Tag: Mexican

El Topo

Posted on by Redmond Bacon

My first encounter with the films of Chilean-French filmmaker Alejandro Jodorowsky was a complete accident. Stumbling around Bestival on the Isle of Wight as a young and impressionable teenager, I walked into a tent at midnight just as The Holy Mountain (1973) was about to begin. I had absolutely no idea what to make of the movie; all I knew was that I was in the presence of something completely unique and utterly brilliant. The random nature of this encounter felt Jodorowskian in and of itself, a bizarre coincidence that later left a huge filmmaking impression.

The deranged nature of Jodorowky’s films almost invites the viewer to be somewhat under the influence (like I was then, although just rum and not psychedelics!) when watching them. His breakthrough hit, El Topo, is no exception, a bizarre romp through the Mexican desert that shocks and beguiles in equal measure. Filled to the brim with endless rituals, symbols, animals, dwarfs, deformed people and highly mannered performances, it can be a difficult film to interpret. Seen with an open mindset however and El Topo is a highly cathartic experience, an expiation of sin through brutal violence.

Jodorowsky stars at the eponymous hero, a black-clad gunfighter wandering the desert with his naked son (played by Jodorowsky’s own son Brontis Jodorowsky). He is on a mission to defeat four gun masters to become the finest fighter in the land. With just this basic description El Topo sounds like a traditional Western, or at least a Spaghetti Western — violent deconstructions of the genre filmed by Italians directors like Sergio Corbucci or Sergio Leone — yet Jodorowsky has a completely different aim in mind, using the power of the desert’s almost endless plains to investigate the nature of human morality.

El Topo

It’s ultimately a deeply religious film, albeit one that explores ideas of spiritually and faith through extreme violence. El Topo can easily be read, like the star of The Holy Mountain, as a type of Jesus-like figure, especially when he finds himself in a cave filled with outcasts who have become deformed through incest. He even quotes New Testament scripture when he asks “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” right before his hands are shot, forming wounds like that of the stigmata. Both blasphemous yet oddly affecting, it foreshadows the intense exploration of Christianity found in the films of Martin Scorsese, especially The Last Temptation of Christ (1988).

Yet the film cannot easily be interpreted as a one-for-one Christ allegory. As Roger Ebert mentions: “He makes not the slightest attempt to use them so they sort out into a single logical significance.” Unlike the similarly mannered films of Sergei Parajanov, which can probably be interpreted correctly with a degree in Eastern European studies or specialist knowledge of pre-Soviet Ukrainian, Georgian and Armenian culture, Jodorowsky’s films cannot be solved through specialist knowledge as many of the symbols more or less contradict each other. This is the key pleasure of Jodorowsky’s films and what makes them such iconic Midnight Movies. You just simply have to go with the flow, bring your own perspective to what they offer, and enjoy the experience. Intoxicants are optional.

A restoration of El Topo is in selected cinemas across the UK on Friday, January 10th.

Paper Boats

Posted on by victorfraga

Family is central to Paper Boats. A mother sends her children to her widowed father for fear of losing them to the New York foster system. A frosty man by nature, he agrees to care for them in the Mexican rustic desert, while his daughter fights for her right to live as an American citizen. It’s not the most original of stories, but it offers moments of raw, impactful soulfulness, proving that blood is indeed thicker than water.

This slow-burn drama is deftly punctuated by Pedro Damian’s steely lead, a no-nonsense grandpa none-too-impressed by his child’s request to unsettle his blissful boat rides by minding her three children. His gruff demeanour is a country away from the metropolitan lifestyle they have become accustomed to. He does not understand them when they speak English dietary requirements. Time, as it does to everyone, mellows him and one of the film’s more touching scenes showcases the old hermit guzzling a beer as his child companion swigs back their milk. While the languorous shots of city silhouettes and cross-country driveways might prove taxing for younger viewers, there is a universality burning through the customs and characteristics that brings the family and their audience from country to country.

Some of the symbolism is contrived (Damian finds his inner child through the young ones he carries is a little too obviously pulled), yet what a bundle of joy the trilogy of children play, the visual representation of youthful innocence. Meanwhile, their mother (Alexandra Melkman), shades herself in neon darkened clothing, mourning the children she held for a freedom she fights for all. In an era of bordered fear, from the Irish North to the American South, it’s a human emotion relatable to all. The children, if unaware at the political ramifications their parent faces, grasp that their lives will never be the same again.

It isn’t a harrowing flick. Steeped in Mexican surrounds, the scenic shots flow with exquisite exchange, as the surrounds play a different world from grandchild to grandfather. At just 72 minutes, the film works as a very satisfactory family viewing.

Paper Boats premieres at the Cambridge Film Festival, which takes place between October 17th and 24th. Just click here for more information about the event.

América

Posted on by victorfraga

América is 93 years old. Suffering from mental and physical deterioration, she is cared for by her grandchildren. Her son, Luis, is currently in jail, as authorities found her in a state of distress when he should’ve been caring for her. Directors Erick Stoll and Chase Whiteside get up close and personal with the lewder details of caring for the elderly, including the minutiae of attending to toiletry needs, feeding her, and constantly reminding her where she is. This is interspersed with the siblings attempts to free their father, who they believe is wrongfully imprisoned.

Starting as a traditional look at love and compassion, América slowly reveals its sharper socio-political edge, indicting the Mexican care system in the process.

The film is set in the idyllic beach resort town of Puerto Vallarta, an area highly popular with American tourists thanks to its LGBT friendly vibe and copious beaches (its commonly dubbed the “San Francisco of Mexico”). Both brothers work in the tourist industry. In an ironic twist of fate, one moves between heated debates and running meditation workshops, showing that life in practice is nothing like the ideal of a wellness retreat. Their work is increasingly under pressure, often leading them to choose between work and care.

Why don’t the authorities send someone to care for América? She can’t pay for care herself, seeming as her monthly pension is only a measly 3,000 pesos (just under £120). Why is the burden entirely on relatives to provide this level of care which often requires a professional? The film slowly but surely criticises the care system, especially for putting Luis — a man who, according to them, was simply trying to care for his mother all alone — in jail. Instead of focusing on the intentions of the family, the care system seems more interested in ticking boxes. For example, they stress adamantly that América should always be listened to, even when she makes unreasonable demands.

This pressure gives later scenes a harsh edge. The immense difficulties of care put enormous strain on the two brothers, leading to vicious arguments and even fistfights. Still and Whiteside rarely intervene, often allowing these conflicts to play out within single takes. It makes América a difficult yet necessary watch.

Still, amidst all the the darkness and stress, América finds the love and the light in the old woman’s life. Many scenes are dedicated simply to hearing her talk with her family or sing old songs. Although the subject matter may be dark, she is always treated with compassion by the filmmakers. It’s evident that she is loved by her grandkids. The problem is that love can only get you so far. América portrays this dilemma excellently.

A seemingly truncated runtime of only 77-minutes, as well as a rushed denouement, prevent América from really bringing all its themes to a head, yet it deserves credit for its naturalist approach and commitment to emotional honesty. This really is a small wonder.

América is out in cinemas on Friday, Febaruary 8th.