Walter Mercado in MUCHO MUCHO AMOR: THE LEGEND OF WALTER MERCADO
Just about every Spanish speaker knows who Walter Mercado is – and almost no non-Spanish speaker has heard of him. To describe him as a TV astrologer is profoundly inadequate.
Decades ago, I was flipping through TV channels and happened upon Walter’s astrology show and found him mesmerizing. He was so UNUSUAL, that, late at night, I just couldn’t change the station. The documentaryMucho Mucho Amor: The Legend of Walter Mercado will explain the phenomenon better than I can describe it.
For one thing, 99% of the show’s production value must have been in costume cost. Walter just stood in front of the camera and recited horoscopes, but he was always clad in capes that Liberace and Elvis would have considered WAY over the top. And Walter, for all the machismo in traditional Latino culture, was what we call today non-binary; Walter emanated a singular combination of androgyny and asexuality.
In Mucho Mucho Amor: The Legend of Walter Mercado, we get to meet the elderly Mercado, and find out about his life before and after his 25-year reign as the Spanish language TV ratings king. And why he suddenly disappeared from television.
While often jaw-droppingly flamboyant, Walter possessed a serene gentleness and warm-hearted demeanor that makes this documentary a Feel Good experience. Mucho Mucho Amor: The Legend of Walter Mercado is streaming on Netflix.
The San Francisco International Film Festival (SFFILM) was set to open tomorrow before it was cancelled for the COVID-19 emergency, so in tribute, here’s a film from SFFILM’s 2019 program.
Rojo is Argentine writer-director Benjamín Naishtat’s slow burn drama. Rojo
is set just before the 1970s coup that some characters expect – but no
one is anticipating how long and bloody the coup will be. Several
vignettes are woven together into a tapestry of pre-coup moral malaise.
A prominent provincial lawyer Claudio (Darío Grandinetti) is invited
to participate in a scam. There’s a scary encounter of lethal
restaurant rage. It looks like Claudio, bobbing on a sea of moral
relativism, may well remained unscathed, but the arrival of crack
detective becomes a grave threat.
As Claudio weaves through his life, his society shows signs of
crumbling. There’s a failed teen seduction, an emotional breakdown at a
formal reception and a natural metaphor – a solar eclipse.
It’s funny when the audience finally connects the dots and
understands who the character nicknamed “the Hippie” is. And Naishtat
and Grandinetti get the most out of the scene where Claudio finally
dons a toupee.
We know something that the characters don’t know – or at least fully
grasp – how bloody the coup will be. Watch for the several references
to desaparecido, a foreboding of the coup. Argentina’s coup was known for the desaparecidos
– the disappeared – thousands of the regime’s political opponents went
missing without a trace, having been executed by death squads. In Rojo,
a very inconvenient madman dies and his body is hidden, there’s a
disappearing act in a magic show, and a would-be boyfriend vanishes.
In the Mexican sexual psychodrama Ana’s Desire, Ana (Laura Agorreca) is a conscientious working single mom. She is unsettled by the sudden appearance of her shady younger brother Juan (David Calderón León), who has been out of contact for years. With his motorcycle and his subversion of Ana’s bedtime and dietary routines, Juan becomes that Way Cool, fascinating uncle to Ana’s son Mateo (Ian Garcia Monterrubio).
It turns out that Ana and Juan had a tough childhood, having been raised by a less-than-ideal widowed father. They became very close then, and Ana’s visit back to their hometown rekindles old memories and deep-rooted feelings.
What is going on here between Ana and Juan? Writer-director Emilio Santoyo lets the audience connect the dots in a slow burn compressed into only 80 minutes. The ending pays off.
Anita Blanch and Pedro Armendáriz in NIGHT FALLS (LA NOCHE AVANZA)
This year’s Noir City had an international theme and was highlighted by an all day noirathon of four, count ’em, FOUR classics from a storied era in Mexican cinema. This Fiesta of Mexican Noir was hosted by the Film Noir Foundation’s Eddie Muller and Daniela Michel, an expert preservationist and historian of Mexican cinema and the founder and Director General of the Morelia International Film Festival.
Michel presented films by all three of the pillars of the Golden Age of Mexican cinema – Julio Bracho, Emilio Fernandez, and the Mexican director most identified with noir – or cine negro – Roberto Gavaldón.
Daniela Michel and Eddie Muller
Here’s the program:
In the deliriously entertaining Night Falls(La Noche Avanza) (1952), Pedro Armendáriz plays a ladykiller who treats his women horribly – and is begging for a noirish downfall. Night Falls was directed by Roberto Gavaldón, the Mexican director most well-known for film noir. In a uniquely Mexican touch of noir torture, waterboarding is performed with tequila. Stay to the end for for cinema’s act of greatest canine revenge.
Julio Bracho’s Another Dawn (Distinto Amancer) (1943) is a paranoid thriller about a heroic labor organizer (Pedro Armendáriz again) who has the evidence to expose corruption by the PRI, Mexico’s ruling party for 70 years.
In Bracho’s Twilight(Crepusculo) (1945), a surgeon is tormented by an obsession, and then by guilt. When former lovers – now married to others – are isolated together in a weekend house party during a thunderstorm, it’s inevitable this concentrated passion, obsession and betrayal is going to explode.
Salón México(1949) is an unusual contemporary noir directed by Emilio Fernandez, more often known for movies with rural and historical settings, Salon Mexico is a cabaretera, a uniquely Mexican genre about a woman with a heart of gold (Marga López here) who is forced by poverty to work as a singer in a sketchy nightspot or even as a prostitute. It’s also a time capsule of 1949 Mexico City.
Follow the links for my commentary on the films, images and where to find them.
Luke Lorentzen’s MIDNIGHT FAMILY. Cuurtesy of SFFILM
In his gripping documentary Midnight Family, filmmaker Luke Lorentzen takes us on ridealongs with an all-night ambulance crew in Mexico City. It’s even wilder than you may expect.
Midnight Family is set in an absurd situation with life-and-death stakes. We learn right away that there are only 45 government-operated ambulances in Mexico City, a metropolis of 9 million. The rest of the ambulances are private and mostly independents.
Competition is cut throat. The private ambulances listen to police scanners and then TRY TO OUTRACE each other to the scene. One of these independent ambulances is the Ochoa family’s business.
Fernando Ochoa is the head of the family, and he collects the ambulance fee from hospitals and patients. His 17-year-old son Juan is the voluble front man and driver, who careens them through the Mexico City streets at alarming speed. The Ochoa’s colleague, the even-tempered medic Manuel, rides in the back. The youngest Ochoa son, pudgy, Ruffles-devouring 10-year-old Josue, rides along as a gopher. BTW there are no seat belts in the back.
The private ambulances operate in a shady world of semi-formal licensing, so they can always be shut down arbitrarily by the cops. Indeed, we even see the Ochoas arrested while trying to take a patient to the hospital. It’s common for the police to extract bribes from the vulnerable ambulance crews.
There is an incentive to steer patients to the private hospitals that will pay the ambulance crews, so their business is, by its nature, often a hustle; there are some instances of ethical ambiguity. Aiming to depict a “wide spectrum”, Lorentzen balances life-saving heroics with the more sketchy moments. Getting payment out of a grieving family when the loved one dies on the way to the hospital is, well, awkward.
Here is the Ochoa’s business model. Ideally, they get paid about $250 to deliver a patient to a private hospital. They deduct the cost of gasoline, medical supplies and police bribes, and then split what’s left four ways. If a patient can’t or won’t pay, if the vehicle breaks down, or if the cops shut them down – the Ochoas are out of luck.
Luke Lorentzen’s MIDNIGHT FAMILY. Cuurtesy of SFFILM
Fernando is silent but expressive. Carrying an alarming belly, he stoically juggles an assortment pills to treat his chronic illness. The loquacious Juan is a born front man, and basically provides play-by-play commentary throughout the film in real time. We see him downloading the previous night’s drama over the phone to his girlfrend Jessica and, by loud speaker, directing other Mexico City drivers out of his way.
Fernando and Juan sleep on the floor of a downscale apartment, and they never know if they’ll make enough money for tomorrow’s gasoline. It’s an incredibly stressful existence. How resilient can they be? Is there any limit to the stress they can absorb? As Lorentzen himself says, this is “a world where no one is getting what they need”.
I saw Midnight Family at the 2019 San Francisco International Film Festival (SFFILM), which included an in-person Q&A with Lorenzen. Lorentzen spent 80-90 nights with the crew. About 70% of the film comes from the last three nights that he rode with the Ochoas.
Midnight Family joins a mini-genre of rogue ambulance cinema. The very dark Argentine narrative Carancho stars the great Ricardo Darin as a LITERALLY ambulance-chasing lawyer. In the Hungarian dark comedy Heavenly Shift (I saw it at the 2014 Cinequest), an outlaw ambulance crew gets kickbacks from a shady funeral director if the patient dies en route to the hospital.
Midnight Family is just concluding a run at the Roxie in San Francisco. I’ll let you know when it’s streamable. Midnight Family is one of the nest documentaries of the year, and on my Best Movies of 2019.
In his Pain and Glory, master filmmaker Pedro Almodovar invites us into the most personal aspects of his own life, illuminated by Antonio Banderas’ career-topping performance. Almodovar calls Pain and Glory “auto-fiction”, and Banderas’ central character is a filmmaker clearly modeled after Almodovar himself.
Although Almodovar is known for a fun personality and makes the most exuberant films, we learn that this filmmaker is shy and introverted. He is suffering privately from an assortment of maladies, most importantly with chronic back pain, migraine headaches and depression. Because of the chronic pain and the depression, he has isolated himself in his apartment, blocked from his work and avoiding all social engagement.
The restoration of an early film prods him into planning a public appearance with the film’s star, an actor that he has been estranged from for thirty years; that encounter plunges him into an entirely new strategy of pain management. Almodovar inserts vignettes from his childhood which illuminate his respect and adoration of women and his artistic and sexual awakenings. These flashbacks are brilliant.
Pain and Glory is as beautiful as any Almodovar film. The color palette is far less lushly vibrant than usual for Almodovar, but the more somber look is just as rich.
Banderas has never been better. His longtime close friendship with Almodovar clearly informed this searing performance, both with his close observation of his friend and because he cares for him. This performance will certainly earn Banderas an Oscar nomination.
Pain and Glory is an exquisite film. Some audiences may not want to invest in such a sometimes painful story, deliberately paced as it is. But those who settle in will be rewarded.
Rojo is Argentine writer-director Benjamín Naishtat’s slow burn drama. Rojo is set just before the 1970s coup that some characters expect – but no one is anticipating how long and bloody the coup will be. Several vignettes are woven together into a tapestry of pre-coup moral malaise.
A prominent provincial lawyer Claudio (Darío Grandinetti) is invited to participate in a scam. There’s a scary encounter of lethal restaurant rage. It looks like Claudio, bobbing on a sea of moral relativism, may well remained unscathed, but the arrival of crack detective becomes a grave threat.
As Claudio weaves through his life, his society shows signs of crumbling. There’s a failed teen seduction, an emotional breakdown at a formal reception and a natural metaphor – a solar eclipse.
It’s funny when the audience finally connects the dots and understands who the character nicknamed “the Hippie” is. And Naishtat and Grandinetti get the most out of the scene where Claudio finally dons a toupee.
We know something that the characters don’t know – or at least fully grasp – how bloody the coup will be. Watch for the several references to desaparecido, a foreboding of the coup. Argentina’s coup was known for the desaparecidos – the disappeared – thousands of the regime’s political opponents went missing without a trace, having been executed by death squads. In Rojo, a very inconvenient madman dies and his body is hidden, there’s a disappearing act in a magic show, and a would-be boyfriend vanishes.
This is a moody, atmospheric film that works as a slow-burn thriller. I saw Rojo earlier this year at the San Francisco International Film Festival (SFFILM) and it opens this weekend in Bay Area theaters.
Engaging characters can take a light comedy a long way. (And light comedy can take social commentary a long way, too.) That’s the case with Neto Villalobos’ amiable comedy Helmet Heads (Cascos Nomados).
Mancha (Arturo Parda) buzzes around San Jose, Costa Rica, as a motorcycle delivery driver and canoodles with his girlfriend Clara (Daniela Mora). Mancha hangs out with his buddies from work. Clara tends a pack of 700 wild dogs on a mountainside outside the city. There’s a job crisis at Mancha’s employer, and Clara is moving to another town – so Mancha faces some choices.
The core of Helmet Heads is the bro-buddy camaraderie of the drivers. They all know each other by nicknames (and not their real names). “Mancha” means “Stain” and refers to the protagonist’s prominent facial birthmark. I especially loved the ever-blissed out Chito, the bombastic Gordo and the conveniently/inconveniently diabetic Gato. I was surprised to learn that most of the cast are non-actors and some are motorcycle delivery drivers.
Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose. These guys, especially Mancha, value their independence, but Helmet Heads reminds us – usually slyly – that their place in Costa Rica’s society is insecure, even fragile. Even with the social comment, Helmet Heads is pretty funny throughout.
There is also a sex scene unlike any I’ve seen. The sex is conventional, but the setting is not.
[Oddly, I flashed on another motorcycle messenger movie, the 1981 French thriller Diva, even though that is an entirely dissimilar movie – sleeker production values, a Hitchcock homage, an iconic chase through the Paris Metro, etc.]
I saw Helmet Heads at Cinema Club Silicon Valley, with a post screening Q&A with director Neto Villalobos.. I’ll let you know when and if Helmet Heads can be streamed.
Here’s my choice as the best movie of 2017. In the deeply emotionally affecting and humane Spanish film Truman, Tomás (Javier Cámara) leaves Montreal to pay a surprise four-day visit to his longtime friend Julián (Ricardo Darin) in Madrid. Julián has been battling cancer and has just received a very grim prognosis. Julián has chosen to forgo further treatment, and his cousin and caregiver Paula (Dolores Fonzi) is hoping that Tomás can talk Julián out of his decision.
Julián is a roguish bon vivant, although now hobbled by illness. Tomás is a responsible family man. As the four day visit unfolds, Tomás tags along as Julián cavalierly settles his affairs. Because of the circumstances, even the most routine activity is heavily charged with emotion. Julián, who has always been a wild card, is now a tinderbox always on the verge of erupting into some socially inappropriate gesture. Julián is particularly focused on arranging for adoption of his beloved and ponderous dog Truman.
Julián is a wiseacre, but his reaction to a moment of kindness from an very unexpected source is heartbreaking. Julián goes to say goodbye to his son, and then the learn a fact afterward that make this encounter exponentially more poignant. Truman has an especially sly ending – the granting of one last favor, however inconvenient.
TRUMAN
The Argentine actor Darin is one of my favorite screen actors: Nine Queens, The Secret in their Eyes, Carancho, The Aura. As a man living under a death sentence, Julián has adopted a bemused fatalism, but is ready to burst into rage or despair at any moment, and Darin captures that perfectly.
I was blown away by Javier Cámara’s unforgettable performance, at once creepy and heartbreaking, in the Pedro Almodovar drama Talk to Her. Cámara is a master of the reaction, and his Tomás stoically serves as the loyal wing man to a friend with hair trigger unpredictability, often in a state of cringe.
The Argentine actress Dolores Fonzi (The Aura) is excellent as Paula, whose caregiver fatigue finally explodes.
Packed with bittersweet emotions, Truman is never maudlin. The Spanish director Cesc Gay, who co-wrote Truman, has created a gentle and insightful exploration into how people can say goodbye. There’s not a single misstep or hint of inauthenticity. Again, Truman is one of the best films of the year.
Truman had only a brief US theatrical run. It’s now streaming on Amazon, iTunes, Vudu, YouTube and Google Play.
(Note: The crappy trailer below fails to capture all the humor and deep emotion in this film.)
The Paraguayan sex comedy Original Sin (Pecado Original) is primarily a social satire, sending up the stiffness of Paraguay’s upper class. A young married couple is trapped by the roles expected of them, and the wife chafes at her life devoid of anything except daytime TV and day-drinking. The husband is a prig, and has a particular repression that no male audience member will be able to relate to. The wife MAY have purchased a painting at a charity auction, and the impossibly handsome artist show up to deliver the painting. Raucous, and fairly predictable, humor ensues. A duel-by-badminton is pretty funny.
Cinequest hosted the North American premiere of Original Sin.
