Roma (2018): Cuaron Comes Home

Roma is the eagerly awaited and critically acclaimed new film from Alfonso Cuaron – the writer-director of such films as Y Tu Mama Tambien (2001), Children of Men (2006), and Gravity (2013). He was also the director of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the third – and some have argued the best – in that mighty, coming-of-age wizard fantasy series. Well, Roma is different than all of these – it’s a muted, yet powerful, autobiographical drama, filmed in black and white to emphasize the retrospective nature of the story. It is about a critical year in the director’s childhood, but in a twist which I find fascinating, the protagonist of the film is not Cuaron himself or a screen facsimile, but rather the family’s housekeeper/nanny, who seems to be the one person holding it all together for the family. Cuaron not only wrote and directed, he was also the cinematographer and film editor. Unlike some of Cuaron’s commercial hits, clearly this one is personal.

Roma is named for Colonia Roma, the middle-class district in Mexico City where Cuaron grew up and where much of the action takes place. It’s late 1970, and the world is turning upside down. There is political unrest with leftists protesting and right-wing fanatics rioting and fighting them in the streets.  Within the family, there is turmoil and drama as well.

The family consists of the mother, Sofia (Marina de Tavira), the father, Dr. Antonio (Fernando Grediaga), four children - ranging in age from about 5 or 6 to about 12 or 13, the children’s grandmother/Sofia’s mother (Verónica Garcia), a cook (Nancy Garcia), the aforementioned house-servant, Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio), and a dog. Unlike other autobiographical recollections, the narrative gives no clues as to which of the children is supposed to be young Cuaron, and it has become a parlor game for some of those who have seen the movie to try and guess which it might be; but it really doesn’t matter.

In some respects, Roma resembles some other retrospective films like Distant Voices, Still Lives (1988), Terence Davies’ classic remembrance of his family and life in working-class Liverpool during the post-war years; or Amarcord (1973), Federico Fellini’s lightly fictionalized, satirical and carnivalesque portrait of life in his home town during the Mussolini era before the Second World War. Like those pictures, Roma is clearly a fond evocation of a specific time and place and rooted in the director’s own childhood memory and experience.  Indeed, Cuaron went to great lengths to construct an interior set that precisely mirrored the home in which he was raised. But while the attitude of the film is empathetic and the story is based on personal reminiscence, the tone is neither mawkishly sentimental nor decidedly nostalgic. Nor, as I’ve suggested, is it a Bildungsroman about Cuaron himself, although it might be said to be a coming-of-age tale about his family. Mostly, though, the story is about and from the perspective of the domestic worker Cleo.

The character of Cleo is based on a real person, Libo Rodriguez, who worked for Cuaron’s family for several decades. The movie is an homage or as another reviewer, Guy Lodge, has put it, a kind of belated valentine to Libo; and in fact, Cuaron dedicated the movie to her. Cleo is an indigenous Mexican native, while the family is clearly of European ancestry. She is far less educated or sophisticated than her employers - in fact, it seems she is largely illiterate - and although her Spanish is okay, Cleo’s first language is Mixtec, spoken in the hardscrabble, rural districts to the South where she’s from. The movie opens with Cleo cleaning up messes, and we subsequently observe her straightening up the house, doing the laundry, serving meals, gently getting the children up in the morning, lovingly putting them to bed at night, and so on. All without resentment or complaint. She  is by nature reticent, even with her one friend, Adela, the cook; which may be why, although Cleo is so clearly indispensable, she is largely taken for granted by the family – at least at first. During the course of Roma, as we come to know Cleo and the crosses she has to bear, we too come to appreciate her; and along with Cuaron’s family, we come to love her as well. Yalitza Aparicio is so good in the role, it’s hard to believe this is her first picture.

Early on, Antonio (the father) leaves – supposedly to go to a conference but intending, as it turns out, to abandon his wife and family. Sofia now must take the reins of the family, with little to no financial or other assistance from her wayward husband; she increasingly must rely on her mother and, especially, on Cleo to care for the children, while she goes back to work. Even so, it is a struggle to hold it together. Cleo soon has her own crisis and some emotionally devastating losses to deal with, leading to one of the most heartbreaking cinematic scenes anywhere this year.

Meanwhile, political tumult and violence are in the air and on the streets, pitting left-wing students against right wing militias. The family tries to ignore these events, but in such times, is anyone safe? 

Much of this is pretty serious stuff, but there are some light moments as well. For example, a recurring motif concerns the family’s hyper energetic dog who resides, for the most part, in the home’s gated driveway-carpark; accordingly, its floor is frequently dotted with piles of dog shit. The repeated images of this are both amusing – as family members need to dance around it to get to the car or out to the street – and emblematic, as one of Cleo’s jobs is to clean up the crap and one of Antonio’s many gripes about family life is the minefield of doo-doo he must traverse every time he arrives or departs. When he exits for good, Antonio leaves behind his late-model Ford Galaxy, a behemoth status symbol that with meticulous maneuvering he can just barely squeeze into the poop-littered space. After he’s gone, the task is too much for Sofia, who simply plunges in regardless of the mangled mess she makes of the car's bodywork.

There are some remarkably warm moments too, such as a scene when the family all gather together to watch a sit-com on their tv, even Cleo (briefly, until she is required to get up to serve beverages to everyone). One of the most touching scenes in the picture features a grateful, cathartic group embrace following the terrifyingly beautiful climactic scene of the movie.

Although there are a few taut and even thrilling scenes, the overall pace of the movie – or more precisely, the pace of the narrative - is measured and unhurried. The plot is often secondary to the exquisite and sometimes stunning black and white photography and to the detailed exposition of the family’s and Cleo’s life in the big house, especially in the first half. The story also gives way at times to Cuaron’s examination of the broader themes of the picture – the class system and resultant cultural-political conflict, the fallout from rapid urbanization and modernization, and the place of women in a male-dominated culture. At one point, a drunken Sofia ruefully confides to Cleo, “Remember this: a woman is always alone.” In so doing, she highlights and cements one of several parallels developed along the way.

When I first saw Roma at Telluride, I drifted off a few times due, I think, more to my own fatigue that afternoon than the pacing of the picture. Afterwards, most everyone else in attendance, my spouse included, was enthusing about how fabulous the film was. A month or so later, I took advantage of an opportunity to attend another advance screening, and I have to say, I liked it a whole lot better the second time.

Meticulously composed, beautifully photographed and acted, emotionally resonant, Roma is a serious, distinctive movie, acclaimed by many critics as a masterpiece and one of the best movies of the year. It is one I wound up liking and admiring quite a lot,  and I recommend it quite highly.

Although Roma is available on Netflix, if you have the chance to see it in a movie theater (see below), I’d encourage you to take that opportunity, in part because it will be easier to read the subtitles (it’s in Spanish and Mixtec) but mostly so as to fully appreciate the beautiful photography.


Two hours fifteen minutes

Grade: A-

Produced by Netflix, Roma was released on their streaming service on December 14, 2018, and is concurrently playing on the big screen in select movie theaters.

Notes From Telluride 2018 - Part 2: More Amazing Films

Last week, in a piece entitled Notes From the Telluride Film Festival (2018) – Part 1, I reviewed three big-ticket feature films - The Old Man & the Gun, The Front Runner, and The Favourite - that were featured at Telluride over Labor Day weekend, plus the funny and captivating Peter Bogdanovich documentary on Buster Keaton, The Great Buster. All of these are worthy movies that may feature in the race for awards glory come January.

This time around, I want to focus on some smaller films of equal or superior merit that I was lucky enough to catch at Telluride:  Shoplifters, by the great Japanese auteur Hirokazu Kore’eda, and winner of the top prize, the Palme d'Or, at the 2018 Cannes Film Festival; Cold War, by Pawel Pawlikowski, the director of the moving drama Ida, a few years ago; and The White Crow, a terrific biopic about the legendary Rudolf Nureyev, directed by Ralph Fiennes. All of these are slated for release between Thanksgiving and the end of the year, but I’m guessing that they will be targeted more for the art-house circuit than the giant multiplex circuit (but I hope I’m wrong). 

All are extraordinary and worth seeking out.

At the end, I am also going to touch briefly on a couple of other pretty extraordinary pictures that will be the subject of more extensive separate reviews near their respective release dates. They are Alfonso Cuaron’s eagerly awaited Roma,and the endlessly awaited, forty years overdue final film by Orson Welles, The Other Side of the Wind. Both were financed by Netflix and will be released on its streaming service and in some theaters simultaneously. 

So let’s get started with … 

Shoplifters (2018)

Japanese writer-director Hirokazu Kore’eda [or Koreeda] is, quite simply, a master at portraying the drama of life as it is lived. His films are honest, completely credible, little domestic dramas that resonate with a deep humanity. I’ve now seen five or six of his movies, and each time I’ve felt that he has touched something, a sweet spot, in my heart. He doesn’t pander. Rather he knows how to deftly build a story through carefully chosen moments, utilizing the artistry of naturalistic, yet compelling actors. If you haven’t had the pleasure, I’d encourage you to seek out a few of his films, such as After the Storm (2016) – in which a former novelist, now a hack private eye and what we’d call a deadbeat dad, behind on his child support, realizes he’s down to his last chance to try and reconnect with his family; or Like Father, Like Son (2013) – about two very different families  who discover that their respective six-year-old sons were actually switched at birth; and now have to decide how to deal with this knowledge. These and several other Kore’eda movies are available on iTunes, Amazon and many other streaming services, as well as on dvd from Netflix and elsewhere.

Anyway, Kore’eda’s newest film, Shoplifters, was one of my two or three favorite films at Telluride. What is a family? This very sweet movie is about a mostly unrelated, multi-generational group of people in current day Japan – thieves, a sex-worker, orphaned or mislaid children – that forge a bond tighter than many biological families. The “parents” supplement their meager incomes from working class jobs by shoplifting and have taught their “son” the tricks of the trade, too. “Grandma” subsists, in part, on guilt money squeezed from the family of the husband who abandoned her years ago. But, how can we explain what they do when “Dad” discovers a hungry, bedraggled little girl left alone, outside, on a freezing night by her low-life, biological family?

Shoplifters is another rich, finely wrought, closely observed domestic drama in the great director’s tradition – exploring the crossroads between exploitation and familial love. It is a particularly warmhearted, compassionate film in the canon, and it packs a surprising wallop when the shit hits the fan, as it must. As is true with most Kore’eda films, this picture features lovely performances from everyone in the excellent cast, which includes a number of veterans from earlier Kore’eda films. One of these, Lily Frankey, is a standout as the father. 

Shoplifters is set for release at Thanksgiving 2018.

 * * *

Cold War (2018)

Pawel Pawlikowski is best known to most American movie buffs as the director and co-writer of Ida (2013), the international hit that won numerous awards, including the Oscar as the Best Foreign Language Film in 2015. But he’s been writing and directing films for over twenty-five years, mostly in the UK – starting with a string of documentaries, and then several narrative films. Although Polish by birth, Idawas Pawlikowski’s first Poland-based movie. His follow-up, Cold War, which will be released this Fall, is his second. 

Cold War has already received quite a lot of critical acclaim travelling the festival circuit (at Cannes, Telluride, and Toronto among others). The picture has a high “metascore” of 91 from Metacritic.com based on twenty professional reviews. For example, Peter Bradshaw in The Guardian writes that “the crystalline black-and-white cinematography exalts its moments of intimate grimness and its dreamlike showpieces of theatrical display. It is an elliptical, episodic story of imprisonment and escape, epic in scope.”

Cold War tells the story of a bittersweet romance – passionate, hopeless, and yet enduring – between Wictor (Tomasz Kot), a downbeat composer-pianist, and striving singer Zula (Joanna Kulig) in postwar Poland. She’s got vim, beauty and tough-as nails determination. He’s got his cigarettes, alcohol and music. They meet in 1949 as Wictor is auditioning a group of singers and dancers for a new folk ensemble called “Mazurek”, and Zula is a standout. Soon she’s not only the star of the show, but the love of Wictor’s life. 

Mazurek is something like an Up With People review, featuring exuberant singing, dancing, folk costumes, the works – designed to celebrate the glories of the Polish folk music tradition in post-WWII Poland, a shattered land.  As the country was trying to rebuild from the physical and psychological devastations of war and brutal Nazi and Soviet occupations, not to mention the holocaust, the group (based on the real Mazowszefolk group) becomes very popular.  The government sees this popularity as an opportunity. Accordingly, Wiktor is told that lyrics to many of the folk tunes must be modified so as to promote Stalinist thought and soviet-style state patriotism. None of which sits well with Wiktor. Given his attitude, the feeling is mutual. For artistic and political reasons, Wiktor wants out, and implores Zula to leave with him. But although she loves him, Zula does not share his discontent. Besides, where can they go? 

The film follows the two lovers and the ebbs and flows in their relationship over the next fifteen years through 1964. At a run time of just eighty-eight minutes, needless to say it’s quite episodic and much is unstated or omitted; yet Pawlokowski’s virtuosity makes these gaps seem interesting rather than annoying. And there’s a lot here besides the problems of two little people (which may not amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world). There’s a sense of the sweep of history, changing cultures, changing norms, the depth of yearning for a place to call home and for a homeland. It’s not for nothing that this picture is entitled Cold War.

Like Ida, and as suggested by the quote from Peter Bradshaw that I mentioned at the outset, Cold War is shot in gorgeous black-and-white, in the old-fashioned box screen ratio (1.3:1) by cinematographer Lukasz Zal (who also worked on last year’s Loving Vincent). These choices work well with the moody, passionate material, creating a noirish feel, albeit without the gangster-underworld element. It feels like a very personal film; and indeed Pawlokowski acknowledges that it was inspired by his parents’ stormy relationship and the world they inhabited.  The emphasis on music throughout adds a strong sense of cultural and historical authenticity, not to mention lightening an often somber story. One song in particular echoes throughout the movie, a folk lament called Dwa Serduszka (Two Hearts) heard first in a simple acapella rendition (as an indigenous folk tune), then with the large Mazurek stage group, then as a breathy jazz number sung by Zula in a smoky Parisian nightclub. Best of all, the performances of the two leads are truly outstanding. Joanna Kulig, in particular, makes quite an impression, and I expect we’ll soon see more of her on international screens.

Cold War’s official US release date is December 21, but if you are available, there will be screenings at the upcoming Mill Valley and New York film festivals in early October.

 * * *

The White Crow (2018)

The White Crow is a biopic about the early years of Rudolf Nureyev, generally recognized as one of the three or four greatest male ballet dancers in modern history, along with Najinski, Baryshnikov, and Vasiliev.  In fact, many consider Nureyev, known as Lord of the Dance, the greatest of all time. He was also the first major Soviet artist to defect to the West during the cold war. His defection caused an international sensation, making him for a while the best-known dancer in the world.

The third feature film directed by Ralph Fiennes, who is better known as an extraordinary actor, and written by the playwright David Hare, the movie focusses on the period leading up to Nureyev’s dramatic defection, which took place in Paris in 1961, when he was just 23. He was in Paris during a five-week stint performing with the Kirov Ballet (now the Mariinski Ballet) as its principal dancer; and this was his first exposure to the West, to an open society and to a world that celebrated freedom of expression, including artistic expression. Flashbacks fill us in on his early life, from a quite un-privileged childhood in a Tatar Muslim family in the Soviet hinterlands, to his years of training as a teenager in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg) under the master instructor Alexander Pushkin (played with a dignified reserve by Fiennes), to his ascension to the Kirov. 

In Russia, the expression “white crow” refers to someone who stands apart from the crowd, who is exceptional or extraordinary, perhaps even a ray of light within a group. Mikhail Baryshnikov has noted that “This film is a poetic exploration of why that is true” of Nureyev. Among the many fascinating aspect of this picture for meis how it demonstrates the rise of Nureyev’s extremely focused artistic temperament; his unusual hunger to devour art of all kinds - literary and visual, as well as musical; and to take in all kinds of life experiences (including many that were forbidden to him in the USSR); and to watch how young Nureyev develops his overpowering self-confidence and an almost narcissistic sense of self-importance – something that could be seen as a personality disorder if not for the fact that he was absolutely right. He really was extraordinary.

Also extraordinary is the performance of young Oleg Ivenko in the role of the great Nureyev. Ivenko is a young Russian - Ukrainian  dancer, currently principal dancer in a regional company, the M. Jalil Tatar State Academic Opera in Kazan, which is the capital of Tatarstan, an “autonomous republic”  in Eastern Russia.  He has never acted on screen (or stage) before, other than the acting required for dance performances. He is about the same age as the young Nureyev he portrays onscreen. As far as I can tell, Ivenko’s dancing is fantastic, but I am the farthest thing from an expert. Baryshnikov has commented that Ivenko has “found the heartbeat of Nureyev himself.” “Of course, no one can fill Nureyev’s actual shoes”, he says, “but Ivenko made me believe and care about the passions and frustrations of this singular man.” He made me believe, too. With help from cinematographer Mike Eley [My Cousin Rachel (2017)], he even is made to look remarkably like Nureyev at times. It may be a while before the Tatar State Opera gets to see its young star again.

Among the strengths of the picture is the fact that, even though we know what is going to happen, the climactic scenes are tremendously gripping and exciting. A lot of the credit must go to the deft direction of Fiennes and the taut script by Hare, but the subtle, nuanced acting by Ivenko plays a big part too. By this time, Nureyev, regularly shadowed by the KGB, has become increasingly concerned that he will be punished for his, let’s say, ‘non-conforming’ activities while in Paris and other violations of the strict rules imposed on him by his minders – possibly even stripped of his leading role in the company and sent back to the USSR to an unknown fate. The decision to leave his family, his colleagues, the only homeland he has ever known, had to be terrifying, and that certainly comes across in this movie.

The music is lovely, the dance scenes are invigorating, and the acting by the international ensemble is credible and absorbing. Fiennes is excellent, as I’ve mentioned, as Pushkin, young Rudolf’s teacher; also excellent are Chulpan Khamatova, playing Pushkin’s wife, Xania, who becomes Nureyev’s, um , let’s call her his life coach;  Adele Exarchopoulis [Blue is the Warmest Color (2013)] as Clara Saint, his girlfriend/helper in Paris; and Raphael Personnaz as the French dancer/choreographer Pierre Lacotte, who also befriends and encourages him. 

The White Crow is scheduled for release in late Fall, most likely in art house cinemas for the most part. It is a tantalizing, fascinating, finely wrought film, and one that’s worth keeping an eye out for. 

 * * *

As I mentioned, there are a couple more movies from Telluride that I want to touch on here, although I will save more complete reviews for later.

One is Roma, the eagerly awaited new film from Alfonso Cuaron – the writer-director of such films as Y Tu Mama Tambien (2001), Children of Men (2006), and Gravity (2013). He was also the director of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the third – and some have argued the best – in that mighty, coming-of-age wizard fantasy series. Well, Roma is different than all of these – it’s a muted, yet powerful, somewhat nostalgic and definitely autobiographical drama, filmed in black and white to emphasize the retrospective nature of the story, which is about a critical year in the director’s childhood. Cuaron not only wrote and directed, he was also the picture’s cinematographer and editor.

Roma is named for the middle-class district in Mexico City where Cuaron grew up and where most of the action takes place. It’s late 1970, and the world is turning upside down. There is political unrest with leftists protesting and right-wing fanatics rioting and fighting them in the streets. Within the family there is turmoil and drama as well. And in a twist which I find fascinating, the protagonist of the film is not Cuaron himself or a screen facsimile, but the family’s housekeeper/nanny – who seems to be the one person holding it all together, except she’s not.

Meticulously composed, beautifully photographed and acted, it’s a serious, distinctive movie that’s already being spoken of as a potential Oscar favorite. 

Roma deserves and will be the subject of its own separate review here at a time closer to its availability date.  Produced by Netflix,  it will be released on their streaming service and in theaters on December 14^th.

 * * *

The other film I want to mention in connection with Telluride is interesting for a slew of reasons. It’s called The Other Side of the Wind, and it’s the last film by the great Orson Welles, although until now, no one has ever seen it. Welles spent the late 1960s writing the screenplay and trying to raise enough funds to actually make the movie. He shot it over four years between 1970 and 1974, as he scrambled for cash, and as his principal cast members had the time to participate.  Then he spent several more years, until his death in 1985, vainly trying to get the financing to complete what he felt was his masterwork.

The actors in the project included people like John Huston (playing a legendary Wellesian director called Rattigan); Peter Bogdanovich, as his protégé, a young director on the rise; Susan Strasberg, as a reporter looking for dirt; Lilli Palmer as a former lover and one-time muse of the great man; plus Edmund O’Brien, Mercedes McCambridge, Oja Kodar, Dennis Hopper, and many more. 

The unedited film has been lying around, mostly in France, for over forty years. A few years ago, a few influential Welles afficianados got the rights to this material, which also included details notes from Welles himself. These included legendary producer Frank Marshall (whose projects have included Raiders of the Lost Ark, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, The Sixth Sense, The Jason Bourne films, and Jurrassic World, among many others), and director Peter Bogdanovich, who played a major role in actually piecing the whole thing together. After years of effort, The Other Side of the Wind was finally completed this summer. It was first shown at the Venice Film Festival and a few days later had its North American premier at Telluride, to a packed house.

The Other Side of the Wind is about a maverick director, not unlike Welles himself, who is trying to complete a movie called The Other Side of the Wind, but is having all kinds of production problems and financial difficulties doing so. How is it? I’ll go into detail in a later review, but let me just throw out a few adjectives: fascinating, mysterious, jumbled, deep, historic, audacious, of its time, and still pertinent.

Netflix has scheduled a release date of November 2, 2018 – possibly on some theater screens as well as on the streaming service.    

 I’m working on a final segment, Part 3, of this Telluride series, hopefully for next week, about a couple of worthy, interesting documentaries. Until then,

Enjoy!