Skid Row looks mostly the same everywhere,
but in Mexico City, you can also find down-on-their-luck luchador wrestlers. In
the case of “Little Death” and “Little AK,” they are actually Mini-Estrella
wrestlers, but do not call them midgets. They identify as Lilliputians. Unfortunately,
they are based on real life Mini-Estrella murder victims Alejandro and Alberto
Jiminez, so they are in for an abrupt end. At least they go out with their
masks on in Arturo Ripstein’s Bleak
Street (trailer here), which opens this Wednesday at Film Forum.
Little Death and Little AK do not even
take their masks off when they are home with their long suffering,
conventionally-sized wives. They act as the “shadows” of full sized luchadors, “Death”
and “AK-47.” The AK’s have a good professional the relationship, but not the
Deaths.
Life is tough on the Mini-Estrella
circuit, but it is even harder for aging prostitutes like Adela and Dora. The
former has largely given up on the sex trade, relying instead on her addled
mother’s begging bowl. Dora still turns what tricks are available, but finds no
love at home from her ingrate daughter or her closeted, transvestite husband.
Hoping to get slightly ahead of the game, the sick and tired prostitutes plan
to drug and rob the twin Minis when they are hired for their post-bout
celebration. They used to roll clients all the time back in the day. Regrettably,
they do not realize they need to make certain adjustments to their M.O.
Buñuel’s
influence on Ripstein is immediately apparent in the first seconds of Bleak Street. It is also easy to deduce
Ripstein’s influence on succeeding generations of Mexican filmmakers, like del
Toro, Reygadas, and Plá. This is some dark stuff. Although never scary per se, there
is a pronounced element of grotesquery that runs straight through the center of
the film. Heck, it might just make Rachel Maddow’s amen corner vote for Donald
Trump.
Yet, Ripstein and his screenwriter wife
Paz Alicia Garcíadiego are not merely sympathetic towards the wife-beating
Mini-Estrellas and the predatory prostitutes. They are overflowing with darkly
humanistic love for them. After all, they are all products of their environment—and
their cul-de-sac of dashed hopes makes the Dead End Bowery look like Rodeo
Drive.
Even though we never see them unmasked,
Juan Francisco Longoria and Guillermo López
give remarkably physical performances as the Mini-Estrellas. Likewise, Patricia
Reyes Spíndola and Nora Velázquez
are painfully exposed as the aging street walkers. It is like Ripstein peels
back layers of their dignity like an onion, only to find more perseverance beneath.
