Tomi Haffety explores the portrayal of the Mexican elite during the 1982 Peso Crisis through Las Niñas Bien

Las Niñas Bien acts as a cinematic tribute to the legacy of Julio Iglesias, the Mexican Pesos Crisis of 1982 and all those who subsequently fell from the elite with one capitalist swoop. The 2018 film is the second feature by Alejandra Márquez Abella and follows the life of the exclusive Las Lomas neighbourhood’s ‘queen bee’ Sofia (Ilse Salas), as she navigates her privileges amidst the worst financial crisis Mexico had experienced.

Opening with a scene at Sofia’s lavish birthday party, filled with rare octopus and expensive wine, Márquez Abella familiarises the viewer to the lifestyle that the guests share. This is subtly introduced by their removed attitude toward the failing economy, even using it as a punchline to their after-dinner jokes. Living in a palatial house with live-in staff who have been around for generations, Sofia, the protagonist of both the film and the social scene, sends her children to international summer camps to expose them to the world outside Mexico, even warning them not to mingle with other Mexicans. Along with the other housewives, she enjoys uninterrupted tennis matches and lengthy pampering sessions. She is untouchable, or at least, that is what she believes until reality starts to slowly creep in, and creep it does.

Márquez Abella exhibits a great talent for using subtle symbolism to carry the story forward and as the plot develops and cracks begin to show in Sofia’s perfect life, these symbols are given free reign. Beginning subtly with the lack of water the morning after the birthday party and the neighbours packing large bags in the car to go on a ‘long vacation’, it becomes apparent that the world Sofia was so comfortable in is beginning to slowly change.

The minimalist score composed by Tómas Barreiro has the mesmerizing power of complimenting the story and the repeated clapping symphony, aptly named ‘the war of the applause’, plays when the plot hits a climax to emphasise the agitation and discomfort felt by Sofia. Costume designer Annai Ramos played a vital part in telling the story through fashion as the clothes that the women wear represent their pristine lives, and they act as a base for much of the plot, for example Sofia wears a sombre black dress on the night that everything seems to collapse. Cleaners are left unpaid; a skin rash develops very visibly over her neck and Sofia removes the foreboding black butterfly from the parlour wall- an action she was warned against by the gardener as removing it would bring only bad luck.

Sofia’s ignorance and selfishness are represented through her continued avarice at the expense of her husband whose sobriety begins to decline with his wealth. The desperation to continue life as before is palpable and as the plot develops, it becomes obvious to everyone apart from Sofia that she no longer holds the title of ‘queen bee’ and is beginning to be usurped by a younger, new money housewife, Ana Paula. In this case, Mexican colourism and elitism is apparent in the way that Ana Paula is of Mexican descent whereas Sofia’s family are recent immigrants from the ‘fashionable’ Spain. This holds true in the repeated references to Julio Iglesias who, in Sofia’s eyes, stands as the pinnacle of cosmopolitanism and class- both things she is striving to obtain, and then maintain. A powerful scene towards the end of the feature presents two sides of Sofia’s life: she is pampered by others as she gets ready for an evening meal but she is forced to shower with stagnant pool water following the restriction on hot water. The juxtaposition between Sofia’s ties to her old way of living and new, forced way of living is a powerful metaphor of her fall from grace.

Las Niñas Bien begins with Sofia reciting a fantasy that is not too dissimilar to her reality, but by the closing of the film exactly a year after the exuberant party, Sofia sits with her husband at a dinner with her young nemesis. Márquez Abella has perfectly critiqued the instability of capitalism in a ninety-minute feature. Highlighting the insecurity of the wealth elite through regular wide shots, whether it be at the private tennis court or the palatial décor of the exclusive mansions, Abella presents as much wealth as possible into the frame. Sofia’s dramatic fall from grace and replacement as a key figure in her social circle is brilliantly narrated through Sofia’s fantasies and a reality which becomes increasingly nightmarish.

Las Niñas Bien is artistically shot and both the leading and supporting actors, who are dominantly shoulder-pad clad women, transform the story from a Desperate Housewives satire to a masterful capitalism-critiquing feature.

Las Niñas Bien is now available to stream on Mubi. Watch the trailer here:

It’s festival season! The FilmSoc blog is covering the 75th Venice International Film Festival (29 August – 8 September), diving into the myriad of films and events on offer to deliver reviews.

Milo Garner reviews Carlos Reygadas’ newest drama. 

Our Time (Nuestro Tiempo) is a film that constantly teases beauty.

It features a strong thematic progression, in which a man must come to terms with the inescapable decline of his relationship. He must watch as his wife grows restless, as she stares into the eyes of another with a look once reserved only for him. He must juggle with the sense and nonsense of it all, through self-doubt and revaluation. He becomes cuckold not for weakness but desperation, some vain attempt to capture again what he has lost, to witness that which he covets so dearly. But he can only peek through the cracks; she is gone, even if it takes a long time for her to fully disappear. He is left dissolute, but nothing can be done. Their time, as it were, is done.

The cinematography is also of note. The gorgeous landscapes, the closeness of children at play, the vast open plains. The camera will often leave its subjects or allow those subjects to leave it, capturing an empty frame, an incomplete image. As structure and stability leave the central marriage, even the diegesis cannot keep it contained; again, the end is inevitable, no matter the platitudes repeated to one another. In other moments the camera will remain, but light will not. The vaguest of outlines might be decipherable, but nothing more. Again, a sense of something that is no longer there, not in any substantial way.

With this cinematography comes Reygadas’ eye for imagery. He shoots a rumbling desire through the vivaciousness of a timpani concerto, booming drums and roaring brass. Post-coital lust is visually felt through the parts of a car, its engine and axel, a wheel running through the mud. This mud will obscure the screen, and then reveal a memory, or dream. Memory itself is presented vicariously through Juan’s son, who is currently embarking on his own young, and illicit, love. His passion opens the film, unformed and precious as it is, and lingers in the mind as a constant reminder of what things once were. The other side of the film is bookended by a similar image of love and devotion – a man filled with tumours, sure of his death, but surrounded by those he adores and who adore him. Juan envies this dying man his surety of fate and the care afforded him. It is an idiotic jealousy, but one he feels truly, one that evidences how little he has left.

And yet I cannot say that I liked the film, despite a formal and contextual grounding as impressive as this. These elements fall through the gaping cracks of poor construction and loose structure, lost to a circular and monotonous pace. Nearing three hours, Our Time does not spread itself wisely. For more than the first third it stands as nothing more than de rigueur affair cinema, lacking any intrigue beyond a cheating wife and her suspicious texting. At this point the characters only have a very foundational development; the result is a sense of drifting through to nothing. I was sure this feeling would not last the whole film, but that I could feel it at all cannot be ignored.

The final two thirds introduce the main narrative, but suffer similarly with extended periods of uneventful drifting. It seems as though Reygadas intended to create a sense of the gradual or the glacial, a painfully slow coming apart, delayed at any opportunity. But his point survives without necessitating long and repetitive stretches of the same thing. Neither Juan or his wife are interesting enough characters to spend so long with, since only the former’s realisations offer the film any momentum at all. It becomes a back and forth that serves only to undermine the emotional impact a shorter film might have courted; a sad fate for such artistry as this.

By its conclusion, Our Time again brushes with the transcendent, with some incredible footage of bulls fighting and cavorting. An ambivalent fog strolls across the fields as these great beasts break and crash against one another, their hulking forms a manifestation of the tension the film so often – too often – withholds. One amongst them is tossed down a hill, defeated by his rivals. He is left alone, battered, dying. Juan, I would imagine. Not a subtle image, but evocative. It is a shame that little of the film before, so fertile in basis, can provoke to a similar degree.

5/10

Our Time had its world premiere at Venice Film Festival on September 5th, 2018. It has yet to acquire a UK release date. Check out its trailer below: