Director/writer/photography: Alfonso Cuarón
Editors: Alfonso Cuarón, Adam Gough
Cast: Yalitza Aparicio, Marina de Tavira, Jorge Antonio Guerrero, Diego Cortina Autrey, Carlos Peralta, Marco Graf, Veronica Garcia, Fernando Grediaga
Alfonso Cuarón takes a page from the playbook of Steven Soderbergh (and a few others), making his award-winning, much-celebrated picture for Netflix practically a one-man-band show, directing, writing, shooting, and editing this period piece set in early 1970s Mexico City. It starts slow, it’s a little long, and it can teeter dangerously close to pretentious, with a black & white color scheme and diegetic soundtrack (available commercially) that is composed entirely of music playing in the background on radios and TVs or at the movies. The parts of Roma that feel most obviously autobiographical are about a family plunged into media: radios, TVs, movies, full of audio strains and visual clips. In fact, Cuarón makes the most out of incidentals like what’s playing on the radio. My favorites are the jets floating complacently through the clouds of some of these scenes, aircraft noise and all. Some must have been shot near an airport because they seem to be flying relatively low, drawing perfect lines across their scenes. They are somehow fearsome and beautiful.
Roma survives any and all concerns about its intentions (except the one about Netflix, which I’ll get to below) as it patiently mounts a powerful slice-of-life tale with mild upstairs / downstairs notes, juggling the life of a middle-class family in breakdown with the life of their maid in similarly dire straits. Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio) is the maid and de facto nanny for the family headed up by Sofia (Marina de Tavira), her mostly absent husband Antonio, and their four kids, three boys and a girl. The youngest boy, Pepe (Marco Graf), might be 7. He is always talking about memories of his past lives.
Alfonso Cuarón takes a page from the playbook of Steven Soderbergh (and a few others), making his award-winning, much-celebrated picture for Netflix practically a one-man-band show, directing, writing, shooting, and editing this period piece set in early 1970s Mexico City. It starts slow, it’s a little long, and it can teeter dangerously close to pretentious, with a black & white color scheme and diegetic soundtrack (available commercially) that is composed entirely of music playing in the background on radios and TVs or at the movies. The parts of Roma that feel most obviously autobiographical are about a family plunged into media: radios, TVs, movies, full of audio strains and visual clips. In fact, Cuarón makes the most out of incidentals like what’s playing on the radio. My favorites are the jets floating complacently through the clouds of some of these scenes, aircraft noise and all. Some must have been shot near an airport because they seem to be flying relatively low, drawing perfect lines across their scenes. They are somehow fearsome and beautiful.
Roma survives any and all concerns about its intentions (except the one about Netflix, which I’ll get to below) as it patiently mounts a powerful slice-of-life tale with mild upstairs / downstairs notes, juggling the life of a middle-class family in breakdown with the life of their maid in similarly dire straits. Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio) is the maid and de facto nanny for the family headed up by Sofia (Marina de Tavira), her mostly absent husband Antonio, and their four kids, three boys and a girl. The youngest boy, Pepe (Marco Graf), might be 7. He is always talking about memories of his past lives.
The picture is alive with sharp, small, and endearing details: the dog Borras who is forever trying to get out when the door opens (and the larger family’s strange love in general for dogs), a marching band that parades down their street in rehearsal (it feels like it might be a shoutout to filmmaker Federico Fellini, who made a picture in 1972 also called Roma), the comical set piece of parking the car in the narrow garage, navigating the poo deposited by Borras. There’s an impressive scene of a wildfire almost out of control. There’s a clip from the 1969 movie Marooned, with Gregory Peck and Richard Crenna, when the family takes a day at the movies. It feels like a kind of shoutout to himself, to Cuarón’s own Gravity.
It is at the movies (another one) where Cleo interrupts making out with her boyfriend Fermin (Jorge Antonio Guerrero) to tell him she thinks she is pregnant. He literally immediately leaves her without a word. If the movie has a main storyline, this is it. With Fermin gone, Cleo abjectly presents herself to Sofia, expecting to be discharged. But the big-hearted (if inept) Sofia accepts the situation and helps Cleo get healthcare. Cleo is more a part of the family than ever, as Sofia is also coming to loose ends with her own crumbling marriage.
The climactic scenes as Cleo reaches term start large and get bigger. She is downtown with the family grandmother, Sofia’s mother Teresa, shopping for a crib in a department store. A huge protest is taking place and while they are in the department store it turns into a violent confrontation. Desperate people run into the store trying to escape a gang that catches up with them and assassinates them. In the confusion and stress, Cleo breaks water. Cleo and Teresa have to fight crowds, errant gunfire, and traffic to get to the hospital, where an amazing birth scene follows. It is an intense point in the picture, to say the least, with many things coming together at once in all the melee. I should mention that elsewhere there is an earthquake in this movie.
Another amazing scene, at the churning seashore, is still ahead as Roma winds up to its greatest heights, with a scene that is a brilliant blend of character and incident and context. It left me practically at a loss for words. It’s so great on so many levels at once. So much happens in this picture, which is so expertly paced and put together, methodically setting markers and raising stakes and building to something arguably monumental, yet with modesty and humility. Just great stuff.
But I must admit I have some resentments about the necessity of a live Netflix account to see it. As far as I can tell it’s still the only way to see it. I ponied up, and I’m glad I did now—it’s not just one of the best things on Netflix, it’s one of the best things this century. But it still feels unfair there’s no other way to see it. At a certain point, and not a century away when all copyrights lapse, I think pictures as good as this must be reasonably available at reasonable cost. I admit I’m using my month or two back on Netflix to catch up on all kinds of true-crime, Netflix-only, and/or whatnot trash as well as Roma. But I’m not sure, in a general kind of way, that “Netflix and chill” at $18 per is the best lifestyle choice for me.
It is at the movies (another one) where Cleo interrupts making out with her boyfriend Fermin (Jorge Antonio Guerrero) to tell him she thinks she is pregnant. He literally immediately leaves her without a word. If the movie has a main storyline, this is it. With Fermin gone, Cleo abjectly presents herself to Sofia, expecting to be discharged. But the big-hearted (if inept) Sofia accepts the situation and helps Cleo get healthcare. Cleo is more a part of the family than ever, as Sofia is also coming to loose ends with her own crumbling marriage.
The climactic scenes as Cleo reaches term start large and get bigger. She is downtown with the family grandmother, Sofia’s mother Teresa, shopping for a crib in a department store. A huge protest is taking place and while they are in the department store it turns into a violent confrontation. Desperate people run into the store trying to escape a gang that catches up with them and assassinates them. In the confusion and stress, Cleo breaks water. Cleo and Teresa have to fight crowds, errant gunfire, and traffic to get to the hospital, where an amazing birth scene follows. It is an intense point in the picture, to say the least, with many things coming together at once in all the melee. I should mention that elsewhere there is an earthquake in this movie.
Another amazing scene, at the churning seashore, is still ahead as Roma winds up to its greatest heights, with a scene that is a brilliant blend of character and incident and context. It left me practically at a loss for words. It’s so great on so many levels at once. So much happens in this picture, which is so expertly paced and put together, methodically setting markers and raising stakes and building to something arguably monumental, yet with modesty and humility. Just great stuff.
But I must admit I have some resentments about the necessity of a live Netflix account to see it. As far as I can tell it’s still the only way to see it. I ponied up, and I’m glad I did now—it’s not just one of the best things on Netflix, it’s one of the best things this century. But it still feels unfair there’s no other way to see it. At a certain point, and not a century away when all copyrights lapse, I think pictures as good as this must be reasonably available at reasonable cost. I admit I’m using my month or two back on Netflix to catch up on all kinds of true-crime, Netflix-only, and/or whatnot trash as well as Roma. But I’m not sure, in a general kind of way, that “Netflix and chill” at $18 per is the best lifestyle choice for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment