Hola Mexico: It’s Better If Gabriela Doesn’t Die

Most American films set behind the scenes of major soap operas are upbeat comedies, like Tootsie and Soapdish. Evidently, the work environment on Mexican telenovelas tends to be more neurotic, given that the humor in It’s Better If Gabriela Doesn’t Die (trailer here), the closing film of the Hola Mexico Festival, is of the distinctly black variety.

Miguel hates his work. Having once harbored serious literary ambitions, his writing muscles are atrophying as he churns out scripts for a cheesy evening soap. While he might have contempt for his day job, it makes quite an impression on Bracho, a borderline psychotic cop who happens to be a passionate fan of Miguel’s show. Mild-mannered Miguel gives little thought to trading some upcoming plot revelations to get out of Bracho’s traffic stop, offering up his plan to have arch-villainess Gabriela marry her nemesis. However, events turn deadly serious when Ana Victoria, the actress playing Gabriela, suddenly quits the show, requiring her character to be killed off.

Bracho the braggart, tries to use his presumed inside information to impress his colleagues and cronies. However, when Gabriela’s impending doom is announced, he takes it as an insult to his honor, triggering a descent into psycho-stalker madness. There is humor in Gabriela, particularly towards the end, as Abigail Jardin, the show’s reclusive mad genius of romance, returns to right the sinking ship. By and large though, it is a story of insanity fueled by the allure of fame, bearing some thematic similarities to Scorsese’s King of Comedy.

Directed by Mexican television veteran Sergio Umansky, Gabriela has a dark, disconcerting tone. Ricardo Hernández Anzola’s script has some clever touches, particularly down the stretch, but the character of Miguel seems to specialize in making poor choices designed to make his situation worse, not better. (At times, I wanted to see Tootsie’s Dorothy Michaels come out and give him a good talking to).

Gabriela Roel, as Ana Victoria, as Gabriela, gives the film’s strongest performance. She brings grace and intelligence to her portrayal of an actress coming to terms with the disappointments and indignities of her ostensibly glamorous professional career. Gabriela also boasts several great supporting performances including René Casados as Jardin, and Miguel Pizarro as a desperate extra willing to risk his life for a recurring role.

Gabriela has a lot of strong moments, but its antagonists needed to be fleshed out more. Still, Umansky shows real promise as a feature director in a film that overall was an interesting conclusion to an entertaining festival.

Hola Mexico: 3:19

One probably would not expect to see the work of Czech novelist Milan Kundera represented at the Hola Mexico Film Festival, but a key scene from the Unbearable Lightness of Being found its way on-screen, albeit briefly and in animated form. Dany Saadia’s 3:19 (Spanish trailer here) takes on not just Kundera, but French mathematician Évariste Galois and biologist Paul Kammerer, all in a contemporary story of love and mourning.

Through a series of chance occurrences, young Ilan sees Lisa, his perfect woman, and even gets her email address thanks to the efforts of a friend. However, chance has not been kind to him. Stricken with cancer, Ilan becomes preoccupied with forging a posthumous connection with Lisa while he confronts his own mortality. He charges his loyal friends, the easygoing Everyman Eric, and Andy, the well-meaning knucklehead, with fulfilling his ambition, but gives them only vague instructions. He is clear on one point—he wishes to be cremated, regardless of Jewish tradition, which supplies the film with its title, from Genesis 3:19: “for dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.”

Saadia frequently cuts away from his contemporary story with animated episodes from the lives of Galois and Kammerer, as well as the scene from Unbearable. Kundera’s celebrated novel becomes a touchstone for Ilan, because he sees in its tale of people brought together through chance a parallel to his own life. Kammerer’s Seriality Theory that so-called coincidences were really the result of a larger causal force clearly relates to the themes of 3:19. However, the relevance of Galois’s life is less readily apparent, aside from the fact that the mathematician might have been on the receiving end of some rather unfortunate chance events himself. Saadia brings it all together at the end (but in venue that does not entirely make sense).

For all its philosophical egg-headedness, 3:19 packs a surprisingly emotional punch. Ilan’s final scene with his two friends is written with complete honesty and believability, despite his rather unusual request. While there are painful moments shared by Ilan and his family, the three friends’ relationship form the emotional center of the film. Miguel Ángel Silvestre, Felix Gómez, and Juan Díaz, as Ilan, Eric, and Andy respectively, are indeed convincing, keeping the audience invested in their characters.

Even when their significance is somewhat obscure, the animated sequences are stylishly distinct and fascinating, often conveying some lesser known intellectual history. 3:19 also lays claim the coolest opening titles seen in years. While the film might sound gimmicky, the execution is tightly focused and the acting is quite assured. 3:19 is a very satisfying film that really stays in the consciousness after screening it. It was the best film I saw this year at Hola Mexico, which really was a friendly, well run festival that happily should be returning to New York next year.

Hola Mexico: La Zona

Hmm, when a fortified border wall plays an important role in a contemporary Mexican film, could it possibly have some greater symbolic significance? In this case, the wall in question is not between America and Mexico, but the protective border surrounding the mother of all gated communities in Mexico City. Screening as part of the Hola Mexico Film Festival (which concludes on Sunday), director Rodrigo Plá’s La Zona (trailer here) shows the tragic consequences when that wall is breached.

Teenaged Alejandro lives with his parents in the Zone, a protected oasis of suburban safety, literally walled off from the urban blight which surrounds it. Their wall and the private security force which keep watch along it, are there to keep out the riff-raff, including the corrupt cops of the outside world. However, one fateful dark and stormy night, a lightning strike compromises part of the wall. Three smalltime crooks immediately capitalize on this larcenous opportunity, crossing into the Zone. As you might expect, things go awry.

The exact details are initially kept murky, as rumors run through the Zone like wildfire. What the audience knows for certain though, is that one resident and two intruders are dead, with the third at large, somewhere in their community. Rather than call in the outside authorities and risk losing their special autonomous legal status, the residents of the Zone decide to take the law into their own hands, looking to Alejandro’s father Daniel to lead their manhunt. Simultaneously, they must fend off the investigation of Rigoberto, a bent city cop, who picked the wrong day to try to go straight. It all makes for a rude coming of age for Alejandro, as he comes face to face with the scared young fugitive, on his sixteenth birthday.

La Zona is not subtle expressing its point of view. However, despite the film’s radicalized class consciousness, it is hard to fully condemn the residents of the Zone. They fear they are surrounded by criminals just waiting to rob and murder them, and they are proved right five minutes into the film. They consider the outside police hopelessly corrupt and again are ultimately vindicated in their judgment.

Indeed, Plá has crafted a pretty taut thriller that is not weighted down by its ideological baggage, effectively building tension, until suffering from a third act collapse and completely flat denouement. Oh well, these things happen. With only two films under his belt, Plá is already a darling of the international festival circuit and shows real promise in La Zona. Along the way, he gets some impressive performances out of his cast, particularly Daniel Giménez Cacho as Alejandro’s conflicted father and Mario Zaragoza as Rigoberto, the troubled cop. Flawed but interesting, La Zona has a lot of the elements working quite well, before it just hits the wall, so to speak.

Hola Mexico: Born Without

Mexico does not look like a particularly congenial environment for buskers, but Jose Flores is still able to support a wife and now seven children from tips earned during his performances. Years ago, Flores caught the eye of future director Eva Norvind, but initially it was not so much his music that fascinated her, but the very sight of the diminutive street performer born without arms. Eventually she would profile Flores in the documentary Born Without (Nacido Sin), with her daughter Nailea completing the post-production process after her death (trailer here). It screened last night as part of the Hola Mexico Film Festival, following successful festival appearances in Europe and Mexico.

Playing a harmonica strapped around his neck and accompanying himself on güiro with his foot, Flores sounds like a good busker (if not extraordinary like Satan and Adam in their prime). However, Norvind was more interested in Flores’ life than his music. He is indeed married to the devoted Graciela, who is expecting their seventh child as the film opens. We see him barnstorming around Mexico with her help, to play outside carnivals and festivals in search of lucrative audiences. It seems a strange twilight existence he and his fellow buskers lead, but at least the Flores have a respectable home and family to return to.

In addition to music, Flores has also appeared in films, amassing a singularly unusual filmography. His screen credits include Alejandro Jodorowsky’s tripped out The Holy Mountain, Nicholas Echevarria’s only slightly less trippy Cabeza de Vaca, and Didn’t Do It For Love, Monika Treut’s documentary about director Norvind’s S&M career. Of particular interest to cineastes are interview segments with Jodorowsky, sounding either very cool and broad-minded, or totally cold and self-centered, it is hard to tell which.

Clearly, Norvind found Flores to be an admirable subject. However, Without reveals certain problematic aspects of Flores’ life late in the film—essentially as a third act surprise—that definitely make you stop and say: “huh, how about that?” It puts a twist on the audience’s feelings for Flores, but it makes for a more interesting film.

Without is not all noble inspiration, all the time, but rather a surprisingly nuanced profile of a unique individual. The film’s soundtrack is just okay—Latin music lovers need not pine for its theatrical release solely for the score and performances. However, Flores’ story is definitely memorable and one certainly hopes for the best for him after watching Without.