novel. Awarded a Pulitzer Prize, the National Book Critics Circle Award, and several other prizes and awards, the buzz around the book was electric, and it was clearly a shoo-in as the last novel for this stop. Written in English and, in some parts, Spanglish, I am at an advantage here being a Spanish speaker. In 2015, a poll of US critics called the book ‘the best novel of the 21st century to date’.”

Touted as one of the best Dominican books of recent years, it starts strong. I initially thought it would rival Angie’s book and head straight toward a rare five-star rating. Genius wordsmithing and the storytelling is energetic—a multi-generational saga about a ‘cursed’ immigrant family that functions as a profound look at the shadow of the Trujillo and Balaguer regimes. A bittersweet love-hate letter to the Dominican Republic.

But what started strong, and was especially strong when the story shifted to Trujillo-era Santo Domingo – it flattens out towards the end. It was, in the end, a story about a sex-obsessed incel who harasses women, mostly narrated by a womanizing ex-boyfriend of his sister. The intended five stars started dropping, leaving me wondering what the point of it all was. Our main character, Oscar, is a Loser with a capital L; nothing goes in his favour, and it isn’t even funny. It baffles me that this book is so highly celebrated. Sure, it is cleverish and has a frenetic rhythm, but that rhythm doesn’t lead anywhere. In the end, it is just a book about a guy who desperately wants to have sex, and a family curse that mostly boils down to people making poor choices.

In essence, no one said it better than a fellow reader on Goodreads called Andy: “There were efforts made at epic storytelling here – tackling the Trujillo dictatorship of the Dominican and its spiritual ramifications on the generations of the de Leon family. But when you boil this thing down, it’s just the story of a loser teenager trying to get laid. And there aren’t any characters who raise the level of discussion. Besides Oscar, his mother’s trying to get laid, his sister’s trying to get laid, and so it seems the essence of the Dominican character is about getting laid. Maybe it’s honest, but it’s not saying much about their cultural relevance. It was hard for me to take away any large messages from this book when it operates from such a crude fundamental point.”

Festival de cine dominicano – the Dominican Film Festival

The first Dominican film ever was the 1923 La Leyenda de Nuestra Señora de Altagracia (The Legend of Our Lady of Altagracia) by Francisco Arturo Palau; which recorded the devotion to the Virgen. During the Trujillo years, independent filmmaking was suppressed, and the film industry was weaponised for state  propaganda – films filled with praise for Trujillo and the regime. 

The film industry recovered slowly, initially driven by foreign productions like The Godfather Part II and Apocalypse Now (both directed by Francis Ford Coppola). When I ask Dominicans and read about the essential films of the country, there is a clear consensus on four titles. I will start with the film that paved the way for the domestic independent movie industry, widely considered one of the most important milestones in the development of Dominican cinema.

Un Pasaje de ída (Agliberto Meléndez, 2017)

A monumental film in Dominican cinema is Un Pasaje de Ida (One-Way Ticket, 1988) by Agliberto Meléndez. While not the first movie filmed in the Dominican Republic, it was the first feature film produced entirely within the country using a local Dominican cast and crew. It was both a critical and commercial success, immediately cementing its reputation as a foundational masterpiece—a status that has grown ever since, particularly following Meléndez’s passing in 2025. Despite being filmed on a limited budget, the lack of local film distribution infrastructure meant it took a long time to break even financially.

The film is based on the true events of 5 September 1980, when several young men died aboard the Regina Express, a commercial cargo vessel travelling from Santo Domingo to Miami. Seeking to escape a life of poverty and unemployment, the men paid large sums to a human trafficking ring. The traffickers hid them inside the ship’s ballast tank—a compartment used for vessel balance and stability—and sealed it with steel bolts.

When the stowaways panicked and gasped for air, the complicit crew pumped water into the tank to muffle their cries. A Navy official eventually noticed bloodied water discharging from the ship. When the tank was finally unbolted, 22 of the young men were dead, and 12 were severely injured. The tragedy exposed a vast human trafficking network implicated at all levels of both the crew and the Navy itself. Yet, despite the widespread scandal, public outcry, massive detentions, and the stark exposure of human rights abuses and institutional corruption, the case never reached a definitive conclusion, and no high-profile convictions were ever made.

While the movie is undeniably a low-budget independent film—plagued by the technical limitations of a country operating without an established film industry—the intent behind it easily overcomes its flaws. By modern cinematic standards, the sound editing, dark cinematography, and narrative inconsistencies make it a challenging watch; however, the message resonates loud and clear. The final moments are profoundly moving, illustrating the lengths to which desperate people are willing to go and how corrupt systems ruthlessly exploit the vulnerable.

La Lucha de Ana (Bladimir Abud, 2012)

Every parent’s worst nightmare comes true for Ana in La Lucha de Ana (Ana’s Struggle 2012) by Bladimir Abud. She is a humble, working class woman from a marginalised community who sells flowers at the market, sacrificing everything for her only son, who goes to an art school and whom Ana tries to keep  away from childhood friends involved in drug deals. Ana’s son dies as a passer-by in a compromising situation, and Ana is faced with fighting for justice in a corrupted and violent environment. Like Un pasaje de ída, this movie is a pivotal in the Dominican cinema, marking a shift from commercial, comedy- focused films towards social justice issues discussing youth crime, systemic corruption, poverty and violence. Before this movie, the lead actress, Cheddy García, was more known for her comedic work, and she received several awards for the film.

The film has a fairly tight script, and Cheddy is good in her role as the grieving mother. Other actors do not reach her level, and the acting overall is very uneven, and in some parts quite bad. However, this does not have a significant impact on the delivery of the storyline. While some elements are clichés and the story itself does not offer many surprises, the movie was important in the Dominican Republic as it featured police brutality, marginalisation, political corruption and youth crime. Even though the movie is not entirely realistic, its messaging makes up for the flaws in acting, directing and technical aspects.

Cocote (Nelson Carlo de Los Santos, 2017) 

There are four films that everyone seems to agree are essential for the Dominican Film Festival. Having already seen two of them, I proceeded to the third one, Cocote (2017) by Nelson Carlo de Los Santos. This is a fascinating piece of cinema that blends different styles. One part of the movie feels like a documentary on religious rites (an interesting mix of Catholicism and Vodou) in the southern part of the Dominican Republic. Another part is a revenge story (a minor element), and another part is magical realism, nearly a surreal portrayal of a man and his moral quest. The result is a blend of different styles with broad symbolism and long, atmospheric takes. 

The movie tells a story of Alberto, who returns to his hometown for his father’s funeral. Deeply religious (evangelical), he feels distanced from the blended religious traditions of his village, as well as pressured to seek revenge for his father’s murder. Most of the movie is about the mourning rituals for the dead father and they are fascinating to see. This part plays like a documentary, and the director is in no hurry to jump from one scene to another. The cinematography is amazing, and the way the film has been shot is impactful. The photography switches between different film formats, colours, tempos and atmosphere, and the result is fascinating, interesting and unlike many other films that I have seen. The change of rhythm and style is not pretentious or ‘art-house’, it is impactful and effective. It is hard to surprise a spectator these days, but this movie does it. The moral quest, the family identity and tradition, acting performances that feel life-like, and the dynamics of the movie make this a remarkable film. It also draws to a perfect ending.

Hotel Coppelia (José María Cabral, 2021) 

Completing the four essential films (that everyone seems to agree on) is a 2021 movie, Hotel Coppelia by José María Cabral. It is set during the 1965 Dominican Civil War and features women who work in a brothel. The brothel is run by an iron-fisted Madame, and is first occupied by a Dominican militia supporting the democratically-elected socialist president, and later by a US-backed conservative military called in to ‘save’ the country from communism. The focus is on the women living in the brothel and their survival during this volatile and dangerous conflict.

The intention of the movie is noble – to show the impact of armed conflict on ‘forgotten’ women. The movie is stunningly filmed in warm colours, and the production design is well executed. Despite all this, the movie feels hollow. The women at the centre of the story have no character development, and feel paper-thin, and there are unnecessary sentimental elements that feel out of place. There are a lot of gratuitous sex scenes that feel more voyeuristic than necessary. It starts strong and impactfully, and then fades into a stereotypical and predictable plot that fails to engage emotionally.

Carpinteros (José María Cabral, 2017) 

A prison love triangle is the centre of Carpinteros (Woodpeckers, 2017) by José María Cabral, the same director as Hotel Coppelia. This is a much better movie, though it still does not know how to draw a convincing, effective final act. The movie was filmed in a real prison with real-life inmates as extras, which brings a true sense of authenticity to the film. The setting is raw and fascinating, the acting well executed and the communication channels are interesting. 

The men’s and women’s prisons are situated next to each other, and the inmates communicate with each other using ‘woodpecking’ (a real-life communication form). How they learn it so fluently and so quickly, remains a mystery, but everything happens quickly in this movie. What unfolds are  marginalised people in desperate situations trying to find human connection wherever they can. People have fallen in love by writing letters or through long-distance emailing, so why not through a specific sig language across a prison yard? The atmosphere is energetic, the characters are unlikable, and the authenticity of the filming location is intriguing. The plot itself is the weakest point and towards the end falls into an excessive melodrama. Nevertheless, it is still very watchable. José María as a director seems to struggle when trying to deliver an effective, full and emotional story, but excellent in the the atmosphere and production design.

Nueba Yol: Por Fin Llegó Balbuena (Ángel Muñiz, 1995)

One of the most popular films in the Dominican Republic’s history is Nueba Yol: Por Fin Llegó Balbuena (1995) by Ángel Muñiz. It’s the story of a simple, everyday man, Balbuena who leaves the Dominican Republic with a friend to live as an illegal immigrant in New York. He is good-natured, hardworking and simple, and does not speak any English. It is one of those movies that speak to the idiosyncrasies of a specific country and become iconic for cultural and nostalgic reasons. I have seen a few of these culturally important movies that serve as identity relics and feed a sense of belonging. The hero is usually an everyday man who is honest and good-hearted, and a bit dopey and childlike as is the case with Balbuena.  

It is interesting to see these movies, which do have similar hero archetypes, and of course much more attractive love interests. They are intended as lighthearted comedies with darker undertones, as in this movie it is the immigrant experience in the US. There are of course ‘comedic’ stereotypes that are less than funny by today’s standards. There is a lovesick, overweight woman who is after the everyday man, who in turn is in love with a much younger woman. There is an overacted parody of a gay man, and the Americanised children of Balbuena’s friend are obnoxious brats who have forgotten the Dominican way of family life and respect. Even though this movie was not for me and I did not even find it particularly good, it is so fiercely defended by Dominicans who say that it is an iconic movie for the Dominican soul. Therefore as an outsider my opinion is irrelevant.

Boca Chica (Gabriella Moses, 2023) 

Boca Chica (2023) has been labelled as a ‘coming-of-age’ drama set in the touristy beach town of Boca Chica. The movie hints that for young girls there, coming-of-age is very different. This is not about the last glorious summer before adulthood or the first kiss, as many of the coming-of-age movies are. It is about the sexualisation and objectification of girls once they turn 13. Desi in the movie is a 12-year-old girl who dreams of being a singer, but the environment including members of her own family have different plans for her.

There are a lot of issues explored in this movie, and discussing them in depth would give away most of the plot. Sexualisation and the prostitution of young girls is just one of the themes. While there are no recent government reports on child prostitution and exploitation in the Dominican Republic but according to the 2014 International Justice Mission report, 10% of those engaged in commercial sexual exploitation in the Dominican Republic (strongly fuelled by the tourism industry) were children under the age of 18, and most of it was street-based. While the movie is not perfect, it must be commended for its treatment of the theme and its cinematography. It is a worthwhile movie to watch, anchored by a sensitive and intimate performance from its  principal actress Scarlet Camilo (who plays Desi). 

Desi’s cousin who is getting married in Boca Chica says to the 12-year old Desi before his wedding:” Hey, you. If we weren’t related and I wasn’t getting married, I’d be on you like a dog! You are the prettiest negrita from Boca Chica to Punta Cana. Let’s go.”

Liborio (Nino Martínez Sosa, 2021)

Visually beautiful, Liborio is based on the legend of the Dominican folk hero Papá Liborio, a spiritual healer and leader. Olivorio Mateo Ledesma, a peasant, went missing during a hurricane and returned to his village seven days later, spiritually awakened and proclaiming a message from God. Liborio built a self-sustaining religious community around his persona, sparking a socio-religious movement known as Liborism. He was killed by occupying US troops in 1922 and became a mystical, divisive figure in the Dominican collective memory. Some consider him nothing more than a false prophet and pseudo-shaman, while others emphasise his spiritual quest and modest lifestyle.

The movie is visually stunning, giving the Dominican rural landscape a majestic, mystical presence. The story dives deep into magical realism and mysticism, presenting the harsh life of the isolated mountains as warm, comforting, and healing, while exploring Liborio’s character from multiple perspectives. Later in the film, the US forces are depicted for what they were: invaders who failed to understand the nuances of living in symbiosis with nature. Ultimately, the plot takes a back seat to the film’s quietness, its immersion into blended spirituality, and the overpowering presence of nature.

Olivia & las nubes (Tomás Pichardo, 2024)

Love is hard and complex for Olivia and others in this adult animated movie (English title Olivia and the Clouds). There are not many animated films coming out of the Dominican Republic, and this piece represents a new, experimental approach to animation. In the movie, Olivia harbours a ghost or memory of a past love under her bed. She feeds that memory and keeps it alive, and in return, the memory rewards her with soothing rain. It is all highly symbolic and metaphysical. Yet, more than being about love itself, the film offers an interesting perspective on the stories we tell ourselves. It explores how memories are constructs that we build, and how other people—even when participating in the same love story—remember things very differently. To whom does a memory belong, and when does our recollection become an unreliable source?

It is an unusual and highly experimental movie, to the point that it is not always easy to form a solid idea of what it is about. However, that is likely the fundamental purpose of the film: to capture the fragmented nature of the sensual world through its sounds and images. It was a lovely watch, as it provokes ideas about the path of memories we build for ourselves—a path that belongs to us alone, living in our minds as a story we tell about who we are and what happened to us.

Massacre River – The Woman Without a Country (Suzan Berazam, 2019)

The final movie of the Dominican Film Festival is its most devastating. In 2013, the Constitutional Tribunal of the Dominican Republic issued a decision to overturn birthright citizenship for the children of foreign-born parents, retroactively dating back to 1929. Consequently, more than 220,000 Dominicans of Haitian descent became stateless almost overnight.

This devastating situation is explored in a documentary by Suzan Beraza—famous for her 2010 film Bag It. The film follows Pikilina, a Dominican-born woman of Haitian descent, and her family. Faced with incredibly tight timelines, Pikilina desperately tries to collect the required documentation just to be allowed to stay in the country of her birth.

It is a compelling documentary that brings the crisis close to home, demonstrating how regular people become victims of political agendas and systemic racism. While there are several documentaries available online covering the current crisis and the expulsion of non-Dominicans, the comment sections on these videos are deeply shocking.

La Bachata Rosa

The Dominican Republic has gifted the world with several high-profile athletes and artists. While many are familiar with the numerous baseball stars originally from the country, fewer people know that legendary fashion designer Oscar de la Renta was Dominican. Additionally, Oscar-winning actress Zoe Saldaña is of Dominican descent, as are recording artists Cardi B and Prince Royce.

Photo Berklee College of Music 

Juan Luis Guerra, born in 1957, in Santo Domingo, is a legendary musician who revolutionized Caribbean music. After initially studying philosophy and literature at the National Conservatory of Music, he went on to graduate from Boston’s prestigious Berklee College of Music with a degree in jazz composition in 1982. Upon returning to his homeland, he formed the iconic vocal-instrumental group Juan Luis Guerra y 440, naming it after the standard tuning pitch of 440 Hz. His brilliant blending of traditional rhythms like merengue, bachata, and bolero with jazz, bossa nova, gospel, and rock catapulted him to international stardom, especially with his 1990 breakthrough album Bachata Rosa, which sold over 5 million copies. Throughout his celebrated career, he released timeless classic hits such as “Burbujas de Amor,” “La Bilirrubina,” and “Ojalá Que Llueva Café.” As one of the most successful Latin artists in history with tens of millions of records sold, Guerra has amassed numerous accolades, including multiple Grammy Awards and over 30 Latin Grammy Awards. Beyond his artistic feats, his humanitarian work led to him being named a UNESCO Artist for Peace in 2008.

Next stop: Bonus D