Down Mexico way: watching Roma

I have to write about watching the Netflix film Roma last night, so I can get it out of my head.  On waking up this morning, I kept finding I was already half composing my take on it, and getting black and white imagery floating through my head, in the way a good film can infect your sleep.

It's quietly compelling:  a visually beautiful, fly-on-the-wall type of experience of an eccentric, troubled  country (and family) circa 1971.

My first observation (one I am often making these days, because I can't get over how production values on so many Netflix shows look like that of expensive cinema of old): the visual recreation of the era is completely convincing (admittedly, not that I am familiar with the streets of Mexico City then or now.)   I was often wondering if some street-scapes were digital or if the city is easy to dress up as looking 50 years older than it is.  It looks great and makes you feel you are in the era - it's almost worth watching for this alone.

As a drama, it doesn't have that much of a narrative arc:  it's a more of the European/Aussie film tradition in which merely showing a slice of life of unhappy, hopeless people, with no sense of anything much learned at the end,  is considered enough of a justification for a movie.  But the family and main character - their poor maid Cleo - in this case is more sympathetic than that, and the key tragic event in the film is upsetting to watch. 

It's also true that there is very little in the way of dialogue from Cleo that expresses her feelings and character:  that's why I described it as more "fly-on-the-wall" than your usual family drama story.  I see now that Richard Brody, writing in the New Yorker*, strongly criticised the film (one of the very critics to do so!) for making a cipher of the key character:

He not only fails to imagine who the character of Cleo is but fails to include the specifics of who Libo [the real life character writer and director Alfonso Curaron devoted the film to] was for him when he was a child.

In the process, he turns the character of Cleo into a stereotype that’s all too common in movies made by upper-middle-class and intellectual filmmakers about working people: a strong, silent, long-enduring, and all-tolerating type, deprived of discourse, a silent angel whose inability or unwillingness to express herself is held up as a mark of her stoic virtue. (It’s endemic to the cinema and even leaves its scars on better movies than “Roma,” including some others from this year, such as “Leave No Trace” and “The Rider.”) The silent nobility of the working poor takes its place in a demagogic circle of virtue sharing that links filmmakers (who, if they offer working people a chance to speak, do so only in order to look askance at them, as happens in “Roma” with one talkative but villainous poor man) with their art-house audiences, who are similarly pleased to share in the exaltation of heroes who do manual labor without having to look closely or deeply at elements of their heroes’ lives that don’t elicit either praise or pity.

That effacement of Cleo’s character, her reduction to a bland and blank trope that burnishes the director’s conscience while smothering her consciousness and his own, is the essential and crucial failure of “Roma.” It sets the tone for the movie’s aesthetic and hollows it out, reducing Cuarón’s worthwhile intentions and evident passions to vain gestures.

That's really harsh - but I guess as I don't have a history of watching art house films of the type he describes,  I don't find it all that compelling.  

Brody goes on to list all the things the film does not expand on, or explain properly. And he's right: you're not going to get any idea of what the student riots or general unrest in the city was about from the film.   But readers of this blog would know that I quite like the way a movie can prompt me to go reading about the era it depicts, and with Wikipedia it's never been easier.   Brody's criticism seems to be more about the film not being of a kind he thinks it should be, and while my generic criticism of European art house films noted above could be said to the same thing, I find it all forgiveable in the case of Roma.  It is what it is, I feel like saying to Brody.


There are some flashes of humour  - mostly based on eccentricity - and I can partly agree with Brody that it would have been possible to allow Cleo to open up more via dialogue.  It reminds me a little of The Tree of Life - without being as spectacular and affecting in direction (and certainly without the mystical edge) - but as a powerful visual experience based around family, it has similarities.  

It's a pretty great film that I recommend.


*  Please note:  I strongly recommend not reading his review before seeing the movie - he gives way too much of the plot away, and while it is well worth reading after seeing the film, I think it is important to see this film not knowing anything about the events it depicts.