Filmmakers Lorena Munoz and Sergio Wolf trace the life of an iconic tango singer who vanished at the height of her career. 

Ada Falcon was a tango diva. She sang on cinema screens. Her voice dominated the airwaves. Tabloids were preoccupied with whispered rumors of her tumultuous affair with her married conductor. And in 1942, at the height of her popularity, Ada Falcon announced she was retiring. Within months, one of the most famous singers in Argentina had simply vanished. 

In their documentary, I Don’t Know What Your Eyes Have Done to Me (2003), filmmakers Lorena Munoz and Sergio Wolf trace Falcon’s life from her rise to fame through the years following her disappearance. They pore over old gossip magazines and movie posters. They talk to neighbors, acquaintances, and experts. They sift through the legends popularized long after Falcon’s disappearance. Wolf observes that though tango historians say Falcon ensnared her audiences with her enchanting green eyes, he and Munoz will never see them. They are crippled by the black and white images of long ago. 

This documentary tells a story that feels like one of those odd cases where life imitates Hollywood. Yet, unlike in Hollywood, there seems to be no objective answer. Details of Ada’s public life are stained with rumor and exaggeration. She lived in a great mansion with orange taffeta walls. She would take two-hour baths and dried her hair by taking pleasure rides in her expensive cars. She had horrible stage fright and insisted that musicians sit behind a curtain when she performed for radio. 

Her life away from public view is also prone to catching the ailments of others’ imaginations. She became a nun. She never left her house, except to go to mass. Inhabitants of the small towns that she spent time in all recall private chats with the former star. Even in the accounts of these encounters, she still retains the airs and graces of a wealthy respected woman. One local remembers her living in poverty, yet still scolding a post office clerk for his insolence. 

In a very literal sense, we follow Wolf as he attempts to unravel this tapestry of fact and fiction, as he searches to find the woman behind those green eyes. His narration is a constant companion as the camera never strays far from his shoulder. We experience research setbacks alongside the filmmakers. At least five minutes of screen time–in a 65-minute film–are dedicated to a search for a copy of Falcon’s first film appearance, only for the directors to learn that none exist. This documentary is not just Ada Falcon’s story. It is the story of what she left behind and, though we do not know much about him, the man who tries to find her. 

The film is named for a waltz sung by Ada, written by her married lover. It’s an iconic piece of music and it is played multiple times during the film. We stare at the woman who sings it, immortalized in grainy, colorless film stock, and we see her spirit, her talent, and her showmanship. We wonder what lies behind those enchanting green eyes. Why did you sing, if only to vow silence later? Who are you, Ada Falcon? 

Those questions may remain long after the credits roll, but we already know that this is not a story about the answers. 

Get your copy of  I Don’t Know What Your Eyes Have Done to Me  (2003) on DVD today from Facets, buy here. 

Author:  Ora Damelin is a freshman film student at Columbia College Chicago. She loves to share her opinions on film and is delighted-and slightly befuddled-that those opinions are now published online.