Frida’s parents are affluent but progressive, especially her doting photographer father. Her mother gives more deference to social norms, but she still encourages young Kahlo’s original ambitions to become a doctor. Unfortunately, her promising life is almost cut short when she contracts polio.
In fact, Santa Muerte nearly takes the ailing Kahlo. However, her protective subconscious manages to fight off the angel of death-like figure during her fitful fevers. Kahlo will survive, but her new leg-brace attracts an unwelcome new experience: bullying. Yet, little Frida is indomitable. She also counts on the support of her good friends and the roguish stray dog Chiquita, who resembles the coyote statues in the town-square fountain that so fascinate her.
To its credit, Hola Frida is a sweet little movie that largely (if not quite entirely) skirts the ideological baggage of Kahlo’s later life. It is bright and colorful, in a way that evokes the colors and textures of Old Mexico. In fact, the geometric character design vaguely evokes the vibe of pre-Columbian art. Yet, the film never slavishly tries to approximate Kahlo’s own style.
Regardless, Hola Frida shows how Kahlo overcame physical limitations, in an inspiring, but never heavy-handed or didactic kind of way. It also closes with Olivia Ruiz’s wonderfully romantic and nostalgic rendition of the title song, which sounds equal parts Mexican and French Cabaret. The whole film looks and sounds quite lovely. Recommended for its vibrancy and artistry, Hola Frida screens tonight (2/28) and March 15th, during this year’s NYICFF.
