« August 2007 | Main | October 2007 »
September 26, 2007
Björk @ La Barranca
Tonight, Alberto and his lovely wive Roxana took us to a friend's British-style pub, Brit Public House. (More on that later, after I go back and take some photos.) At the Brit Public House they distribute a music magazine called "Ciento Uno" - small, free and famous for its pink pages - that covers musical events in Jalisco.
The edition for 7 September 2007 announces (and her web site confirms) that Björk will be performing on Saturday, 8 December 2007 in Huentitán, when ground will be broken for the construction of our Guggenheim. Unfortunately, no other details seem to exist, like how one can get tickets, how much they will cost, or where she will actually be performing. As of this date, the web site says she will be performing in the Huentitán canyon, which is also known as the barranca.
This is very strange and mysterious because, while people all know where the barranca is, there is no concert space whatsoever there. Will they build a temporary stage just for the event? Will she perform on the grounds where the Guggenheim will eventually stand? At this point, nobody knows. I'm dying to know though, as Björk is one of the few pop performers that I would go through the expense and hassle to see live.
Her performance here is part of an exciting trend in Guadalajara. As the second-largest city in Mexico, one would think that we would get big musical names here now and again, but up until about the end of last year, that just was not the case. Because the city is known as being very conservative (not like "conservative" in the United States, but more like "very traditionally Mexican"), many rock acts did not want to play here and tapatios generally did not want them here. Just this past year has seen a thawing of this attitude, with some very big international acts coming here, like Shakira and Ricky Martin. Granted, those two have a particular appeal to a Spanish-speaking audience; such is not the case with Björk.
More details as they become available...
Posted by crispy at 11:45 PM | Comments (1)
September 24, 2007
César Costa
Let's talk about César Costa. Not César Costa of São Paulo, but of Colonia Condesa, in Mexico's Distrito Federal. No, César Costa that was in La edad de la violencia in 1964, a surprisingly good teen exploitation flick by Julián Soler, actor-turned-director from the golden age of el cine mexicano.
Just like in the United States, the music and film industry decided to target what they perceived to be their teenage market with a completely fabricated view of teenage life. Yet where Annette and Frankie have fun in the sun, Mexican music movies were more often dramas that shocked, showing a grittier side of reality where good kids did not always come out on top and doing the right thing could cost a terrible price. In these films, César Costa always played a character that was hip, suave and ready to sing a song whenever the dramatic flow would allow.
He started out as the lead singer of a band that did Spanish-language covers of English-language pop hits, Los Black Jeans, whose debut album in 1958 had Plácido Domingo singing backup behind Costa. He was called "César Roel" at the time, but changed his name to its current form when the band switched labels and changed their name to Los Camisas Negras. The band broke up, and he recorded three solo albums that fared well. He recorded hits on RCA Mexicana, Velvet and Capitol Odeon.
In 1961, he starred in Jóvenes y rebeldes, directed by Julián Soler. This was the first of many films he would do in the genre of wild teens looking for kicks, singing songs and doing elaborate dances. He did four such films with Soler (Jóvenes y rebeldes, Si yo fuera millonario, La edad de la violencia, y La juventud se impone), and went on to do a lot of other work in film and television. In 2004, he was named an Abassador for UNICEF, and in 2005, he returned to TV to make "Ensalada César" on Canal Once.
I know him only from the 60s teen movies, shown on our basic movie channels. If I see that he is in a production, I feel the assurance that it will be of a certain quality and style, like Doris Day and Rock Hudson films. Dated, hokey and bordering on surreal, they remain well-executed and lovely to look at. César Costa has the suave cool of Bobby Darin, and the tunes he belts out are often already familiar to English-speaking viewers, being Spanish-language interpretations of hits by Fabian or Paul Anka. Some of his hits include versions of "Tiger," "Fever," "Mona Lisa," "Crazy Love," "Blue Suede Shoes," and "Teddy Bear."
He even did a Spanish-language version of "Sing, Sing, Sing," the song made popular by Benny Goodman and His Orchestra.
For someone from the United States who grew up seeing old teen musical films, it is really strange to see the Mexican take on them. Yet what is shocking isn't what is different, but rather how much is the same. I tend to recognize more than half of the songs in these films as tunes played regularly on oldies stations in the United States. Sure, they're being sung in Spanish, often with the lyrics completely changed, but they are still very familiar. The thing that is the most odd to me is that the Mexican films of this genre are just as whitewashed as the American ones of this era. With the sound down, you might not be able to tell the difference.
Posted by crispy at 03:10 AM | Comments (0)
September 19, 2007
The FM3 Process Begins
Today I went to the federal building downtown to start the process of getting an FM3, the non-resident alien visa that would allow me to live in Mexico for more than 6 months.
There are a few different types of visas for traveling and living in Mexico. As an American, you do not need one to travel into Mexico's border towns, but if you plan to go 18 miles (30 kilometers) or farther into Mexico, you need to have an FMT, also known as a "tourist card." That lets the visitor stay in Mexico (or make repeated entries and exits, for that matter) for up to 180 days. If you fly into Mexico, the fee (about USD $20) is included in your ticket price. If you cross by land, you have to pay this fee either to the agent at the border (in Tijuana, for example) or at a bank, once you are in the country.
The FM3 visa allows one to stay for one year, and it can be easily renewed each year for five years (after which one must re-apply). One can apply for an FM3 while one is in the United States, or he can 'upgrade' from the FMT to an FM3 after arrival in Mexico. The requirements for the application differ between doing it in the United States and doing it in Mexico, and interpretation of the requirements may differ from consulate to consulate.
Only those readers considering living long-term in Mexico will be interested in what follows, but for those folks, I hope it might give them a better idea of what is really required for an FM3 application (in the Guadalajara immigration office, at least, in September of 2007). When I looked things up online, the answers about the prerequisites only seemed to raise more questions, but I have now been to the immigration office and have found out exactly what they want. It should be noted that this is only half of the process. Officially, I have only submitted a request to apply for an FM3 visa, which means I have submitted all the paperwork, it will be reviewed for compliance with the regulations, and in about 10 days, they will inform me what I need to do to have the application processed and approved.
I will list what the instruction document says (typos and errors in grammar included) first, then I will relate what that actually means.
Fill out the application form, correctly and signed by applicant.
There is a form that one must get from the immigration authority (here in Guadalajara, it's the immigration office in the federal building downtown). It asks very basic questions, like the applicant's age, his address in Mexico, and country of origin. I filled this out while I was in the office waiting for my turn at the counter.
Original of the unexpired Migratory Document of the foreigner.
For me, this was the FMT that I got the last time I entered the country (in this case, flying into Mexico City as we returned from Buenos Aires). For nearly everyone applying for an FM3 within the country of Mexico, it will be the FMT that they got when they entered.
Original valid passport and submit a photocopy of each page, even if the pages are in blank. (You should submit BOTH the original and the photocopy to compare them)
Before going to the immigration office, I went to a papelería (paper store - these almost always can make copies for a fee) and had a copy of every single page of my passport made, including the cover. Yes, most pages were blank, and I had a big stack of copies as a result, but they will require it. You must not skip any pages or they will send you off to the papelería to try again. Bring along your passport to the office when you submit your paperwork, so they can verify that the copies turned in match the genuine article. After verification by the agent (while you wait at the counter), the passport will be returned to you.
Original and three photocopies of the receipt of immigration taxes payment of the corresponding fee of $444.00 per foreigner, for the concept of revision, exam, and study of the procedure, this payment shall be made with the form, key number 400001. Must be payable in Mexican pesos at any Financial Institute in Mexico.
(See how this can be confusing?)
There is an processing fee of MXN $444 for the application (distinct from the fee to be paid when one actually gets the FM3) that must be paid at a bank. It cannot be paid at the immigration office. We went to the bank with the form, filled out the form (again, just name and address stuff) at the counter, paid the 444 pesos and got a receipt of that payment. We were lucky in that the immigration office in Guadalajara has a copy center. We didn't have to stop somewhere else to get the three copies of the receipt, we did it as we waited to be called to the counter. They keep the original and two copies, and they let you keep one copy as your receipt of paying the fee.
NOTE. If your procedure is authorized, you must pay the correspondent fee.
This just means that if the request for an FM3 is granted, there is another fee. The aforementioned fee is only for processing the application.
Letter in Spanish addressed to the proper immigration authorities, the body of the letter must include your full name, current address, a request to change your immigration status and the reasons you decide it.
This is where it starts to get weird. Luckily, the woman at the counter told us verbatim what to write. I provide my letter here merely as an example; other applicants in other places at other times might have to write something completely different. It is advised that you ask someone in immigration what the letter has to say, and they will probably be very helpful.
I transcribed the following down by hand on a blank sheet of paper as the agent dictated it (and Larry and Charles repeated it as necessary). I turned it in just like that. It did not need to be typed.
Instituto Nacional de Migración
A quien corresponda:
Por medio de la presente me dirijo a ustedes, yo John Christopher Coen con domicilio en Avenida Cubilete [specifics deleted], Colonia Chapalita Sur, Zapopan, Jalisco 45050, de nacionalidad estadounidense, requiero mi cambio de características de turista a no inmigrante visitante rentista.
John Christopher Coen
19 septiembre 2007
Note there are really no reasons stated as to why I am applying. Perhaps that would be different if I were involved in a business. Then I might have to state the name of the business or the nature of the work I would be doing.
Proof of monthly income. The minimum total monthly needed is the equivalent of 250 times of the actual minimum daily wage in Mexico City.
Yeah. I don't know exactly how one would go about finding the current minimum daily wage in Mexico City [note: see link in comments below], but I'm presuming that 250 times that would be under USD $1500. Several sources I've seen cite this as the figure in dollars that foreigners have to have, although they never show their math. I suspect that the immigration office agents could tell you what this figure needs to be, but USD $1500 should cover it for the time being.
I took in printouts of the PDF files I download from the Wells Fargo site each month that are the only monthly statements I receive from them. It seems this is now very common - people apply with only computer printouts of their financial records - as the agent asked us (in Spanish, of course), "These are from the Internet?" They are obviously not statements mailed out from a bank; they are on 8 1/2 x 11 sheets of unfolded plain white paper, but those are the only statements I can get. Banks in the United States are not going to mail their account holders in another country. I'm not sure they even still send out print statements when their customers are in the United States.
There's a little note that says that if you own property in Mexico, you only have to have 1/2 of that amount monthly, but then you have to turn in notarized copies of the deed or trust. I don't own property here, so I can't say anything more about that.
There is also a section at this point that talks about the requirements if someone else is acting on behalf of the foreigner applying for the FM3. More or less, the representative has to have identification and power of attorney. Again, I don't know about that stuff because I did it myself (with a fair bit of help from Larry and Charles, of course).
You must present a photocopy of valid proof of address of the foreigner, such as Gas bills, telephone bills, water bills or electricity bills. (No more than 90 days old)
Long-time readers may remember my writing about how the electric bill is used for all kinds of identification and validation purposes in Mexico. Here it is being used to verify that I live where I claim to live. Nevermind that the electric bill is not in my name (it is in the name of some person that lived here before us, and not even the last person to live here before us). The fact that I have the electric bill in my posession is proof enough that I live at the address stated on the bill. Otherwise, how would I have access to it? (At least, that is the thinking behind it.)
I went with both a photocopy and the original, again for verification purposes, and they returned the original to me before I left.
The agent reviewed all my materials and upon noting that they appeared to be complete, she gave me a document that replaces the FMT she took from me. It is more or less just a letter, albeit a very official one, stating that I am in the process of applying for a visa, and this is why, should any official stop me and ask for my FMT, I do not have one. It also says that I am to return to the immigration office a week from Friday, on the 28th of September, when I will be given further instructions.
My understanding is, on that day, I will be told whether or not I will be getting an FM3, and what I need to do to finalize the procedure. This will include getting photographs of a specific size (similar to, but different dimensions from passport photos) and paying the fee for the visa itself.
The fee for the visa itself is rather high - on the order of a couple of hundred bucks, if I remember correctly. Even so, it's cheaper than airfare in and out of the country twice a year.
Posted by crispy at 08:23 PM | Comments (2)
September 16, 2007
La bandera nacional
Poemas Patrioticos Mexicanos, 1953
In honor of Independence Day, I bring you a patriotic poem from the book, Poemas Patrioticos Mexicanos, put out in 1953 by Editorial Olimpo, D.F.
LA BANDERA NACIONAL
¡Altanera
la bandera
la bandera tricolor,
nos inflama
con la llama
sacrosanta del valor!
De victoria
luz de gloria
de sus pliegues despidio;
y sus lampos
en los campos
de batalla reflejó!
¡Cuán hermosa
y orgullosa
en el mástil al flotar,
la admiramos
y aclamamos
en la tierra y en el mar!
¡Cuán divina
la ilumina
refulgente claridad:
que es doquiera
la bandera
de la santa libertad!
(Anonymous)
I bought the book when Tara was here at the used bookstore on Avenida Juárez, a block or two from the Madoka. It cost me MXN $20, which is a bit steep, considering the fact that all the pages are yellow, brittle sheets and many are cracked in half. Still, it was so chock-full o' emotional, nationalistic propaganda, I had to buy it.
After I got it home and started going through it, I discovered a few delightful treasures the previous owner had left behind. The first was this set of hand-crafted paper sheep.
Paper Sheep
The others were these photos of George Sewell and David Cassidy.
Photographs of George Sewell & David Cassidy
Posted by crispy at 03:05 PM | Comments (1)
September 14, 2007
Subtitle and Subtext
I indulge myself with the electricity it takes to have the television on while I write. It's mostly at night, and it accomplishes the softest light we can achieve in the apartment, barring those adventurous nights when the electricity goes out for hours and we have to rely on a bunch of candles. I often turn the sound down because Shawn is asleep. When I get deeply involved in what I'm writing - thinking about it, looking up references, checking the spelling, far too infrequently proofreading - I fail to look at the television for long periods of time. The darkness and the quiet that we get here throughout the wee hours gives an enveloping shell to my writing environment that helps me get the black on the page.
At times my writing involves my talking to myself in an empty room or an otherwise vacant apartment. After hours though, I try to keep any such conversations down to a minimal whisper, like I'm trying to impress myself in a dark corner booth of a dim lounge over a Scotch with my saucy reparté. Usually, it's a terribly unpolished pick-up, and I'm not having any of it. It's disheartening to be both flailing around uselessly in pathetic lines as you listen to how they make you sound like a corny hack. I can avoid that by turning off the volume and thinking the lines.
When I'm writing with the volume on the television turned up and I say what I'm writing or what I'm thinking, the program or commercial on television will chime in at a frighteningly appropriate moment with something amazingly prescient or beautifully non sequitur. When it is turned down, the Spanish-language programming doles this out in visual form, but programming originally done in English with subtitles in Spanish also gives it to me with silent words, mouthed like inaudible whispers.
Who can resist listening to a whisper? It demands that you listen. If it is intended for you, it often relates information of the utmost importance or maybe an offer of extremely titilating interest. If it is not intended for you, you feel like you're in on something. Delicious double entenres can be used in both spoken and written language. In subtitles it happens both ways: unintentionally funny words get used from time to time, and at times, the subtitle puts the tongue in the wrong cheek and blows the humor of a double entendre that is intended in the original. Sometimes it's amusing.
Last night, Diamonds are Forever was on one of the movie channels as I worked. I looked up at the end of the film, after James has saved the day and Jill Saint John has bounced herself voluptuously into the hearts of all the straight men in the audience with her inpired machine-gun and bikini bit, to catch a scene featuring the straight-as-Smithers assassins Misters Wint and Kidd. Wint and Kidd play the role of the villains (like Jaws in Moonraker), who come back in a comedic coda to tie up their not having been neatly dispatched through the carnage of the final fight scene. True to form, this mincing murder machine is trying to kill James Bond again, even though Blofeld is out of the picture and it is not clear that they have any motive other than their commitment to the bit.
The sequence opens with Bond and Tiffany Case Jones jousting with wordplay on the balcony of a luxury liner stateroom when they are interrupted by a knock at the door. Mister Wint and Mister Kidd are disguised as stewards, bringing an elegant gourmet room service meal that they claim is with the compliments of the rich Texan that James saved earlier. Mr. Wint details the menu while Mr. Kidd does theatrical reveals of each dish as it is detailed. For desert, they have a bombe suprise (pronounced like "BOMB-bh soo-PREEZ"), which, Mr. Wint briefly exposes to the audience as a fake, with a time bomb hidden inside. Cute.
Yet the Spanish subtitles render "And for dessert...bombe suprise" as:
Para el postre...un explosivo sorpresa.
or "For desert...a suprise explosive."
So much for subtlety.
Posted by crispy at 02:16 AM | Comments (1)
September 13, 2007
Independence Day
This Sunday, 16 September, is Independence Day here in Mexico. It's kind of like Cinco de Mayo, but for Mexico. Everyone cruises around with Mexican flags tied to their cars, there are big fiestas with plenty of beer, tequila, music and dancing, all in the name of a historical event about which the revelers know little.
I will waste no time walking the readership of this blog through the country's struggle for independence from Spain. There is plenty to read online, if that sort of thing interests you. (It is quite a fascinating history, especially the part where the decapitated heads of the four leaders of the independence movement were hung in cages from the corners of the Alhóndiga in Guanajuato.)
Shawn is upset because Independence Day falls on a Sunday this year, and unlike in the United States, it is not the custom for employers to give an adjacent day off when the national holiday lands on the weekend. He has to go to work on Monday just like every other week, but if the 16th fell on a weekday, he would get a paid day off.
Juan José, a co-worker of his, said that not getting a day off does not bother Mexicans. He explained that the partying always happens on Friday and Saturday night anyway, no matter on what day of the week the holiday falls. Since nobody parties on the actual 16th (except when the 16th happens to fall on one of those days), getting the day off does not really matter.
I think this illustrates quite nicely a difference between the Mexican and American states of mind. Of course, they are both talking about different things, really. Yet what each focuses on is very telling.
Americans maintain a certain sense of entitlement to justice of which Mexicans have been disabused through years of systematic injustice and living a little closer to reality. That is, there are a lot of things that probably should be different than they are in Mexico, and while Mexicans might agree, they do not waste too much energy getting upset about those things. Gringos can go on and on about how and why things should be different - at least 40% of this blog consists of that very exercise - often imploring our Mexican hosts to see the logic behind our reasoning. This probably just seems pointless to them; they do not understand why we allow what is already an annoyance to drive up our blood pressure and cause us greater frustration. We, on the other hand, wonder at times why they do not stand up for what is right and enact changes that would improve their lives.
This indifference is popularly known as valemadrismo, or in a rough translation to English, "just not giving a damn." The idea is that by dismissing the importance of an issue or an event (through not caring about it), one can circumvent the pain of heavy emotions or avoid pointless worrying about things beyond their control. In The Labyrinth of Solitude, poet Octavio Paz wrote about it, attributing the phenomenon to Mexico's indigenous heritage, but one sees it throughout la vida mexicana.
From an outsider's perspective, I understand this attitude by different terminology. To me, it seems like a kind of mass learned helplessness, or perhaps even an expression of depressive realism. Both of these terms are used to describe cognitive biases generally considered to be dysfunctional, at least by academics and therapists. Can it be that Mexicans are less troubled by negative outcomes because they share a national mental illness?
One sees an indifference that exists here toward all kinds of annoyances, from the merely uncomfortable to the life threatening. At times it is like waking up as Yossarian in your own private Pega veintidós, where everyone seems to be just fine with circular logic, repeated ad nauseum like a mantra, but nobody can explain what it means nor how they got there.
I often find myself in a discussion about something breaking, going wrong, or not coming together as expected.
"Why is the traffic so heavy on La Ermita?"
"Oh, you know the construction that they just finished a few months ago?"
"On López Mateos?"
"Yes. When they built the tunnel. They pipes they needed to put in to service this entire neighborhood properly are this size." Alberto makes a gesture with both his arms that is not unlike the body gesture for the "Y," when properly dancing to the song Y.M.C.A. by The Village people. "The pipes they put in were like this." He does a perfect performance of the ASL sign for ashtray.
At this point in such a conversation, I usually ask how such a ridiculous thing could have happened. Mexicans are often surprised that I ask this and rarely know the exact answer. The information about that does not pass down the grapevine like it does in the United States. I suspect this is because people here focus on the problem less.
At this point in such a conversation, a Mexican will often state a conclusion that is at once accurate and concise, sublime in its zen-like simplicity.
"So we are going to have a lot more traffic."
Since knowing the cause does not change the fact that mistakes were made, there is truly no point in knowing who to blame and why it was allowed to happen. I automatically think, "There must be a punishment!" I do not believe that I think that out of a simple thirst for revenge. I at least think that it should be prevented from happening again, and that the people responsible will held accountable for their mistake in some way. Is that not the way justice works? Are we not all in agreement that justice is a good thing?
Yet when I think about it, who am I kidding? I am a guest in a foreign land and I contribute very little to things that go on here. There might be a time where I have been here long enough to effect positive change in Mexican society, but at the moment, I barely understand the culture. What good does my indignation do anyone? Does anyone really want it? It seems like it just is not done here.
I let it go. And I feel a strange sense of freedom in just not caring any further about it.
Time and time again in worldwide surveys of happiness, Mexicans are some of the happiest people on earth, and they are consistently more happy than Americans. Of course, it could be argued that happiness is inextricably intertwined with expectations, and maybe Mexicans are only happier than Americans because they have lower expectations. Yet the bottom line is that happiness is a relative thing, and if one feels happy, how can anyone else argue that she is in fact, actually unhappy and merely does not realize it?
Is life truly that much more enjoyable here in Mexico? For me, it has been so far, but it might not always be. Life in Mexico can be hardcore. Some people here live in a state of poverty that is simply unknown in the United States. While there is great variation betweeen various parts of the country, it is part of the third world. Guadalajara is a major city with all the modern conveniences, but still, things come up from time to time that are very difficult to deal with mentally. For example, one of our friends here was driving along on the periferico, the freeway that circles the city, when all of a sudden, he saw a severed arm fly past his window.
Valemadrismo is a defense mechanism that helps Mexicans deal with things that are so horrible that it is unbearable to think about them, and a surprising number of those things happen. You wake up one day and your your savings account is worth half of what it was the night before. You are enjoying a night out with friends at a bar when soldiers from a local drug cartel come in with guns, force everyone to the ground, and toss a bunch of decapitated heads on the dance floor. The network of sewer pipes running through your neighborhood fill up with gasoline and explode, killing hundreds of your neighbors. It is difficult to get your head around such things, and a bit of denial can help people continue on with their lives in the face of such events.
It is easier to understand why people invoke valemadrismo with such extreme cases, but as an outsider, I see the same effect at work in all kinds of lesser situations, like employees not worrying that they get one less paid vacation day because what they insist is the important thing - going out to party - is not disrupted. The practice of valemadrismo still seems a little nutty to me when I witness it, because I am not used to accepting injustice or irrationality so gracefully. Still, I can see some value in valemadrismo. Chances are, next Monday morning, Juan José will be looking back fondly on the fun he had Saturday night, while Shawn will still be in a bad mood about being cheated.
Posted by crispy at 02:30 PM | Comments (0)
September 08, 2007
Truck vs. Stoplight: Round Three
Cubilete and La Ermita
I don't know what it is with trucks and our corner stoplight. It's like old Bavarian saying mentioned on Sprockets about a fat man and a sprinkler: They are soon together.
I was in the shower and Shawn was just laying down to take a nap. I heard this strange, loud noise through the window in the shower that opens up to Avenida Cubilete. It wasn't as much a bang as it was a creaking sound. There was a fairly bright white light, then things went back to normal. The sensation was a little strange though, like when you are party to a mild earthquake, and you're pretty sure you just witnessed something out of the ordinary, but then again, it might have just been an acid flashback. I was disillusioned of the latter when Shawn came into the bathroom and asked if I was alright.
I told him that I was fine, but I did hear a strange noise. He ran to look out the window and saw the telltale sign of something gone wrong: a collection of the neighbors all standing out in the street looking at something. Then he noticed the stoplight pieces all over the ground and the wires dangling from the poles.
Hanging Power Lines Stopping Traffic
He came back into the bathroom to report that someone had yet again hit the stoplight. I told him to take some photos (the first is his, from our balcony), and I hurredly rinsed off, toweled down and got dressed to go snap some others outside. When I went out, Juan, the guy that runs the cool laundromat across the street came over and he filled me in. A moving van ran into the top part of the light and bent it 45° to the north, knocking out one of the lights and breaking the power lines servicing it. Then some other neighbor came over and started talking to him about it. The other neighbor told Juan that he'd reported it to the police and then they started chatting. Since I had nothing to add to the conversation, I just snapped some more photos and went back inside.
Juan Talking With A Neighbor
This is the third time since we've been living here that a truck has hit the stoplight on our corner. Since we've lived in this apartment now for 20 months, that means that someone takes it out every 6.66 months.
The Broken Stoplight
Usually, the city comes out and replaces the stoplight pretty quickly - within a couple of days. At present it's a safety hazard because of the drooping power lines. After the sun goes down, cars passing through the intersection are not going to be able to see the downed power line as well, so hopefully the CFE will come deal with that a bit sooner.
Posted by crispy at 01:37 PM | Comments (0)
September 07, 2007
Mala Noche
Shawn and I went to see Gus Van Sant's first feature film, Mala Noche (1985), last Sunday. It was showing at the Videosala [previous entry], and it was our first time seeing it. That is not much of a surprise, given that it has only just recently been released on DVD, and it did not get wide circulation in 1986.
It is based on a novel by Walt Curtis, a street poet from Oregon. It is an autobiographical tale, wherein Curtis has an unrequited love affair with a young illegal alien from Mexico and experiences all the thrill, frustration, and hassle that comes with that relationship. Curtis is much older than Johnny, who claims to be 18, but might even be 16, a detail that Van Sant changed because he felt people would be disgusted by a gay autumn-spring romance - no, obsession. I disagree with that, but I admit that it is easier for me to assert that now, 23 years after than Van Sant had to consider the matter, in the world after L.I.E.
It is interesting to watch the film in Mexico, because it deals with Mexicans outside of their country, living as aliens among gringos. Watching it as an alien gringo in a Mexican context, it takes on the air of a State Department production featuring the pitfalls of coming illegally to the United States and not choosing one of the acceptable, socially prescribed paths for living and working illegally. It's melodramatic. It's black and white (for the most part). It's done on a low budget, but it has a beautiful style. Viewing it abroad, I was reminded of Soy Cuba. The foreign land seemed exotic, in an earthy, sexy way. There is a celebration of freedom, but the foreigners are excluded from the party, even though, through their history, the two countries go way back. To them, the message is: you'd better watch your step.
That is not Van Sant's intention. He exposes inequities that exist in the United States in the simple telling of the story, and they are not rationalized away by the end of the film. There is no more sinister subtext. He just tends to do stories about social misfits, and life can often be gloomy, the situation can often get quite grave, for misfits.
Furthermore, I do not expect that any Mexicans would actually take that away from the film, although to be honest, I have no idea what that dozen or attending my screening thought of it. They all got up and left at the end without much fanfare. Maybe they were miffed because it was obvious to them that the role of Johnny wasn't actually played by a Mexican, but rather a South American Native. Such slight of hand works easier in the United States where, to a lot of folks, all brown people look alike. Mexico? Guatemala? Ecuador? What's the difference? Maybe they were shocked to see poor and homeless gringos portrayed in the film. That is not something we see down here every day.
Mala Noche will join the Criterion collection shortly.
Posted by crispy at 12:16 AM | Comments (1)