ROMA: Yes, Alfonso Cuarón's much-lauded movie is indeed one of the year's best

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Sorry for the delay in covering Alfonso Cuarón's very impressive movie ode to the Mexican woman who helped raise him and his rather large immediate family, but due to a scheduling glitch with my monthly correspondent Lee Liberman, the film fell through TrustMovies' cracks for a bit.

So: Is ROMA -- named for the Mexico City neighborhood in which Cuarón (shown below) grew up -- as good as the blurbs on its poster, left, would indicate? I think it is, though I must admit that several good friends of mine, intelligent movie-lovers all, found the film slow-moving enough to have to stop and then return to it two or three times, in order to finish watching.

How shall I put it, exactly? This is not an "action" movie. Yet for anyone who can appreciate a film about family dynamics, separation, child-rearing, not to mention class and economic differences, racism, and the many different and equally important forms of love involved in the life of a shy, quiet but remarkably morally-centered young woman, Roma hits the sweet spot again and again.

Aside from the sometimes breath-taking and always lovely black-and-white cinematography by Cuarón himself (as was the direction, screenwriting and even much of the editing: this is a very "hands-on" movie), what impresses me most about the film was how much of it has been shot in mid-range/middle distance and how very few enormous close-ups we are asked to view.

This has the effect of not allowing the viewer to so easily or immediately get "close" to the characters. Instead we have to spend the time noting the small details and tiny incidents -- the parking of a car, for instance -- that slowly build character and lead to our further involvement. Middle distance also helps avoid the easy sentimentality found in so much of what we see in film and on television.

As you might expect from this sort of endeavor -- a near-documentary approach to showing us life -- the performances are all terrifically real yet about as unshowy as seems possible under these circumstances. In the leading role of the maid, Cleo, newcomer Yalitizia Aparcio (above) is quietly extraordinary, as befits a character whose job it is to serve others. Less quiet but equally fine is the much-more-seasoned actress Marina de Tavira (below, right) in the role of the broken-hearted mother of the family.

Though much of the movie is given over to small, seemingly sort of static scenes of daily life, there eventually arise a few whoppingly amazing moments that build into some unforgettable situations that Cuarón handles equally well. The first of these occurs as Cleo's boyfriend, Fermin (Jorge Antonio Guerrrero, below) does a nude and full-frontal demonstration of his martial arts skills that, while impressive (in several ways), leaves us wondering just who this guy really is. That slowly, clearly becomes more and more horribly apparent.

Roma also boasts the most memorable and moving birth scene I've yet experienced (for reasons that would be a spoiler to dwell on), and another that suddenly shows us the result of government brutality to its student population that is as sudden as it is spectacularly ugly and believable.

The film climaxes with the scene shown on the poster, top. Before I viewed the movie, this "family hug" --  used extensively in the publicity materials and posters for the film -- looked rather sentimental. Once you've actually seen the whole film, I think you'll agree that this landmark moment, thanks to the filmmaker's style, story, and in particular his skillful use of middle distance, arrives completely and absolutely earned.

From Netflix and still playing its limited release in theaters, even as it streams most everywhere else, Roma, running two hours and fifteen minutes, is definitely one of last year's best film. I am adding it to my list right now. 

MUSEO: Alonso Ruizpalacios' follow-up to Güeros hits South Florida theaters today

When Güeros, the first-full-length film from Mexican writer-director Alonso Ruizpalacios reached U.S. theaters back in 2014, it looked as if a stunning new talent was upon us via this tale of disaffected Mexican youth told in a fresh and exemplary manner.

Ruiz Palacios (shown below) is back in 2018, with a new movie entitled MUSEO, which is again about disaffected youth. But here, that youth is lingering well into middle age.

Our "hero," Juan (also known derisively as "Shorty"), is a spoiled, entitled product of the Mexican bourgeoisie circa the mid 1980s.

As played with his usual sexy charm, coupled this time to more negative aspects of his character, by Gael García Bernal (below), Juan is quite the little asshole, as he and his partner-in-crime, Benjamin (Leonardo Ortizgris, two photos below) plan and then execute a whopping burglary (based on a real incident) involving a number of priceless artifacts located in a Mexican museum.

Folk who saw the recent hybrid documentary/narrative film, American Animals, should immediately note the similarities between the two. in which a heist of museum artifacts is attempted by some hugely unprofessional thieves. American Animals was pretty amazing: smart, beautifully acted, directed and written, with a wonderful combination of narrative characters and their actual counterparts in reality. It was thrilling, funny and bizarre, with a style that turned it into an art film without its even trying.

Museo, however, clearly wants to be an "art film," and so announces its intentions, as well as its themes and concerns, with a little too heavy a hand. It is certainly an interesting exploration of the Mexican culture of its time, along with the everlasting Hispanic ability to spoil its male children rotten, even as its makes clear (a little too clear) that we can rarely be sure of a person's true motives, including those we think we know best.

Ruizpalacios gives us a combo of history, philosophy, psychology, and a kind of heist thriller that would be much more thrilling had it been shortened by 20-to-30 minutes. Instead the movie just goes on and one and on, giving us an entire section devoted to a supposed "contact," a night club, and an over-the-hill performer (nicely played by Leticia Brédice) -- clearly someone on whom Juan has had a major crush -- that may be interesting but drains the suspense and pace rather crushingly.

Better is the scene with Simon Russell Beale (above, left) playing an international "fence" who must apprise our boys of the stupidity of their actions and expectations.

Clearly, Ruizpalacios had a much larger budget this time around (the credit sequence alone looks quite ravishing), but the spirit, freshness and life -- not to mention the ability to offer up so many ideas and themes so offhandedly yet strongly -- that inhabited Güeros has mostly gone missing. Well... next time!

From Vitagraph Films and running two hours and eight minutes, Museo opened today, Friday, September 21, here in South Florida -- in Miami at the AMC Aventura 24 and the Coral Gables Art Cinema, in Fort Lauderdale at the Cinema Paradiso-Hollywood, and in West Palm Beach at the Lake Worth Playhouse.  Click here and scroll down to find all the currently scheduled playdates, cities and theaters.

Natalia Almada's EVERYTHING ELSE: the cost of solitude and loneliness in Mexico City

What a quiet but engulfing little gem of a film is EVERYTHING ELSE, the new movie from Mexico by writer/director Natalia Almada (shown below). It is not, however, for action aficionados. Not only is there practically no action at all -- our poor heroine cannot even gather the courage to jump into a swimming pool along with the rest of her peers -- even the camera here does not move. From scene to scene, whatever new view it must take in, the camera eye remains utterly stationary throughout.

The cinematographer, Lorenzo Hagerman, keeps his shots clean and pristine, even when the subject matter is often dark and dreary. And when a film boasts a leading actress whose face possesses such character -- longing, suspicion, fear, hope and all the rest -- as does that of Adriana Barraza (shown below and further below), what you have to look at will never, it seems,  tire you in the least. Ms Barraza has been utterly terrific in supporting roles in movie after movie -- from Amores Perros and Babel to Henry Poole Is Here, Rage, Drag Me to Hell and especially Cake -- but what a pleasure it is to see her in a leading role, using that marvelous face with such command & subtlety.

Ms Barraza is on screen for most of the movie, with only occasional reaction shots and a bit of dialog given to subsidiary characters. The actress plays a 60-something-year-old government worker, Doña Flor, whose job -- at least it would seem so -- is to prevent citizens (such as the woman shown below) who need some kind of government authorization from actually getting that authorization. (In its own way, the film is quite an indictment of bureaucracy.) Such a stickler Flor is for by-the-letter rules, she uses anything from the color of the ink to the fact that a man's signature is not exactly the same two times in a row (of course: no signature ever is, but she's in charge, so we'll have to let that pass).

The fellow with the incorrect signatures also happens to look and act like an uber-entitled wealthy man, so perhaps something else is going on here, too. Our heroine also keeps a kind of record of violent incidents against women, which we hear reported with regularity via radio and TV over the course of the film.

Doña Flor also lives alone with her cat, and so may also qualify as one of those lonely cat ladies we often hear about. She also swims daily and showers with the other women, though without ever really connecting in any way with anyone. Every scene, every thing in the film is given -- intentionally, I believe -- the same weight, which is certainly one interesting way to define and show us an empty life.

As the movie goes along, after the loss of her only companion, small breaks in Doña Flor's facade begin to appear. And then, slowly, while at work she seems to perhaps listen more closely to the people who appear in front of her for help. She even -- shock! -- begins to bend those rules just a little.

Her journey is a slow and very small one, and yet, thanks to the minute detail that the filmmaker, her star and the supporting cast provide, this journey should prove a vital and important one for viewers looking for character and depth in place of action and special effects. The effects here are of the human and humane variety.

The movie this one most reminded me of is that great but little-seen-over-here Spanish film Le Soledad (Solitary Fragments is its English-language title) by Jaime Rosales, which won Spain's Goya award for Best Film back in 2007. It's been more than a decade since I've seen another Spanish language movie as quiet, austere, elegant and character-driven as that one. So if you want to enter the world of a sad and lonely woman who may still have some possibilities to explore, Everything Else is that opportunity. Snatch it.

From Cinema Tropical, in Spanish with English subtitles and running 98 minutes, the movie opens tomorrow, Friday, May 4, in New York City at the Cinema Village. Elsewhere? I certainly hope so, and if and when I find out where and when, I'll post it here. 

Fun from Mexico -- no kidnappings, minimal drugs -- in Manolo Caro's screwball rom-com, TALES OF AN IMMORAL COUPLE

If one purpose of movies is to take us away from the horrors and drudgery of reality -- all too evident these days -- young Mexican filmmaker Manolo Caro is certainly doing his job to a "t." His latest work, the first to find theatrical release here in the United States, TALES OF AN IMMORAL COUPLE  (La vida immoral de la pareja ideal), is quite the little charmer. In it, ex-lovers who first bonded during high school, meet again 25 years later and, sure enough, romance blooms anew, even as screwball comedy quickly rules the roost.

Señor Caro, shown at left, has created a trifle as adorable and pixie-like as he himself seems to be: full of fun and amusement, even as it probes themes as everlasting as love, sex and the meaning of fidelity -- with dollops of satire tossed in, the welcome objects of which are religion and politics.

His movie, while breaking little new ground, manages to cover the ground it trods with energy, sparkle and enough wit to keep us with it all the way. Its introduction into the kids' lives of heterosexuality, as well as homo- and bi-sexuality is handled well, too. Of enormous help to all this is the near-constant inter-cutting of past and present, as we see the couple as youngsters and then as adults.

The smart flashback-and-forth conception (by Caro) and on-the-mark editing -- from Yibran Asuad (Güeros and We Are the Flesh) and Miguel Musálem -- helps keep the pacing swift and fun, while the excellent ensemble cast (pictured on poster, top, and above) help bring each character to amusing life.

As the two love-struck kids, Sebastián Aguirre (above, right, from A Monster With a Thousand Heads) and Ximena Romo (above, left ) prove lovely, sensitive and youthfully ignorant, while Manuel Garcia-Rulfo (below, left) and Cecilia Suárez (below, right) bring the pair to more hesitant, suspicious and cynical adult life.

Supporting characters -- kids to adults -- are specific and funny, as well, while Caro's plotting brings us pleasantly and fairly speedily to a close, at last solving the mystery that will be foremost in viewers' minds: How come these two "seahorses" remained apart for so long? You'll find out, and I suspect the answer will satisfy you every bit as much as has the fun leading up to it.

From Hola Mexico and running a just-right 91 minutes, Tales of an Immoral Couple opens this Friday, August 25, nationwide in limited release. In the Los Angeles area, look for it at Laemmle theaters and elsewhere. Click here (and then click on THEATERS on the task bar midway down) to see all currently scheduled playdates, with cities and theaters listed.  But be careful and maybe check with your local theater before heading out, as some of these supposed playdates appear not to be happening....

Luis Buñuel on Blu-ray with one of his best -- THE EXTERMINATING ANGEL

An artist at work and very near (hell, maybe at) the top of his form can be seen in THE EXTERMINATING ANGEL, the 1962 Mexican movie from that world-class filmmaker, Luis Buñuel.  While I run hot to luke-warm on this fellow's overall oeuvre, this particular film is one of my favorites -- which I have seen maybe only once since I first viewed it on its New York debut at the New York Film Festival, back, I believe, in 1963. At that time, the movie provoked the usual reactions from the cultured crowd -- What's going on here? Why is it happening? Is this a metaphor, and if so, for what? --  dividing audiences, of course, but also grabbing them for the film's duration.

That the movie is also all about "the cultured crowd," Mexican version, is no accident. In it, Señor Buñuel (shown at left) tweaks his usual suspects: Class, Religion, and bourgeois hypocrisy. But how he does this is what counts. Why, together with what this means, is left a mystery, but with clues scattered generously about so that we can each draw our own conclusion, while feeling reasonably sure that, of course, this is what Buñuel must have meant. If only Luis were ever that easily "pinned down."

Back in 1963, audiences were only just beginning to tackle movies that had to be deciphered, and we weren't nearly as adept at it as we -- well, some of us -- are now. Seeing The Exterminating Angel again today may also make you realize that deciphering is not all that mandatory. We don't need to know everything. In fact, here, it is best to sit back, relax and go with the flow.

The tale told is of a dinner party among the very wealthy and class-conscious. We see preparations for the party taking place, as certain members of "the help" take their leave of the mansion before that party even begins. Class is already raising its nasty little head.

The guests arrive, are seated and witness a shocking accident that oddly provokes laughter. They eat, they chat, they listen as one of their own plays the piano, and then... they don't leave. They stay and stay and stay. A performing bear and some sheep make appearances (Communism and Religion? Nah: that's too easy). And our pampered guests go slowly from bad to worse.

Just as they are unable to leave the room in which they find themselves trapped (is this some kind of mass agoraphobia?), neither can the outside world find the will or the way to enter this now captive mansion. In other hands we'd have something "magical" and/or otherworldly. Buñuel smartly makes it seems so ordinary and oddly almost normal that we buy it, even as we keep questioning 'why.'

Performances from every last actor are on the nose. This moviemaker had a knack for casting and making sure his cast delivered. Best known among them is probably the lovely Silvia Pinal (above, center), whose character may be more (or less) than we perceive. (There a great interview with Ms Pinal today -- or fairly recently, at least -- in which she talks about Buñuel and his movie-making methods. It's a delight to see, hear and consider.)

Available now on Blu-ray and DVD from The Criterion Collection, the movie -- in Spanish with English subtitles -- runs only 95 minutes. But those minutes are fully packed with amazement and surprise. And as usual with Criterion, the movie arrives with a very nice array of supplementary "bonus" materials.

The photos above are from the film, 

with the exception of Buñuel's 

which is by Jack Manning, 

and comes courtesy of Getty Images.

You think U.S. health care is bad? Here comes Rodrigo Plá's A MONSTER WITH 1,000 HEADS

Who'd have thought there would be a movie to make us grateful for our own expensive-but-puny, let's-put-the-insurance-companies-first health care plan. But, hey, here it is, and it's a humdinger from Mexico. A MONSTER WITH A THOUSAND HEADS, written by Laura Santullo and directed  by Rodrigo Plá, may be the first ever "health care thriller," complete with kidnapping, gun-play, suspense and violence. And yet -- and this is what makes the movie so especially terrific -- it is first and always about doing everything that one can to get the heath care needed so that a spouse can survive.

The movie is simplicity itself. It runs but 74 minutes, and once it grabs you (give it about seven of those minutes), it will not let go. You'll hold on for dear life, while knowing that this cannot have a good outcome and yet also understanding that you would do the same thing, were you in this situation and had you the balls to persevere. Señor Plá (shown at left), an Uruguayan raised in Mexico, and Ms Santullo often work together. Their best-known film is probably La Zona, though I suspect it will now be this "monster" movie, in which the monster is Mexico's health-care system, together with its insurance companies who evidently are still able to declare things like "pre-existing conditions" (getting rid of that was perhaps the greatest triumph of Obamacare).

Cut off one of that monster's heads, over and over again, as does our heroine, Sonia -- an angry, memorable performance by Jana Raluy -- and another head immediately pops up. We see this from the initial scenes on the telephone and then in the doctor's office, and this hydra-headed creature only grows stronger and more subversive by the time we get to the upper echelon power brokers, most especially regarding the single member of the insurance company's "board" whom we finally meet.

Everything here, from the dialog and direction to the performances, seems almost on the point of improvisation, and yet the movie is too well-crafted for that. But its combination of speed and impassioned reality make it appear to be unfurling as it goes along.

All the performances are smart and believable, but it is Ms Ralu and the young man, Sebastián Aguirre Boëda (shown above, right, and below), who plays her son, Dario, with just the right degree of teen-age suspicion, anger and buried love who most bring the movie to fruition. The filmmakers combine present-moment visuals with occasional voice-over of what clearly sounds like a trial being held, with witnesses giving their testimony, so that we are aware that all this has indeed reached a conclusion, though we only gradually learn what has happened and what this might mean.

While much that is shown here is of course specific to Mexico, there is plenty with which U.S. viewers will easily and angrily identify -- especially regarding how stacked is the deck against the working class people who pay for their too-often-worthless "health care." This is a movie that will leave you seething. And properly so. Let's hope it did some good in its native country of Mexico.

A Monster With a Thousand Heads, from Music Box Films, opens this Wednesday, May 11, in New York City at Film Forum and the Lincoln Plaza Cinema. and on Friday, May 20, it will hit Los Angeles (at Landmark's NuArt) and Boston (at Landmark's Kendall Square). Over the following weeks and months will reach many other cities. Click here and then click on THEATERS to see all currently scheduled playdates.

Arturo Ripstein's back with BLEAK STREET, an empathetic descent into the hell that is Mexico. Or Mexico for certain people, at least.

It's not that the grand old man of Mexican filmmaking, Arturo Ripstein, doesn't make many movies (the IMDB credits him with directing 58 of 'em during his 50-year career), but rather that we here in the USA get to view damn few of them. His best known is probably Deep Crimson (another telling of that Honeymoon Killers tale). His latest (and perhaps one of his best -- but how would I know, having seen so few), BLEAK STREET (La calle de la amargura), opens this week, and it might also open the door a tad wider in garnering the filmmaker a larger audience here in the USA.

Señor Ripstein, shown at left, along with his near-constant screenwriting collaborator (as well as his wife), Paz Alicia Garciadiego, have here concocted a tale said to be torn from the headlines of Mexican newspapers. It involves quite a set of characters, beginning with identical twins (midgets who double as luchador wrestling mascots), their parents, and a couple of local whores who have aged to the point that their pimp no longer wants to work with them. One whore's significant other is a cross-dressing fellow who prefers boys, while the other's, well, "business partner" is a very old woman/mother figure no longer able to care for herself, who is put out on the street daily as a beggar, and who brings home more money than does her would-be "daughter" from that meagre prostitution trade.

OK: This sounds pretty sleazy, and of course, it is. But thanks to Ripstein and Garciadiego's skills at presenting these folk honestly and empathetically, the pair manages to embrace reality while avoiding sentimentality. This is no mean feat. The approach here amounts to a kind of clear-eyed tenderness.

Stylistically, Ripstein opts for a combination of noir and neo-realism that works wonderfully in keeping our gaze focused on the proceedings, finding a kind of artful beauty in the ugliness and despair without losing its grip on how difficult are the lives depicted here. (The black-and-white cinematography comes via Alejandro Cantú, whose camera usually moves between semi-close-up and middle distance, gracefully following the participants from one awful situation to the next.)

The realistic dialog occasionally offers a choice morsel: One whore to the other, "This trade is like mange; it never ever leaves you."  And the performances, to a man and woman, are terrific, combining that neo-realism with enough theatricality to make us cognizant that we're not watching a documentary. Particularly moving and always riveting are the two whores, played by Patricia Reyes Spíndola (above, left) and Nora Velásquez (above, right, and below, left)

Weakness piles upon weakness, betrayal tops betrayal, until arrives a surprise that changes everything. The great old song we hear over the end credits is, under these circumstances, about as ironic as it comes: a vinegar-drenched love letter to a Mexico that could exit only in the minds of the deluded rich or the entirely unaware tourist.

Distributed by Leisure Time Features and running 99 minutes, the movie has its U.S. theatrical premiere this Wednesday, January 20, in New York City at Film Forum. Other playdates? I have no idea, and Leisure Time's website provides not a clue. (The company may be a waiting to see how well their film does during its two-week NYC debut.)