After the breakthrough of Amores Perros, what's next for Mexican Cinema? - Mexico City Journal - Industry Overview

Film Comment, July-August, 2001 by Leonardo Garcia Tsao

The last time I wrote about Mexican cinema for FILM COMMENT was in 1985. A lot has happened in the intervening years. To begin with, the industry as such almost ceased to exist. The production companies that dominated the box office since the Thirties went out of business during the past decade, leaving it in fewer but more artistically ambitious hands.

The numbers changed as well. In the old days, an average of 100 films were produced each year. After the administration of former president Ernesto Zedillo, which began with the economic crisis of 1994, film production dropped to an all-time low. Only eleven features were produced in 1998, the smallest number since the early Thirties. But audiences still flocked to a few of these homegrown films. Newcomer Antonio Serrano's comedy Sex, Shame and Tears (Sexo, pudor y lagrimas, 98) out-blockbustered The Phantom Menace. That feat offered ample evidence that there was a huge middle-class public willing to pay to see Mexican films at the multiplex. In 2000, earnings by local releases made up 17 percent of the box-office gross, taking an unprecedented bite out of Hollywood's hegemony. Such developments have jump-started the industry, and new production companies like Altavista, Argos, and Titan have begun to emerge in the last couple of years. Last year there were 28 features produced in Mexico, and this year the figure will probably reach the mid-30s.

Fifteen of these features were backed by the Imcine (Instituto Mexicano de Cinematografia), the state body that continues to be the main source for film financing. An average Mexican production has a budget of roughly $1 million and through a fund program called Foprocine, the state covers about 60 percent of each film's cost. Directors needing bigger budgets, like Alfonso Cuaron and Guillermo del Toro (Cronos, Mimic), have found themselves drifting north of the border. Both Cuaron and del Toro returned to projects in their native tongue, to be released this summer: And Your Mother Too (Y tu mama tambien) and the Spanish coproduction The Devil's Backbone (El espinazo del diablo), respectively. Del Toro is already back in Hollywood mode shooting Blade 2: Bloodlust in Prague, a sequel befitting his fondness for the horror genre.

A significant percentage of the new films in production are being made by directors in their thirties, mostly graduates of Mexico City's two film schools: the national university's Centro Universitario de Estudios Cinematograficos (CUEC) and the state financed Centro de Capacitacion Cinematografica (CCC). That also accounts for the large number of first features produced each year.

Comedy remains a popular genre, but, interestingly enough, not all of the recent box-office hits have gone for easy laughs. The deservedly praised Amores perros was the top domestic earner of 2000 despite its length and downbeat tone. Moreover, the success of Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's debut feature in the U.S. reproduces a feat previously achieved only by Alfonso Arau's Like Water for Chocolate, with its Mexico-for-tourists approach. Even more surprising was the box-office staying power of Benjamin Cann's Chronicle of a Breakfast (Cronica de un desayuno, 99). Intentionally irritating, the film depicts the disintegration of a middle-class family in a stagy, hysterical style that somehow managed to appeal to a wide audience.

And the political satire Herod's Law (La ley de Herodes, 00) became a milestone for its portrayal of the PRI, the political party that ruled Mexico for over 70 years, as a breeding ground for corrupt and dishonest politicians. The humor was heavy-handed but effective enough that the authorities tried to put the film on ice; their efforts were thwarted by director Luis Estrada's shrewd handling of the media. The film proved to be very popular and was even cited as a (far-fetched) reason for the party's defeat at last year's presidential elections.

That comedy is the genre of choice is further exemplified by the forthcoming releases of Ernesto Rimoch's Too Much Love (Demasiado amor), a whimsical approach to a woman's sexual awakening; Armando Casas' A Strange World (Un mundo raro), a satirical take on the vices of Mexican TV; Fabian Hofman's Pachito Rex, a political satire enhanced by its digital aesthetic; and Fernando Sarinana's The Second Wind (El segundo aire), a lightweight farce about an adulterous triangle. Audiences obviously enjoy the opportunity to laugh at the familiar traits and foibles of a society afflicted by incompetent leaders, urban crime, and an overwhelming sense of enduring corruption. Even when the depiction of national woes is cartoonish, as in Sarinana's hit Gimme Power (Todo el poder, 00), middle-class spectators find it cathartic.

Nevertheless, the most interesting films in the 2001 Guadalajara Festival were urban dramas about despairing youth. Gerard Tort's Streeters (De la calle), adapted from a renowned stage play, explores the mean streets of Mexico City, and focuses on the desperate -- and short -- lives of destitute kids. A first cousin to Luis Bunuel's Los olvidados, Tort's first feature depicts a hellish, nocturnal world of existential dead-ends and sordid violence. At the film's beginning, the juvenile protagonists ride a Ferris wheel and fantasize about traveling to the sea, a child-like sentiment never to be repeated. Destiny comes in the form of police brutality, double-crossing friends, and a shocking revelation that defeats the youngsters' dreams. Aided by a restless camera and jump-cutting, the director sustains an in-your-face urgency that never dwells on even the most brutal actions.