Simon of the Desert [1965]

Simon of the Desert – considered part of his extraordinary “Alatriste/Pinal trilogy” along with Viridiana and The Exterminating Angel, as well as his admired “Religious trilogy” along with Nazarín and The Milky Way – was the final film that Buñuel made in Mexico, as well as his final collaboration with Silvia Pinal, her then producer-husband Gustavo Alatriste, and Mexican cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa. Curtailed ostensibly on account of production and financial woes, this gleefully wicked interpretation of Saint Simeon Stylites’ self-imposed life atop a pillar in the middle of a desert seeking penance, provided a spare and droll demonstration of classic “Buñuelian” elements for its striking use of surrealism and its cutting satire on blind faith, harsh self-flagellation and rigid dogmatism that organized religion both peddles and champions. Simón (Claudio Brook) experiences “professional advancement” even in a life of extreme self-denial such as this, wherein, after spending six years, six weeks and six days on a 10-feet pillar, he moves to a significantly taller one erected by a wealthy patron; attains both celebrityhood and scorn among monks and commoners for his ascetism; performs an off-hand miracle which, ironically, doesn’t lead to any brouhaha; and engages in wryly comical battles with a sly, indefatigable and chameleon-like Satan (Pinal) who manifests in multiple forms – as a coquettish seductress, in the ruse of god, etc. – in order to break his absurd abnegation. In the film’s terrific and thoroughly insane finale, Simón is teleported by Satan to a swinging rock 'n' roll nightclub in modern-day New York City, amidst a frenzied crowd indulging in “radioactive flesh” – in a wry reference to the Cold War nuclear arms race and “Mutually Assured Destruction” – against a pulsating live music.

Director: Luis Bunuel

Genre: Black Comedy/Religious Satire/Surrealist Movie

Language: Spanish

Country: Mexico

Post Tenebras Lux [2012]

 Mexican filmmaker Carlos Reyegadas is a darling of the arthouse and festival circuits, but largely underwatched otherwise beyond aficionados who swear by him – and his Post Tenebras Lux provides for a pertinent elucidation of this dichotomy. A fascinating but intriguing mix of ravishing visuals and compelling ingenuity on one hand, and deliberately opaque and even weird narrative elements and developments on the other, including moments of funny but puzzling surrealistic choices, this is therefore a film that’s bound to both enthrall and exasperate. It begins with an ethereal overture where a little girl (played by the director’s own daughter) is shown in a state of tranquil marvel at the meadows surrounded by cows, horses and dogs. She, as it turns out, is the youngest kid (her elder sibling is played by Reyegadas’ son) of an upscale couple with conjugal issues – the abrasive Juan (Adolfo Jimenez Castro) and his stunning but submissive wife Natalia (Nathalia Acevedo) – residing at pricey cabin in the woods. There, at an AA meeting at a rundown shack where he reveals his addiction to pornography, he gets acquainted with an impoverished local worker (Willebaldo Torres) with a self-destructed past, and which in turn paves way for violent fates for both, including the most spectacularly ferocious suicide imaginable. Class conflict and marital differences were therefore the two dominant themes, and a number of cinematic nods were discernible too. Influences of Tarkovsky and Malick were palpable, as were potential references to Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut in terms of a gleeful orgy, and perhaps also to Lynchian outré, be it in the form of a mysteriously glowing Satan or inexplicable plot interjections or the above-mentioned self-inflicted coup de grâce.

 

 

 

 

 

Director: Carlos Reyegadas

Genre: Drama/Marriage Drama/Surreal Drama/Experimental Film

Language: Spanish/English

Country: Mexico

The Good Girls [2018]

 The Good Girls, Alejandra Márquez’s deliciously acrid satire on class entitlement – loosely adapted from Guadalupe Loaeza’s article turned book Las Niñas Bien – is a work of such cutting precision and sly cynicism that one almost feels a touch of Buñuel and Saura. Using the 1982 Mexican debt crisis as its backdrop, which’d caused the peso to crash and led to sweeping neoliberalization, the film provided for caustic – if deceptively elegant – critique through a fabulously affluent and glibly bourgeois family’s stunning fall in social standing. That its central protagonist Sofía (Ilse Salas) is a proudly conceited and arrogant housewife in a distinctively patriarchal milieu – along with the fact that the book’s author and the film’s director are both women – imbued it with an additional sense of irony too. It begins with her birthday party where she charms everyone with her regal opulence and wallows in the attention of her drooling guests; that, along with an ostentatious splurge by her husband (Flavio Medina), formed the final high point of her smug existence – alternating between deluxe salons, exclusive clubs and vacuous gossips with her fawning circle of friends – as the scenario starts turning sour. The financial impact and accompanying social humiliations are clinically portrayed over the course of a year – and accentuated by an unconventional soundtrack – as she ceases to be the queen bee of Mexico City and her domestic air becomes untenable too; and, when a nouveau riche ingénue (Paulina Gaitán) who she was disdainful of becomes the new cynosure, her fall from grace becomes complete. The brilliant characterization and Salas’ astonishing performance made Sofia such a fully rounded person, and in turn complemented the schadenfreude with a hint of sympathy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Director: Alejandra Marquez Abella

Genre: Black Comedy/Social Satire

Language: Spanish

Country: Mexico

Roma [2018]

Alfonso Cuarón, who’s made films on diverse genres – saucy sex comedies (Y Tu Mama Tambien), grim sci-fi dramas (Children of Men), extravagant space thrillers (Gravity), etc., had followed similar paths as his famous compadres Del Toro and Iñárritu, who’d started fabulously in Mexico before being lured by Hollywood. Hence it was quite delightful to see him go back to his point of origin – as a filmmaker and as a person – in the ravishingly beautiful and deeply personal semi-autobiographical film Roma. Shot with exquisite finesse in visually spellbinding monochrome, the Golden Lion-winning movie takes us back to the filmmaker’s memories of growing up in the Colonia Roma neighbourhood in Mexico City during the politically turbulent early-1970s, and paints a heartwarming love-letter to the housemaid who took care of him and his siblings during their childhood. The film’s central protagonist is Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio), a soft-spoken and gentle-natured maid, who, apart from her domestic responsibilities, also takes care of the 4 boisterous kids of Sofia (Marina de Tavira), who’s on severe psychological stress on account of her crumbling marriage. Cleo’s mundane existence, however, faces a jolt when she becomes pregnant, but her fiancé doesn’t just run out on her, he might even be training as a member of Los Halcones (The Falcons), a notorious paramilitary group tasked with the job of repressing protests and demonstrations. The bloody Corpus Christi massacre – a dark episode in the country’s recent past which occurred during the Mexican Dirty War – breathtakingly captured in perhaps the movie’s most memorable set-piece – provided a terrific counterpoint to the storyline’s muted domesticity. Spectacular long-takes through gently roving cameras, lack of non-diagetic sounds and naturalistic acting added undeniable technical virtuosity to this observant, meditative, quietly affecting and atypical Cuarón gem.

Director: Alfonso Cuaron
Genre: Semi-Autobiographical Drama/Family Drama
Language: Spanish
Country: Mexico

Pan's Labyrinth [2006]

In his thematic sequel to Devil’s Backbone, Pan’s Labyrinth, Del Toro crafted a fabulous concoction of Spanish Civil War violence and a dark fairy tale, while evocatively portraying a child’s lost innocence and futile attempts at escapism. At once brutal, gut-wrenching and melancholic, the genre-bending film – mix of war drama, gothic horror and fantasy – was a powerful exploration of grim realities in the form of atrocities, death and personal loss through the eyes of a young, lonely and vulnerable girl with a fecund mind. In the real world, 10-year old Ofelia (Ivana Baquero) travels with her ailing mother (Ariadna Gil) to a war-ravaged outpost under the command of her new stepfather Captain Vidal (Sergi López), a ruthless military man hell-bent on crushing the guerilla rebels operating from the forests; meanwhile, in the metaphysical realm, she is approached by a faun who informs her that she’s the lost princess of the underworld, and that she needs to perform three dangerous tasks in order to regain her place and acquire immortality. The cherubic Baquero was unforgettable as the tale’s sole light in the midst of turmoil and unspeakable horrors, while López was evil incarnate whose chauvinism, lust for power and loyalty towards Franco’s ideals was matched by his infinite capacity for cruelty; Maribel Verdú as Mercedes, Vidal’s housekeeper spying for the rebels who becomes Ofelia’s sole friend, and Álex Angulo as an anti-fascist Doctor who’s surreptitiously providing medicines for the rebels, added layers of humanism to the proceedings. The mesmerizing visual designs, cinematography and SFX were essential to the film’s magic realism, grotesque imagery and graphic novel stylistics, and the incredibly haunting score made the experience all the more poignant.

Note: My earlier review of this film can be found here.

Director: Guillermo Del Toro
Genre: Drama/War Drama/Fantasy
Language: Spanish
Country: Mexico

El (This Strange Passion) [1953]

In El, one of the darkest products of his Mexican period, Bunuel provided a disturbing look into obsession, jealousy, paranoia and passion bordering on sadomasochism. And, like only he could, the aforementioned aspects were seamlessly linked to the character’s belongingness to the bourgeoisie and upper class, and his Catholic upbringing, as opposed to something more primal. Don Francisco (Arturo de Córdova) is a wealthy middle-aged aristocrat who falls in love at first sight with the young and beautiful Gloria (Delia Garcés). Even though she’s engaged to a friend of his, he uses his charm, persuasive skills and guile to win her over. However, trouble begins soon after their marriage as his latent inner devils make him increasingly suspicious of her chastity and fidelity. It starts with small instances, but gradually takes the form of raging lunacy. Yet, most interestingly, he never loses grip on his sly and manipulative nature all the while, including at the magnificent but disconcerting finale. And his madness for Gloria was brilliantly counterpointed with his crazy pursuit for a land that he feels belongs to him. The film’s structure was also noteworthy, as the initial and final few scenes were from a third person’s perspective, while the middle section, narrated via an elaborate flashback, was from Gloria’s POV as she’s torn between her social “duty” as a compliant wife while her intelligence suggests otherwise. The brooding B/W photography and baroque set-pieces perfectly accentuated the film’s tone and theme, while Córdova’s powerful performance made it all the more discomfiting. The bell tower sequence here, by the way, might just have been the inspiration behind an eerily similar sequence in Hitchcock's Vertigo.

Director: Luis Bunuel
Genre: Drama/Psychological Drama/Marital Drama
Language: Spanish
Country: Mexico