Tag Archives: Mexican

CAPSULE: ÉL (1953)

AKA This Strange Passion

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Arturo de Córdova, Delia Garcés

PLOT: A Mexican landowner seduces a woman into marrying him, but his paranoid jealousy quickly poisons the union.

Still from El (1953)

COMMENTS: The career of Luis Buñuel breaks cleanly into three periods: the avant-garde (or first French) period, the Mexican period, and the renaissance (or second French) period. He begins in Paris with the revolutionary experiments of Un Chien Andalou, L’Age d’Or, and Land Without Bread; moves to Mexico where he directs commercially-oriented films after an unsuccessful flirtation with Hollywood; and then, in the twilight of his career, returns to France to produce masterworks such as Belle de Jour (1967) and Discreet Charm of the Bourgousie (1972) with the assistance of new collaborators Serge Silberman (producer) and Jean-Claude Carrière (writer). Of these eras, the Mexican period, from 1947-1965, is the longest—and it can itself be split into early and late periods, as Buñuel again achieves international notoriety with Viridiana in 1961, and re-emerges into surrealism with 1962’s The Exterminating Angel.

The Mexican period is often overlooked, and it’s undeniable that Buñuel was far less experimental in this era, placing commercial realities above personal passions, and sneaking in surrealism and social commentary where he could. But Buñuel was honing his craft in Mexico, and these films are still fascinating to see the development of his aesthetic. Naturally, he also made some great movies in these years, among which the psychologically astute Él (which translates in this context as “he”) is a standout.

The film begins, without dialogue and somewhat mysteriously, with priests ritualistically washing the feet of young men on Maundy Thursday. The gaze of our protagonist, Francisco, scans a line of boys’ feet and priestly hands until it alights on a pair of high heeled shoes supporting shapely calves; his eyes then turn at a right angle to travel vertically up the body to briefly meet the eyes of a young woman, whom we will later learn is Gloria. What this opening means—with its nods to the director’s foot fetishism and his complicated relationship to Catholicism—is a point for academic debate. But no matter; the story immediately takes a turn for the melodramatic, following Francisco as he seduces the demure Gloria (stealing her from her fiancé, an associate of Francisco’s), while expressing his vain desire to recreate his ancestral real estate empire. Francisco’s irrational jealousy emerges as early as the honeymoon, where he gets into a fight with an old friend of his bride’s that the couple coincidentally encounters. Gloria quickly realizes she has made a terrible mistake. Things escalate through beatings, a dangerous scene in a bell tower (which anticipates Vertigo), and finally a disturbing and menacing bit where Francisco gathers up surgical equipment for purposes you can certainly guess. In the end, Francisco has a complete psychotic break, allowing Buñuel to deploy some light surrealism (via editing) to portray the triumph of paranoia over objective reality. (This climax occurs, naturally, inside a church.) An ironic epilogue shows Francisco, now convalescing in a monastery, his demons at least temporarily at bay, zig-zagging down a straight garden path.

Buñuel‘s own process during the Mexican period follows the same path: he follows the inevitable line of conventional narrative, but zigs and zags into his own obsessions. The director claimed that Él was one of his most personal works, and we know from his wife Jeanne’s autobiography that Buñuel himself suffered from irrational jealousy and sexual repression. Thus, he identifies with Francisco, but only in a masochistic and self-reflective way: he’s too perceptive to deceive himself, as his protagonist does, into thinking he’s always in the right. The source novel, by a woman speaking from personal experience, reportedly focuses on social critique of the Mexican patriarchy and its mistreatment of women; this subject interests Buñuel as well, but he leans into the character study aspect of the material. It is a way to exorcise his personal demons, and despite the conventionality of the approach, Él is at heart a typically vituperative strike by Buñuel at the hypocrisy of the human heart.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…a dark, troubling, classily produced melodrama. It may not have the showy, surreal touches of Buñuel’s best known work but it still packs a punch.”–David Brook, Blueprint: Review (Criterion Blu-ray)

Él (The Criterion Collection) [Blu-ray]

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CAPSULE: PARVULOS (2024)

Párvulos: Hijos del Apocalipsis; AKA Párvulos: Children of the Apocalypse

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Parvulos is currently available for purchase or rental on video-on-demand.

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DIRECTED BY: Isaac Ezban

FEATURING: Carla Adell, Mateo Ortega Carsillas, Leonardo Cervantes

PLOT: Three brothers struggle to survive in a post-apocalyptic world while caring for two zombies caged in their basement.

Still from Parvulos (2024)

COMMENTS: A tale about family in times of extreme change. Isaac Izban, the Mexican auteur of films like the mind-bending and space-bending Incident (2014) or the deeply-layered Similars (2015), known for its political undertones, returns with a slightly more conventional, yet still eccentric combination of family drama and zombie apocalypse. But let’s take things from the start.

We follow three brothers—two kids and their older teen brother—struggling to survive in a world where the rules have changed dramatically. Everything seems typical to post-apocalypse fans, at first. A pandemic has decimated the population, while a not-fully-tested vaccine had serious side effects, creating hordes of zombies. Parallels with the recent Covid pandemic haunt the story, but there is no explicit analogy, just a new take on common tropes of the genre.

The twist brings something new to the table. In their basement the boys are hiding two zombies, scavenging and collecting food for them. Who could they be? When the youngest brother Benjamin discovers they are his parents, the boys begin an effort to tame the dead and remind them who they are.

The film could develop as a parable on toxic family dynamics, with the parents being wild zombies, but it doesn’t want to go there. It remains, even at its grossest moments, a wholesome combination of family drama and post-apocalyptic themes, targeted at a teen audience of the main protagonist’s age. There’s nothing wrong with this approach, but it’s not as deeply layered or rich in allegory as Ezban’s earlier works.

Parvulos is formally inventive. The faded color palette, resembling black-and-white photography, gives an eerie and melancholic tone. Wide shots along with distorted audio underline some of the tensest moments. There soundtrack is rich: composers Edy Lan and Camilla Uboldi, close collaborators of director, creates a wide range of tones, from ominous orchestral music to uplifting beats with lyrics in English.

The story continues through a series of encounters of the boys with other survivors. A picture of the new state of the world gradually emerges, with deadly cults roaming around (another common trope of apocalyptic fiction). But the tale remains fresh by keeping the family dynamic between the kids and their zombie parents at its heart. It is an intriguing premise, and there are even some WTF moments here, as when the zombies have sex or, chained to their seats, attend a festive Christmas dinner.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…an ambitious, eccentric, ultimately memorable tale of juvenile brothers’ survival after civilization’s death by plague.”–Dennis Harvey, Variety (festival screening) 

2025 FANTASIA FILM FESTIVAL: TRADITIONAL CUISINE, PART ONE

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Montréal 2025

The Fantasia commercial, about the Fantasia audience, before the Fantasia screening, really spoke to me.

7/16: Fragment

The festival pulled a fast one on me this year, adding a day to the front end. Arriving at the bus depot just after 5 o’clock, I made it first to my hotel, then to the accreditation office around 6:15: just in time to wander into Kim Sung-yoon’s directorial debut. Fragment is a well-acted drama about grief and culpability. A little disjointed at the start (as could well be appropriate, considering the topic and title), it finds its footing as the characters creep toward a reconciliation of sorts with their circumstances. The young leads are all commendable, with a special shout-out to the kid sister. She suffers no nonsense. Fragment is not a film made for me, but nonetheless I must admit it left me touched. (A good touch, that is.)

7/17: The Wailing [El llanto]

Pedro Martín-Calero, you fiend! There is a great deal to enjoy about this story of the supernatural: an evil presence (creepy old dead guy, from what I could glean) has haunted a series of women in a family, moving from mother to daughter when the former succumbs to despair. This is something of two movies in one, when I feel it should have been three. The chronicles of the characters are all well paced, and the scares are real. (The hook here is: this entity can only be seen through video capture, be that the large camcorder of the mother as a youth, or the ubiquitous smartphones of the latest victim.) Sound design is dead on, with the titular wailing emanating from a tower block whose second story room is always up for sale. The mood is set, details established, and then, BAM: it’s over.

I suppose there are greater sins in filmmaking than leaving me all too curious how this occult situation is resolved.

7/18: “Nyaight of the Living Cat”, Episodes 1 – 4

Tomohiro Kamitani and , judging from their specially recorded video introduction for the Fantasia screening, are two chill middle-aged guys with a love for cats. Or at least a love of global apocalypses involving cats. Although, perhaps the feline menace is safely Continue reading 2025 FANTASIA FILM FESTIVAL: TRADITIONAL CUISINE, PART ONE

APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: POST TENEBRAS LUX (2012)

Light After Darkness

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DIRECTED BY: Carlos Reygadas

FEATURING: Nathalia Acevedo, Adolfo Jiménez Castro, Willebaldo Torres, Rut Reygadas, Eleazar Reygadas

PLOT: A family moves to a remote area, where the father’s relationships with his wife, his children, and his neighbors steadily fracture.

WHY IT MIGHT MAKE THE APOCRYPHA: Reygadas’ deeply personal film casts aside linear narrative in favor of a series of scenes that serve as gloves-off introspection. It features startling situations and memorably surreal images driven by what feels like a rich vein of remorse and self-recrimination.

COMMENTS: The opening scenes of Post Tenebras Lux send a clear warning of trouble ahead. We open on a dreamy sequence of a little girl wandering alone through an open field. Initially, she seems delighted by her surroundings, but as she calls in vain for her parents and large animals encroach upon her, our worries for her safety increase exponentially. From here, we retreat to the relatively safe confines of a home late at night, but someone arrives to wake up a young boy: a tall goat man, glowing red, boasting a low-hung package, and carrying a toolbox. Is it a metaphorical demon, retiring for the evening before getting up to do evil once again, or the genuine article? From the look on the boy’s face, the difference scarcely matters.

That both of these terrorized young people are portrayed by director Reygadas’ own children says something about his commitment to the personal aspect of the story, as well as his possible ignorance of the consequences of being so open on the subject. The director’s method makes it impossible to know for sure which scenes are drawn from personal experience and which are merely invention, but he seems determined to explore his life with depth, so the visit by central couple Juan and Nathalia to a French sex club feels just as true as the moments spent watching the rugby team of an English prep school psyche themselves up for battle.

If Juan is Reygadas’ stand-in, then he is unexpectedly candid about the less savory elements of his character. Indictments against him include a savage beating he issues to a dog who displeases him, lame confessions that he offers in private after attending an AA meeting, and flaunting his wealth around the rural community to which he has brought his family. Post Tenebras Lux is frequently reminiscent of All That Jazz, another movie in which a tempestuous filmmaker creates a central character who magnifies all his worst characteristics. Like Joe Gideon, Juan seems regretful, especially after he is gravely injured when he interrupts a home invasion and flashes forward to a future where his wife and now-teenaged children live happy lives without him. To be fair, there’s a lot of awful going on in the small community, including the man who hires someone to chop down a large tree to spite his wife, as well as the rueful assailant who makes amends by tearing his own head clear off his body.

The most notable visual element may hold the key to Reygadas’ intentions. Throughout the film, the frame is surrounded by a blurry circle that resembles the beveled edges of a mirror. Probably a nod to this Mirror, another filmmaker’s jumbled familial reverie. Like Reygadas himself, we view Juan’s life through a dark, cracked looking glass. The result may be a negative fantasy, or possibly an apology. Whatever it is, and the filmmaker is fervently seeking out the light at the end of the tunnel.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…casts a strange and powerful spell… It’s as if we were sometimes in the world of David Lynch, sometimes in the world of Stanley Kubrick and a whole lot of the time in the world of Andrei Tarkovsky, with the complicated social tragedy of Mexico ladled on top.”–Andrew O’Hehir, Salon (contemporaneous)

(This movie was nominated for review by Max. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.) 

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: ALUCARDA (1977)

AKA Alucarda, la hija de las tinieblas; Innocents From Hell

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Tina Romero, Susana Kamini, , David Silva

PLOT: When orphaned 17th-century teenager Justine is shipped off to a convent, she meets up with the similarly motherless Alucarda— who happens to be the spawn of the devil—and soon the pair are wreaking havoc amongst the clergy.

COMMENTS: In the recent papal political potboiler Conclave, ’ Cardinal Thomas Lawrence makes the case for the critically intertwined nature of faith and doubt. Certainty, he tells his fellow cardinals, is dangerous because it nudges us toward arrogance and intolerance. “Our faith is a living thing precisely because it walks hand-in-hand with doubt. If there was only certainty and no doubt, there would be no mystery.”

One can scarcely imagine what Cardinal Lawrence would make of Alucarda, a film that hasn’t got a doubtful bone in its body. Given director Moctezuma’s history as an acolyte of Alejandro Jodorowsky, one might expect a certain amount of surrealism or mysticism, but this is a movie that fully believes in the devil and doesn’t find metaphor in a single damn thing. When a satyr cavorts with young girls, communion with Satan can be the only goal, and when you meet the story’s lone skeptic, a doctor who stakes out a position firmly in favor of science and reason, you can be sure that he will learn a harsh lesson in demonic possession and will drop his rational pose at a moment’s notice. Your sense of the film’s credulity is very dependent upon your willingness to believe that biblical evil lurks nearby awaiting its opportunity.

That amusingly unambiguous tone drives the film’s central performance, the teenaged, born-to-be-bad Alucarda herself, who exudes a nervous wild-eyed energy, desperate to win the favor of her potential new playmate Justine, and irrepressibly eager to start being naughty. (Romero, in her 30s, is an impressively convincing youth. Her counterpart, Kamini, is… not.) She’s like a toddler in her emotional purity, which gives her quest to upend the stodgy righteousness of the convent a potent charge. Unfortunately, that single-mindedness serves other characters less well, like the upright, uptight Father Lázaro (Silva, in his final role) who leads a round of self-flagellation to fend off bad thoughts, or the host of nuns whose performances must be reductively but accurately described as histrionic, writhing and shrieking in turn. The world of Alucarda is devoid of nuance, which is a time-saver, but makes the proceedings less engaging.

If there’s one word that sums up Alucarda, it’s “impatient.” Moctezuma aspires to the wildness of Argento or the eroticism of Rollin, but you get the meat of those filmmakers without any of the sauce. It’s mere minutes from Alucarda and Justine meeting a goat man to that same demon leading the two girls in a nude blood ritual, and a full orgy in the woods is just around the corner from that. Moctezuma is in such a hurry to get to the good stuff there that he dispenses with all of the build-up that makes the shock and gore so entertaining. Alucarda is a horror film without suspense, like frosting without cake or sex without foreplay.

As a delivery system for horror conventions, Alucarda is an impressively efficient machine, but that makes it more like a highlight reel or a series of clips on TikTok than like a real film. What it really needs is a little uncertainty, some sense of mystery to give it depth. As it is, Alucarda is like faith without doubt, which some among the religiously inclined might tell you is not faith at all.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“This movie is just plain weird… The story is really shallow (girl meets girl, girls worship Satan, everybody dies) and simplistic.” – Alec Pridgen, Mondo Bizarro

(This movie was nominated for review by arlecchinata. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)

Alucarda
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