Dir: Luis
Buñuel, 1950, Mexico, B&W, 88 mins
Cast: Estela Inda, Miguel Inclán, Alfonso Mejía,
Roberto Cobo
Review by Paul Murphy
Mexican and South American filmmaking
and its directors are certainly enjoying a renaissance
at the moment. From Alejandro González Iñárritu's homegrown
debut Amores Perros, Alfonso Cuarón's playful Y Tu
Mama Tambien, and Fernando Meirelles' epic City Of God, it
seems South American filmmaking has finally been placed on
the cinematic map, and deservedly so. However whilst some
national cinema tries to ape the hand that feeds it (witness
Richard Curtis and his ilk's transposing of Hollywood to
England mores), South American filmmakers have a more indelible
and tougher stance that living in the shadow of its more
popular, noisy and richer cousin has caused. Being a rebellious
teenager, then, has meant breaking out, and asserting independence
and authority on its own terms, championing national stories,
peoples and places, all steeped in a gritty and grounded
realism. Such films display an innate need to hold a mirror
up to nature and look deeply at the state of their nations,
and themselves, whatever they might find.
Rejoice then, as the precursor to
such contemporary visions, an oft neglected but legendary
staple in the canon of Mexican realistic cinema, Los Olividados,
directed by master surrealist Luis Buñuel, gets
a welcome re-release and confirms, although produced over
50 years ago, it is as relevant today as it has ever been.
Set in the slums of Mexico City, Los
Olividados chronicles several days in the life of Pedro
(Mejía) a young
street kid who lives life like every other street kid; hustling
to make money and doing whatever it takes to survive. Being
the eldest in a fatherless family means Pedro is the head
male and even though he is but 12 years old, he should be
out working, a fact Marta (Inda) his cold, unloving mother
keeps reminding him of. Pedro desperately wants to be good,
he seeks attention and love from his mother but never receives
it, all of which pushes him closer and closer to delinquency
with his fellow gang members, the closest thing to family
Pedro's got. Into this perilous existence comes Jaibo (Cobo),
a charismatic, self-serving, impulsive older boy, fresh from
prison, and impatient to reclaim his authority on the streets.
Ingratiating himself into Pedro's gang he quickly becomes
the boys surrogate father and leader and promises riches,
if they follow him. Such promises come at a price and when
Pedro helps Jaibo to get to Julian (Javier Amézcua),
the boy whose information helped put Jaibo away, he becomes
an unwitting accomplice to murder, and the two boys' fates
become inescapably and fatally intertwined.
Decried, loathed and ignored on its
first release in Mexico, lasting just three days on screen
before being pulled, Los Olividados is a testament to Buñuel's commitment as
a socialist filmmaker. Languishing in the doldrums for 20
years beforehand, and his first Mexican film made since naturalisation
as a Mexican citizen two years previously, the film is a
power-keg of commitment, critique, and content, whose unsentimental
depiction of the facts of the state laid a nation to unsuspectingly
bare its soul. All the characters are tied to a paralysis
of poverty and bare survival, with no way out for any despite
the best intentions and plans. All throughout the film Buñuel
reminds us how God laughs at such lofty plans as each character
suffers at the vagaries of fate; from Marta who has four
hungry mouths to feed but no man to provide for her, and
Pedro, the most tragic of all the characters, who in an effort
to transcend his circumstances, desperate for the love of
his mother, eventually finds work and a chance at redemption,
only to be thwarted by the scheming Jaibo.
In a beautifully restored print from
the UNAM Film Archive in Mexico, the film truly shines
on the screen. Skilfully directed with a direct simplicity
from a man whose early career was used to such ornate and
elaborate depths of imagery and intent, Buñuel's
talent is much in evidence, a fact witnessed by the turnaround
in critical opinion after his Best Director win at Cannes
in 1951. His extremely disturbing and hypnotic dream sequences
fit into the realism with such a precision that it's impossible
not to get caught up in their languid beauty, their deep
meaning and their horrid foreboding. It is beautifully
shot by veteran cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa.
To oversimplify the power of this movie in a review is criminal.
The humanity in it is so direct and unrelenting it is a masterpiece
of the potential and possibility of filmmaking to make a
difference in the world. Inducted into the UNESCO Memory
of the World Programme, which preserves documentary heritage
of world significance in 2003, this is a work whose importance
cannot be over stated. As a lacerating study of Mexican street
urchins it is compelling, timeless and universal. And a film
and a director who is brave enough to show how we are all
complicit and all ultimately responsible, is a revelation.
And though our actions may not be as overt or extreme as
Jaibo's and his kind, they are still based in the same root;
survival at any cost.
A real eye opener and a film that should not be missed by
any serious film connoisseur.
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