Section A - New Mexican Cinema by Alastair Bartlett

SECTION A

Nuevo Cine Mexicano

SECTION A

Nuevo Cine Mexicano

SECTION A

Nuevo Cine Mexicano The areas of investigation within a “National Cinema” study include: • The relationship of films to their immediate political, economic, social and cultural contexts, especially in terms of themes and forms of representation • The relationship of films to their (possibly distinctive) contexts of production and reception • The significance of either individuals or collectives of people within a nation in shaping a distinctive kind of cinema • Comparisons to Hollywood This study does not require a comprehensive coverage of the period – and it is permissible to cover a shorter period, as long as there is some significance in the films chosen and their relationship to the national cinema to which they belong. It is expected that two principal films will be chosen, supplemented by one or two further films that may have been studied more briefly. Each of the two principal films must be by a different director as this is not an auteur study.

The study should focus not only on the films themselves but on their contexts, exploring the viability of studying film by reference to the ‘national’. FOCUS TEXTS: AMORES PERROS (INARRITU, 2000) Y TU MAMA TAMBIEN (CUARON, 2001). SUPPORTED TEXTS: WE ARE WHAT WE ARE

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Historical Context THE GOLDEN AGE (1930-1960)

imcine

During this period Mexican cinema had high-success, and surprisingly it was predominantly due to their relationship with US. Mexican cinema was brought to the attention of Hollywood. US stars (such as Orson Wells) were travelling to Mexico to make films but also Mexican stars were being courted by Hollywood.

• Founded 1984

Unprecedented economic growth and prosperity, good relations with US led to increased revenue and access to technology.

MEXICAN CINEMA DECLINE (1960-1980’s) As America turned its direction towards horror, so did Mexico. However, regulation and censorship was tightly controlling what was projecting on to the screens of a highly-populated Catholic country. This resulted in a crash of Mexican cinema.

Institute of Mexican cinema

• 1989 IMCINE campaigned for removal of government control • The campaign was successful so control was lifted. However, this led to funding being removed

Nuevo Cine Mexicano / New Mexican Cinema (1990’s-present) In an attempt to repair the Mexican film industry, the government sponsored the production of new film. Amores Perros & Y Tu Mama Tambien are films part of this movement. These films have received international success and part of its appeal is the strong sense of realism (influence from context).

pri

11th Richest Country 53 Million in Poverty 80%+ Catholic

1929-2000 The Institutional Revolutionary Party is a Mexican political party founded in 1929, that held power uninterruptedly in the country for 71 years from 1929 to 2000, first as the National Revolutionary Party (Spanish: Partido Nacional Revolucionario, PNR), then as the Party of the Mexican Revolution (Spanish: Partido de la Revolución Mexicana, PRM).

Tlatelolco massacre of 1968 The first four decades of government of the PRI are dubbed the “Mexican Miracle”, a period of economic growth through substitution of imports and low inflation. The improvement of the economy had a disparate impact in different social sectors and discontent started growing within the low classes. In 1968 Mexico City became the first city in the Spanish-speaking world to be chosen to host an Olympic Games. Using the international focus on the country, students at the National Mexican Autonomous University (UNAM) protested the lack of

democracy and social justice. President Gustavo Díaz Ordaz (1964–1970) ordered the army to occupy the university to suppress the revolt and minimize the disruption of the Olympic Games. On October 2, 1968 student groups protested at the Plaza de las Tres Culturas. Unaccustomed to this type of protest, the Mexican Government made an unusual move by asking the United States for assistance. The CIA responded by sending military radios, weapons and ammunition. During the protests shots were fired and a number of students died (officially 39, although hundreds are claimed) and hundreds were arrested. The President of the Olympic Committee then declared that the protests were against the government and not the Olympics so the games proceeded.

Corruption Mexico functioned as a one-party state and was characterized by a system in which politicians provided bribes to their constituents in exchange for

support and votes for reelection. This type of clientelism constructed a platform through which political corruption had the opportunity to flourish: little political competition and organization outside of the party existed; it was not possible to independently contest the PRI system. Political contest equated to political, economic, and social isolation and neglect. The party remained securely in power, and government accountability was low. Mexico’s geographic location has played largely in the development of the country’s role in organized crime and drug trafficking. Not only is Mexico adjacent to the world’s largest illegal drug market – the United States – but it also borders Central America, a region of nations with a similarly high demand for drugs. This positions Mexican drug cartels at an advantage; demand for drugs is not simply confined to the Mexican state, but rather it extends to several other nearby countries. Because of this, Mexico’s borders are especially crucial to drug cartels and Transnational Criminal Organizations, which can exploit the borders as a passageway for contraband and as a method for consolidation of power. The Mexican government has historically accomplished very little in terms of effectively curbing the offenses of these TCOs and cartels, and has often actually been complicit in aiding their actions.

MEDIA Among the institutions organized crime pervaded and manipulated were the media. Many TCOs violently attacked media sources that reported stories of the gangs’, cartels’, and military’s abuses and relationships with political elites. Consequently, many news organizations

simply stopped publishing stories about the crimes. Freedom of expression and speech were increasingly limited as the media experienced violent disputes. Outside of TCOs, state apparatuses also worked to keep negative stories under wraps. “Violence affecting Mexico’s border cities…has silenced the media, in a clear demonstration of the power that criminal enterprises exert over border society in drug war times…Aiding the enforcement of…silencing is the… complicity of the state itself…Due to the corruptive and coercive nature of organized crime – coupled with the weak and…corruptible state security and political institutions…, media organizations are left with no room for bias-free decision-making processes regarding the reporting of any news/ notes about organized crime.” Compared to other Latin American countries, Mexico has the lowest rating for freedom of the press. Press freedom watch groups have found that the country is one of the most dangerous in the world to be a professional journalist. The international human rights group Article 19 found that in 2014 alone, more than 325 journalists experienced aggressive action by government officials and organized crime, and five reporters were killed due to their line of work. Furthermore, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists, since 2005, at least 32 journalists have been killed because of their profession in Mexico.

“since 2005, at least 32 journalists have been killed because of their profession”

1989

1929-90 Mexico’s “official” party, was the country’s preeminent political organization from 1929 until the early 1990s. Opposition parties posing little or no threat to its power base or its near monopoly of public office. This situation changed during the mid-1980s, as opposition parties of the left and right began to seriously challenge PRI candidates for local, state, and national-level offices.

National Democratic Front Party appointed Ignacio Duran Loera as director of the Mexican Film Institute (IMCINE). His approach and policies were directly responsible for creating the conditions for the New Mexican Cinema movement. Loera campaigned for the repeal of the government’s right to decide what films would be made As a result, govt. funding withdrawn Forced into international co-productions (e.g. Japon) Additional money = new ideas = New Mexican Cinema born.

1976 The coming to power of José López Portillo stricter censorship and encouraging the return of private investment to reduce the involvement and responsibility of the state. Portillo’s 6 years saw increased production (94 features in 1981) but lower production values and fewer films dealing with difficult social themes.

1982 The presidency of Miguel de la Madrid bought renewed hope with the establishment of the Mexican Film Institute (IMCINE) and the encouragement of a wider diversity of product in both political and aesthetic terms.

1940-50

1990

The Golden Age of Mexican Cinema: During the 1940s/50s the full potential of the industry developed. Actors and directors became popular icons and even figures with political influence on diverse spheres of Mexican life. Mexico dominated the film market in Latin America for most of the 1940s without competition from the United States film industry. During World War II movie production in Mexico tripled. The Mexican government encouraged the production of films that would help articulate a true Mexican identity, but glossy compared to new Mexican Cinema.

New Mexican Cinema born: During the 1990s the work of IMCINE and the two excellent film schools, the CUEC and the CCC began to have an impact on the Mexican filmmaking talent pool, including Del Toro, Cuaron and Inarritu. New generation of filmmakers who wanted to tell new stories Focus on realism – sense of the everyday and familiar struggles Themes of poverty, violence, crime, failing relationships/society Neo-realist style Replaced the gloss of the Golden age of 50s Mexican Cinema Desire to reflect contemporary Mexico The European Influence Italian neo-realism (in terms of themes) French New Wave (style) Move towards a more personal style (authored?)

2000-2006 Vicente Fox presidency - His term in office marked the end of 71 years of uninterrupted rule by the Institutional Revolutionary Party (PRI). Focused on ending government corruption and improving the economy. He succeeded Ernesto Zedillo as president of Mexico. Fox focused his early efforts on improving trade relations with the United States, calming civil unrest in such areas as Chiapas, and reducing corruption, crime, and drug trafficking. In 2001 his administration introduced constitutional reforms that strengthened the rights of Mexico’s indigenous people.

2000 Amores Perros - audacious directorial debut of González Iñárritu, a DJ and commercials director distinct in that he was neither a product of the Mexican film schools nor a beneficiary of IMCINE support

2002 El Crimen del Padre Amaro by Carlos Carrera IMCINE-funded. The tale of a recently ordained priest who is sent to a small parish church to assist an aging Father but there begins an affair with one of his flock. Reflection of the star power of Garcia Bernal, interest in locally produced films and the provocative subject matter = 365 Mexican screens. It remains one of the highest grossing pictures in Mexican cinema history.

contextual timeline

2001 Y tu Mamá También - the work of a more experienced filmmaker returning home from Hollywood for a personal, partly privately financed project. Both films featured the poster-boy looks and electrifying screen presence of Gael García Bernal, whose role in the renaissance cannot be overlooked; each was confident, stylishly shot, and structurally complex. Moreover, these films were thematically provocative in their treatment of prescient social issues and thrillingly forthright in their willingness to address the ills afflicting contemporary Mexican society. Both pictures were hugely acclaimed at global film festivals and achieved domestic and international commercial success.

Amores Perros (inelegantly translated as Love’s a Bitch) brutally thrusts the viewer into its complex narrative with such lacerating visceral impact – dogs, careening cars, blood, smoke, screaming, handheld camerawork and jagged cutting – that it seems odd to refer to this opening as comforting, but, in a way, it’s true. Within only minutes, one is able to breathe a sigh of relief, sensing that Amores Perros will be the electrifying work of a dauntless filmmaker, and the remainder of its 154 minutes fully confirms this initial impression. That Amores Perros is a first film makes this confidence even more impressive. The directing debut of 38-year-old Mexican filmmaker Alejandro González Iñárritu, the film interweaves three separate stories through the metaphorical motif of dogs owned by the protagonists of each tale and with the narrative collision (literally) of a car accident that involves all of the film’s characters. The first and arguably most gripping story involves young Octavio’s love for his brother’s wife and his discovery of the family canine’s skill at dogfighting. (The ferocity of these sequences has led some to mistakenly believe that the dogfights are authentic). The film subsequently shifts to Valeria, a model disfigured in the car accident, and her increasingly strained relationship with Daniel, who has just left his wife. The final story is that of El Chivo, an embittered, vagrant hitman estranged from his family who seeks redemption and change. Iñárritu’s interwoven triptych structure has led some critics – including those who should know better – to make the inevitable Tarantino comparisons, but the film’s humanism, richness of characterization and insight into Latino culture suggest more of a hybrid of Altman and Buñuel. For a film with such a necessarily nonlinear construction, however, it remains – like Pulp Fiction and Go in previous years – the most narratively engrossing film of the year. Iñárritu began his career as a DJ and music producer in Mexico, vocations that bear an influence on Amores Perros both directly and conceptually. The film is driven by a forceful soundtrack, with Mexican rap and hip-hop seamlessly blending with acoustic ballads and Celia Cruz classics, interlaced through Gustavo Santaolalla’s droning, melancholic score. And Inarritu’s stylistic approach mirrors this musical eclecticism, as the film’s full-

throttle introductory account of Mexico City’s impoverished ultimately transforms into a more sober, contemplative treatment when the film looks at the city’s privileged classes. These tonal shifts have undoubtedly contributed to the criticism that Iñárritu’s creative potency declines sharply after the superlative opening story, but this argument tends to ignore the tender, subtle triumphs of the latter two episodes. Iñárritu’s narrative technique is not without its problems – for example, his decision to incorporate significant elements of the more sedate second and third stories into the first tale occasionally diminishes that section’s highoctane momentum – but it’s difficult to recall a recent film of such substantial length that utilizes its running time as expertly. Amores Perros had already won two awards – the Grand Prize at the International Critics’ Week in Cannes and the Best Director prize at the Edinburgh International Film Festival – by the time of its North American premiere at the 2000 Toronto festival, where Filmmaker spoke with director Alejandro González Iñárritu. FILMMAKER: Tell me about your working relationship with writer Guillermo Arriaga. IÑÁRRITU: We became very close friends a few years ago – it was like finding a lost brother I didn’t know was in the world. I had read a script that he wrote that was never shot, and I fell in love with the dialogue and the humanity of the characters. Then we wrote a short film that was also never shot, but that became the seed of what happened later. Mexico City has so much going on that it was difficult to capture it all with just one story. So we decided to play with three stories. We had too many things to say, so this structure helped us. The writing process took three years. FILMMAKER: Were the three stories always designed to interconnect with linking characters, or was there ever a point when they stood as three separate, unrelated tales? IÑÁRRITU: Well, the idea was to make a movie about love, death and redemption, focusing on the painful process of learning to love somebody. So deciding when and how the characters’ paths would cross was a tough decision, because that’s what makes the difference between three short films and a

whole movie divided into three stories. From the beginning, we decided that the accident would be the main thing, that it would explode in the center of this universe, and the pieces would balance out, even when we would go backward and forward in the structure. The car accident exposes the fragility of life – you make plans, then you go out and a car crash changes everything. FILMMAKER: At what point did you introduce the canine metaphor? Was that always a part of the story, or did you come up with that later as a linking device? IÑÁRRITU: No, that was always a part of it from the beginning. The first title of the movie – which I didn’t like – was Black Dog, White Dog, but then [Emir] Kusturica’s film [Black Cat, White Cat] appeared. But from the beginning the movie was a metaphor: black dogs, white dogs, rich people, poor people. That element was always there. FILMMAKER: Was it hard to get this first movie off the ground in Mexico? IÑÁRRITU: I was very lucky – the producers, from a new company named Altavista, were very brave, and they loved the script. They actually jumped at it and joined together with my company, Zeta Film, and they have a lot of guts to have done that. But you know, the most difficult thing is not the money. It’s just getting a good story. Once you have the story, there’s money waiting somewhere. FILMMAKER: To what degree do you see Amores Perros as being a uniquely Mexican story – a portrait of Mexico City and the dogfighting world – as opposed to a more universal story? IÑÁRRITU: I think it’s a very universal story because it’s a very local story. That’s what makes Amores Perros a story that can touch anybody. I’ve shown the film at Cannes and here in Toronto, and it’s strange how different cultures and sensibilities can connect emotionally to the material. But I never really show Mexico City in the film; you can never recognize it in the movie. To me it’s only the battleground for the emotions in the story. I never wanted a scenario that would say, “Look at what’s happening in this city!” But people who’ve been there tell me they could smell Mexico City in the film,

they could breathe the same air. The film is an exploration of how and why Mexican society has lost our fraternity and [also] an exploration of parents: the father doesn’t exist in the first story, the father leaves in the second story, and the father returns in the third story. We’re a society that had been ruled by a 71-year-old party, and the change was a painful process. This picture appeared in Mexico two months ago and was a big box-office success. Why? I think that if this movie appeared only one year ago, people would not have been ready to see ourselves and have the courage to change. But now people have hope and a new attitude. It’s a social and political change in Mexico, and it’s painful, but it’s the only way to confront yourself. FILMMAKER: There have been rumors that the dogfights in the film are real and resulted in injury to the animals, but the closing credits contain a disclaimer stating that the animals’ welfare was monitored. How did you go about achieving those sequences? IÑÁRRITU: First of all, I have a dog and I love dogs. It was very complex and difficult to reproduce a real dogfight, to achieve a level of realism without hurting the dogs. I hired an American guy who supplies animals for all the feature films in Mexico, and all of the actors were trained to handle the dogs; it was a lot of work. During shooting I tried to construct emotional stress within the dogfight scenes but put very little explicit footage of the actual dogfights. FILMMAKER: That’s true – we only see the dogs connect very briefly, and then you cut to the faces of the actors. IÑÁRRITU: Exactly, because it’s not about that; it’s only one element of the first story. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but I felt I had to show the blood because I wanted to unnerve people, since that’s how I felt when I went there to actual dogfights, in order to reproduce them. I thought, “They’re going to kill me.” But the way I did it was, we took invisible fishing line, painted it the color of the dog’s hair and attached it to them. These dogs are also trained for personal security, so they’re trained like this, and to them, they’re playing. Sometimes they would start making love in the middle of the scene; it was very funny. With the handheld camera and the sound design, it seems real,

but if you pause the DVD, you can see the technique. When they were supposed to be dead, we would inject them with a veterinary anesthesia for 20 minutes — their owner was always there, shouting, “No more than 20 minutes!” I treated the actors worse than the animals! FILMMAKER: The visual design of the film is also very distinctive, very high-contrast, shot through with vibrant colors. Tell me how you collaborated with cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto to realize this look.

“I think life is an ongoing process of loss — you’re losing things all of the time.” IÑÁRRITU: I thought the material demanded a very specific aesthetic. The architecture and colors of Mexico City can be so kitsch, but it has a beauty all its own. It has a lot of character, and I wanted to achieve that very vibrant feeling. I love the work of Nan Goldin, so the first meeting I had with Rodrigo, we looked at a book of her work, and I told him, “This is the look I think I need.” So we began to make experiments in the lab, and our conclusion was to use this Vision 800 color stock, with a silver-retention process in the negative. It was the second time in the world that anyone used this. In the United States they say they don’t want you to do that because it’s very risky. But it gave us those electric earthtones, and it was terrific. I think it really helped the movie — it has something you cannot explain, but it makes it different. Maybe we lost our negative, but we’ll have it on DVD. FILMMAKER: Amores Perros is the type of film that displays a real passion for, and knowledge of, cinema. Who were some of your influences when you made the film? I know some critics have postulated Tarantino, which I don’t really see. IÑÁRRITU: [Laughs.] The Tarantino thing is funny — I think people have credited Tarantino with the invention of the three-

story structure, but what about Faulkner and García Márquez? And there have been so many films that have used it too, but suddenly Tarantino gets the credit for that. I don’t have anything to do with Tarantino, except for maybe the approach to violence more than the structure. I live in a violent city, and when you live in a violent city, you’re not going to make a fairy tale or a comedy about that. Violence has very painful consequences, and that’s my statement. But I have a lot of directors that I admire. The classics, like Bergman, Fellini, Buñuel, Tarkovsky, Leone, Scorsese, Cassavetes — I love Cassavetes. I’m a pretty eclectic guy in that sense. But lately, the people that really shake me are Lars von Trier, Wong Kar-wai and Ang Lee — they are approaching films in new ways. FILMMAKER: Perhaps it’s only appropriate for a film called Amores Perros (Love’s a Bitch), but your movie has a somewhat bitter take on love and human relationships, and most of the film’s main characters wind up pretty unfulfilled at the film’s close. Does this reflect your own personal view of relationships, and can you foresee happiness coming to any of the film’s characters after the events in the film? IÑÁRRITU: I think life is an ongoing process of loss — you’re losing things all of the time. These characters lose many things by the end of the film: innocence, lust, love, hope. Yet at the same time, learning to love somebody, and learning to love yourself, is a very painful process. Love is a very dominant emotion, and it can be very destructive at the same time — it depends on the way you’re using it. Man has a divine nature and an animal nature, and when the animal nature controls you, your decisions are going to have a lot of consequences. For me, this movie is about how these characters that I love — weak characters, not strong characters, people that can really be broken — go through that painful process of learning in which [one gets] a little better. To my point of view, that’s life. At the end, even with all the circumstances, there is hope because you can change your life, you’re the owner of your destiny. And we can redeem ourselves with love — that’s the only way we can be more than flesh and bone.

Deciphering Amores Perros: Three Recurring Images & What They Mean 1. THE CAR CRASH: AN ACCIDENT 2. DOGS & DOG FIGHTING: PETS OF FATE ARE LIKE THEIR OWNERS Amores Perros opens with a frenetic, fraught car chase. A dog is dying on the back seat while its owner tries desperately to evade those pursuing him through the busy streets of Mexico. The chase ends in a cataclysmic crash that pulls together three different stories – a man’s lust for his brother’s wife, a model coping with dramatic career and relationship changes and an absent father’s guilt. This car chase appears numerous times throughout the film from these different perspectives: the model is a victim of the crash which throws her life into chaos and the father a passerby who rescues a dog from the wreckage. But this tragic event is not just a flimsy device to tie the film’s strands together, it is an accident of chance used to explore Iñárritu’s compelling theme of fate. The transient connections between lives – the unexpected, fleeting crossovers – suggest a bigger, metaphysical presence in the universe. In the moments leading up to the second and third times we see the car crash, we anticipate it, we can feel it is about to happen. But we’re always shocked when it does. The context is different each time and so are the angles it’s captured from, more details are revealed. This peculiar blend of anticipation and surprise draws our attention to the interconnected nature of life. As we’ll see from the next recurring image, Iñárritu grounds these gargantuan ideas in the atmospheric, carnal violence of humanity and the painful physicality of separation. Most importantly though, in his subtle use of the car crash, he creates a space for us to make up our own minds about our place in the universe and whether fate really does exist.

The brutality of human existence, the cruel reality of love, is explored through the animals of Amores Perros. In the film’s first story ‘Octavio and Susana’, Octavio (Gael García Bernal) is lured into the underground world of dog-fighting. Needless to say this is not a film for sensitive dog lovers. There are frequent images of dead animals, their fur matted with dark red blood. When two dogs are pitted against each other, teeth bared, reared on their hind legs, thrashing at their collars, Iñárritu unleashes the full force of carnal violence. This selfish, brutal under-world symbolises the instinctive side of human nature, and what happens when we give in to it: a theme that runs throughout the film as a whole. Yet the dogs in Amores Perros are also symbolic their owners. Octavio’s dog Cofi begins life as a pet but degenerates into a fierce, brutish animal. His owner Octavio follows a similar path of degeneration as he lusts after his brother’s wife, becoming sexually aggressive towards the woman he covets and increasingly violent towards his own brother. As a result of the accident Cofi ends up in the hands of disheveled hermit and contract killer, El Chivo (Emilio Echevarría), where he attacks and kills the other animals El Chivo has rescued. It’s one of the film’s most devastating, bloodthirsty and brutal scenes and it marks a crucial turning point in El Chivo’s story. Just like his new owner, Cofi is a trained killer. El Chivo’s realisation of this – of the destruction he has caused in his own life – motivates him to change. But once a dog, or even a man, has learnt to be this way, can he change? Richie, the dog belonging to model Valeria (Goya Toledo), is entirely different from Cofi. He’s a cute, fluffy, friendly lap dog, well kept and beautiful. He’s decidedly middle class. But Richie’s plight reflects that of his owner

too. Richie becomes trapped beneath the floorboards of Valeria’s apartment while she comes to terms with the loss of her leg following the accident. Valeria desperately calls for him but Richie fails to come out. He whines and whimpers but will not come. Valeria cannot control Richie any more than she can control her own life. They are both trapped in their own prisons and neither escapes unscathed.

3. THE PERFUME AD: BEAUTY, LOVE AND THE MEXICAN CITY Throughout Amores Perros, a perfume advert for ‘Enchant’ appears plastered onto buildings across the Mexican city. It shows Valeria in a suggestive pose, teasing up her short dress to reveal long elegant legs. In Valeria’s story the poster hangs across the street from her apartment providing a cruel reminder of her disfigurement. Valeria’s relationship with partner, Daniel (Álvaro Guerrero), which initially began as an affair, is tested as she comes to terms with the loss of her physical beauty. Throughout Valeria and Daniel’s story, the advert reminds us of love’s tests and the fragility of lust. Outside of ‘Valeria and Daniel’ the recurring perfume advert evokes the divisions between the middle and lower classes. Valeria’s loss of beauty and flimsy position as a ‘the other woman’ might appear superficial in comparison with the problems of Octavio and El Chivo, but her pain is no less real. Octavio fantasises about making big money so that he can runaway with his brother’s wife. Meanwhile El Chivo has eschewed a more comfortable life and lives, instead, as a hermit in an abandoned building, walking the streets with a cart full of stray dogs. Iñárritu has spoken of his interest in the lives of the less advantaged. In his debut, subtle cues remind us of society’s divisions.

Going to the dogs No sooner had Amores Perros won a prize at the Cannes film festival than the RSPCA rushed to attack its bloody scenes of dogfighting. Arguing that “context is no defence”, the society declared: “Anything which involves goading or cruelty to animals is unacceptable.” That debate could now become more than academic. Following its British premiere at Edinburgh, Amores Perros (Love’s a Bitch) is about to be picked up by a major UK distributor for release later this year. The film’s director, Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, insists he was scrupulous about not harming any animals during filming. Despite realisticlooking scenes in which dogs leap at each other, fangs apparently primed to bite, a lot was done in the shooting and editing - “the same way I’d avoid hurting somebody in a car accident”.

The dogs were wearing plastic muzzles apparently clearly visible if you freeze-frame the film on video - while the ones that appear dead and bloodied were made up and drugged for 20 minutes at a time. The film’s animal trainer is very respected in animal welfare circles, Gonzalez Inarritu says - “and he used his own dogs, so he cared about them”. In Mexico, where the film has been a big hit, the press hardly commented on the animal cruelty question. There will certainly be more of a problem here. The British Board of Film Classification is rigorous about films that show or even suggest animal violence, saying: “Baiting animals is a no-no as far as we are concerned, no matter how good the film is.” While the subject matter could be a serious obstacle to British distribution, Gonzalez Inarritu is open to suggestions about cuts.

“If it was just frames, maybe. But if they wanted me to take out the dogfights, that would be impossible. They are part of the motion of the story and the characters.” The movie is an intricately plotted portmanteau of three stories, linked by a car crash and told at car-crash speed. The first story has a group of poverty-level kids getting involved in the illicit and extremely violent dog-fighting scene; the second is a macabre Tale of the Unexpected about a supermodel, a luxury apartment and an ill-fated lapdog; and the third features an itinerant hitman who moves through different levels of city society, bringing all the strands together. Gonzalez Inarritu insists that context is very much a mitigating factor, and that the dogfighting theme is part of an overall panorama of life in his home town. “I wanted to make a film about Mexico City, where there are millions of dogs. The dogfight is a cruel reality. But more than the fights, we were interested in the relations between dogs and people.” He and his screenwriter, novelist Guillermo Arriaga Jordan, took on the city with Balzacian ambition, tackling it on various levels, from low-life to penthouse. “Many Mexican directors,” he says, “are scared to shoot in Mexico City, which is why there are many stories in Mexican cinema about little rural towns, or set a hundred years ago. It’s difficult to shoot there, not just technically but because it’s such a complex mix. All the city’s frontiers are falling - now you see rich districts where there are a lot of poor people.” The three stories in Amores Perros are more or less true. The character El Chivo (The Goat) was based on a story that Arriaga had heard about a teacher who disappeared to join a guerrilla cell and was never seen again (in the film, he becomes a hitman). The story in which a model’s lapdog is lost under her floorboards is also based on fact. “But in real life it ended when they noticed a bad smell from under the floor.”

The film’s intricately twisted structure has a ring of Pulp Fiction, but Gonzalez Inarritu isn’t a big fan of Tarantino. “I like the way he plays with structure - but I don’t know why he gets the credit. It’s really William Faulkner; it’s a literary structure that has existed for a long time.” And Gonzalez Inarritu insists he takes his violence very seriously. “When you live in a city, as I do, where violence is really in the streets and people die every day, there’s nothing funny about it. We try to show that violence has a consequence - when you create violence, it turns against you.”

“I wanted to make a film about Mexico City, where there are millions of dogs. The dogfight is a cruel reality. But more than the fights, we were interested in the relations between dogs and people.” Although Gonzalez Inarritu only attended two fights himself, he insists that his lurid vision of the dogfighting underworld is “very, very accurate. Thirty per cent of the people in the movie are real people from the dogfighting world, and we used some real fighting dogs. It’s shown the way they do it, in empty swimming pools and backlots. The people can be dangerous - there are drunk people, druggie people, violent people, and some of them take their children of four, five years old. But I don’t judge them. For them it’s like bullfighting or going fishing - for them it’s natural, something you do on a Saturday.” Gonzalez Inarritu admits he was afraid to handle the animals himself: “These dogs are real motherfuckers.” One animal used in the film was a security dog, trained to leap at a person’s chest, and able to break ribs in the process.

1. OCTAVIO, SUSANA & RAMIRO A car crash is the pivotal scene that involves, and effects, all three narratives and serves as a narrative arc – in Story 1 (like Pulp Fiction chapter headings are used) Octavio and Susana fall for each other, but not before Susana leaves Octavio’s brother, with whom she has a child.

Octavio starts to win money, illegally fighting his Rottweiler dog, and sees this as his opportunity, until a fight goes badly wrong (he is swindled out of all of his winnings) and he flees the scene (after killing his assailant, ending up in a car crash). Brutal scenes of violence punctuate the narrative.

Octavio falls in love with Susana and yearns for her, even listening behind a door while she is having sex.Their life is poor, both Octavia and his brother have menial jobs, and Octavio decides the only way to seduce Susana is too become the provider and amass enough money to run away with her.

2. DANIEL & VALERIA Audiences are introduced in Story 2 to Daniel and Valeria – Valeria is a stunningly beautiful and successful model, who is having an affair with wealthy, successful businessmen Daniel. Daniel eventually chooses to leave his wife and sets Valeria up in an exclusive apartment, where they both start living with panoramic views of Mexico City, including a huge billboard poster of Valeria modelling outside in the street.

it and goes to work, only to find on his return that Richie has disappeared down the hole chasing a ball and is nowhere to be found.

Their new life is going well until Valeria is involved in a car crash, badly injuring her leg and ruining her modelling career. She leaves hospital with her leg in a calliper and confined to a wheelchair; she spends boring days in the apartment recuperating with only her beloved dog, Richie, for company. Daniel accidentally steps on some badly fitting flooring and a hole opens up – he has no time to fix

3. EL CHIVO El Chivo is the central character in Story 3 and the key protagonist of the film; an ex businessmen turned hit man he is now down and out, homeless living with his dogs in impoverished accommodation. El Chivo yearns to see and meet his daughter who has rejected him, and who he has not seen for years after El Chivo’s wife left him. He is a clever and enigmatic character who tracks down his daughter, watching her from a distance and eventually breaking into her apartment and leaving a coded message for her not to forget him; replacing a picture of her Stepfather in a photo frame with one of himself. The secondary narrative surrounding El Chivo involves a naive, frustrated but wealthy

businessmen, who approaches El Chivo through a third party, requesting him to assassinate his business partner for a considerable amount of money. El Chivo agrees to this request, but also witnesses a car crash involving Octavio and Susana and Daniel and Valerio. He rescues Daniel’s dog from the car and tends to his wounds, only to find one day, when he returns home, the Rottweiler has attacked and killed all of his other dogs. El Chivo then decides it is finally time to move on.

THEMES & MESSAGES.

MASCULINITY

CAPITALISM

ENTRAPMENT

MATERIALISM

LACK OF FAITH

ABSENT FATHERS

CLASS DIVIDE

JEALOUSY

VIOLENCE

This isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t all of the themes and messages within the film. Can you think of any more? How do these themes and messages link with certain scenes within the film? How do these themes and messages link with context? Look through your work book and see if you can make these links...

director profile

Alejandro González Iñárritu BACKGROUND

Born in Mexico City, 1963. Before he started his media and film careers, he worked on cargo ships and lived in Europe and Africa. He has returned to places he has visited to shoot films. He returned to Mexico to major in communications at college. In 1984 he became a radio host at WFM, Mexico’s most popular rock music station, where he “pieced together playlists into a loose narrative arc”. Iñárritu has stated that he believes music has had a bigger influence on him as a director than film itself. “telling stories to people, trying to keep them entertained for three hours. That was my training as a storyteller. You create stories with music, you create soundtracks for the lives of the people in the city - four million listeners every day.” During the early 90s he later became the youngest producer for Televisa, the largest mass media company in Latin America. He worked as a television producer and directed promotional spots. In 1991 he founded his own production company, Zeta Films, through which he created high-profile commercials and shorts . From 1987 to 1989, he composed music for six Mexican feature films. During this time, Iñárritu became acquainted with Mexican writer Guillermo Arriaga, beginning their screenwriting collaborations (Amores Perros, 21 Grams, Babel).

Iñárritu on Amores Perros Gonzalez Inarritu insists that context is very much a mitigating factor, and that the dogfighting theme is part of an overall panorama of life in his home town. “I wanted to make a film about Mexico City, where there are millions of dogs. The dogfight is a cruel reality. But more than the fights, we were interested in the relations between dogs and people.” “Many Mexican directors, are scared to shoot in Mexico City, which is why there are many stories in Mexican cinema about little rural towns, or set a hundred years ago. It’s difficult to shoot there, not just technically but because it’s such a complex mix. All the city’s frontiers are falling - now you see rich districts where there are a lot of poor people.”

Y TU MAMA TAMBIEN.

It is the story of two cute guys from Mexico City, Tenoch and Julio, played by Diego Luna and Gael Garcia Bernal (from Amores Perros). Young and dumb, they take a road trip to a distant beach with a glamorous but troubled older woman, Luisa (Maribel Verdu), and get an education at her hands that is anything but sentimental. From the first frames, it reveals itself as an outrageously, uproariously sexed-up piece of work, stylishly directed by Alfonso Cuaron from a script by his brother Carlos. The camera, in one of many unobtrusively long takes, noses into the bedroom of Tenoch who is shagging his girlfriend Ana with all-nude, slack-jawed, buttock-pounding fervour. Like the maladroit boy himself, the director does not believe in warming his audience up with narrative foreplay, and it’s the same story when we cut to the family home of Julio’s girlfriend, whose parents allow him into her bedroom to help her look for her passport, and she gleefully wrenches her tracksuit bottoms down.

“It looks like it’s obsessed with sex - but actually this film is obsessed with death” The two girlfriends go off on a summer holiday trip to Italy, leaving our heroes with no outlet for their permanent hormonal uproar, other than to lie on the diving boards of a local swimming pool, their wrists a blur, wanking themselves into a frenzy of boredom and frustration. Like sex, masturbation is treated with an unapologetic frankness rarely found in our genteel anglophone cinema. The new object of the guys’ fantasies: the beautiful, enigmatic Luisa, whom they’ve met at a grand society wedding (Tenoch’s father is a dodgy politico). Before they know what’s happening, she agrees to head off with them on a journey of discovery: a three-way love romp on wheels. It looks like it’s obsessed with sex - but actually this film is obsessed with death. The paradox is often carelessly invoked, but Cuaron’s movie really does pull off the trick of mingling the ideas of sex and death, showing their blood relation. Every so often, he cuts out the soundtrack, emphatically, almost crudely, and has a voiceover point out some grim point of interest along the roadside: the corpse of an anonymous construction worker hit by a car because the pedestrian crossing was inconvenient for the building site; later, there’s a roadside memorial for a horrific crash 10 years before. While the three get high in the car and gigglingly discuss the merits of inserting a finger up the

anus during intercourse, Cuaron’s directorial gaze gets distracted by the sight of three sinister cops roughing someone up. The voiceover provides an extraordinary dose of severity, combining social analysis, political insight and an unflinching glimpse into the secret lives of these apparently ingenuous young boys. It is as if the American Pie DVD had a director’s commentary by Susan Sontag or JK Galbraith. All the time, the death theme continues underneath. After quite a bit of weed, Luisa tells her two companions about her first sexual experience; then she tells them the boy died, at the age of 17. Their age. Later on, Luisa, her face clouded with obscure melancholy, tries to teach a little girl to float in the sea “like a real dead body”. And what is it that Julio wants to listen to on the car radio? Not rock’n’roll, not Latino music, not dance music. What he wants is Brian Eno’s desperately sad By This River: “You and I/ Underneath the sky that’s ever falling down, down, down/ Ever falling down.” Luna and Bernal give nicely spontaneous, natural performances, the kind that Cuaron has apparently been able to elicit just by placing the camera in front of them and letting them riff, while cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, who shot Ali and Sleepy Hollow, provides him with fluent, loose, daringly protracted steadicam shots. Lubezki and Cuaron find riveting images and cameos, perhaps genuine discoveries from their location work on the road: an old lady does a jigging little dance in the kitchen of her bar, and a placid village festival queen, dressed like a bride, smiles at passers-by while her neighbours solicit pious donations. As Luisa, Verdu is sexy, tender and poignant. She provides the movie’s ballast and maturity, a kind of mediating influence between the boys’ puppyish vigour and the cold, pitiless detachment of Cuaron’s voiceover - and she has the best line in the picture, exasperated with her quarrelling travel companions: “Play with babies and you end up washing diapers!” Her aplomb is shown most obviously when she finally invites them into her room for the muchanticipated threesome, and manoeuvres them into kissing each other. After working on English-language movies such as A Little Princess and Great Expectations, Cuaron has made a triumphant return to his native Mexico City. This film is an exhilarating adventure in narrative, eroticism and social commentary.

Charolastra Manifesto: 1.

There is no greater honor than being a Charolastra.

Do whatever you feel like.

Pop beats poetry.

Get high at least once a day.

You shall not screw another Charolastra’s girl.

Whoever likes Team America is a fag.

Whacking off rules.

Never marry a virgin.

Whoever roots for Team America… (it’s worth repeating)

10. Truth is cool, but unattainable. 11. The asshole who breaks any of the previous rules loses his title of “Charolastra.”

Luisa Manifesto: 1.

I won’t screw either of you. You can screw each other if you like.

I’m going to sunbathe naked. I don’t want you sniffing around like dogs.

I pick the music.

The moment I ask, please shut your mouths.

You cook.

No stories about your poor girlfriends.

If I ask, stay 10 yards from me. Or better 100.

Obviously you do all the manual labor.

You may not speak of things you don’t agree on. Even better, just keep your mouths shut.

10. You’re not allowed to contradict me.

Revisiting ‘Y Tu Mama Tambien’: A Political Perspective “You are lucky to live in a country like this…Mexico. It exudes life everywhere.” So says dental hygienist and sex-goddess Luisa Cortés (Maribel Verdú). Alfonso Cuarón’s Y Tu Mamá También, often remembered by viewers as a boundary pushing coming of age story, is equally as much a deeply perceptive portrayal of Mexico and a few of its inhabitants. Although the scenery in Y Tu Mamá También, especially scenes on a phantom beach called “Heaven’s Mouth”, is breathtakingly stunning, Cuarón is careful to point out that this “beautiful” country as Luisa calls it not only exudes life, but also death. The film is challenging to categorize. On a surface level, Y Tu Mamá También is a quintessential road movie, following two pubescent, sticky teenage boys accompanied by an unlikely bedfellow in the form of a married Spaniard named Luisa. The plot seems to be a perfect equation for the latest Mexican sex comedy. However, the detail and grace that Cuarón pays to these characters and their country results in a much more affecting and even tragic journey than the typical genre film. We are first introduced to Tenoch (Diego Luna) as we watch him having sex with his equally libidinous girlfriend, quickly followed by a scene of Julio

(Gael García Bernal) following suit. The audience is immediately aware of the differences between these two best friends, as a recurring voiceover explains that Tenoch—a boy from an upper class political family—is allowed to spend the night with his girlfriend, whereas Julio must return in the evening to his working class mother. The two boys’ girlfriends are on their way to Europe for the summer, leaving the protagonists to manoeuvre their way through a summer filled with theoretical sex, drugs, masturbation and alcohol. Throughout the film it becomes clear that, more than anything, Tenoch and Julio are on a journey to find themselves, trying to become what they think is “cool” and “manly”, and more often than not contradicting these conceptions. Neither of the boys care much about politics, although the issue permeates every facet of their lives and is often times reflected in them and their interactions. Tenoch doesn’t want to enroll in economics, although ends up pursuing this route on the orders of his corrupt Harvard educated politician father. The boys show contempt at the protests occurring in Mexico City, although Julio’s sister is an activist demanding change. Even Tenoch’s name is inherently political. But the boys choose to disregard

their overtly political, corrupt and even disturbingly unequal surroundings. Instead they live in their very own testosterone filled bubble. At a bridal party they end up meeting Tenoch’s cousin’s wife, Luisa. She is seen in a clingy white dress that leaves little to the imagination. Tenoch and Julio begin to drunkenly and clumsily flirt with her in an almost predatory fashion. They invite her on a made-up road trip to a fictitious beach called Heaven’s Mouth, purely as an act of both jest and domination, expecting to be disregarded. And initially they do. But due to circumstances beyond her control, including an intoxicated admission by her husband that he has been unfaithful, Luisa decides a road trip with two rambunctious teens may be just what she needs.

“You are lucky to live in a country like this…Mexico. It exudes life everywhere.” Tenoch and Julia attempt to put on a façade of knowledge and masculine control, sticking to the story that Heaven’s Mouth in fact exists. They pass exaggerated tales back and forth, bragging about their sexuality and their partying in hopes of impressing the fantasy woman who has somehow found her way into their car. They even reveal to her their Manifesto, signed in blood. The two boys are “charolastras” and have proclaimed, among other things, that a hit is happiness, morals are less important than jerk offs, one must never marry a virgin or screw the other’s girl, and although truth is great, it is unachievable. If any of the rules are broken, they lose the title of “charolastra”. The two protagonists are inherently bonded thanks to this manifesto, despite their drastically different home lives. Although overt clashes never occur between the classes, the tensions still deeply penetrate the film and its characters. It is revealed that Tenoch uses his foot to lift up the toilet in Julio’s house, something he also does at the cheap motel, exemplifying his degrading attitude towards the working class. On the other hand, Julio tries to fit in with the upper class, lighting a match to mask the smell after using the restroom at Tenoch’s house. These simple revelations by the voiceover narrator reveal the undeniable division between classes and attitudes in the country, despite an image that they live harmoniously together. While driving through the country, the narrator reveals that they are travelling through the hometown of Tenoch’s nanny, who migrated to Mexico City at age 13 and began working for his family. Until age 4, Tenoch called her

Mom, suggesting that these divisions are culturally manifested issues. Yet they still must remain—Tenoch chooses not to speak about his nanny, despite the revelation that he is in her birthplace. Mexico itself also can’t resolve these differences. Just because political change was permeating the country in the early 2000s, it didn’t mean that the nation was instantly a stable democracy. Cuarón makes this clear not only by drawing parallels between the country and the characters, but also through the objective yet omniscient voice over, which constantly makes sure to not only reveal what the landscape has suffered in the past, but also what injustices or inconsistencies may occur in the future. We hear of deadly car accidents that happened in the past, expensive hotels that will ruin a family’s future, and deadly infections that have yet to arrive. Cuarón also uses the camera to reveal the country in ways that the characters choose to avoid. For example, when a poverty-stricken man comes begging at a restaurant, he is quickly appeased and disregarded by the protagonists. But the camera leaves the characters and explores the other individuals in the space, including the lower class women working and dancing in the back room. The audience often is directed towards citizens being stopped and interrogated by police. We also see a bride blocking a country road, asking for “contributions for the queen”. This scene is in direct contrast to the party scene that Tenoch’s family attends at the beginning of the film, also featuring a young bride of a drastically different class. Just as Mexico itself attempts to put up a façade of maturity and authority, when in fact inequality and corruption pervade, these teenage boys cannot stick to their manifesto. Luisa stirs up their homeostasis and the differences between the two protagonists become more pronounced, resulting in viscous competition. They denounce each other as “charolastras” and sling class-based insults back and forth in an attempt to both dominate and reestablish balance. When they do make peace in a homoerotic moment, it becomes very apparent in the bright sober light that this reconciliation will not, and cannot happen. The world simply does not work in this way, despite efforts by Luisa to educate and pacify them. In the end, the film comes off as not only a character exploration, but also a political and social commentary on Mexico during the early 2000s. We are constantly reminded that although this may be a fresh day, the problems, inequalities and injustices of the past still pervade, and that the carefree ignorance of youth can only last so long. After having childish fun, everyone must face reality.

THEMES & MESSAGES.

MASCULINITY

SEX

SELFISHNESS

LACK OF LOYALTY

LACK OF FAITH

NATIONAL IDENTITY

CLASS DIVIDE

JEALOUSY

OLD VS NEW

director profile

ALFONSO Cuarón Born in Mexico City, 1961. Cuarón studied philosophy at the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM) and filmmaking at CUEC, but dropped out because he was an “arrogant brat” who had his own ideas for film direction. At the CUEC, he met the cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. Lubezki & Cuaron - Y Tu Mama Tambien, Children of Men & Gravity Lubezki & Inarritu - Birdman & The Revenant. Cuaron worked on television production in Mexico as a technician and then a director. Cuarón made his film directing debut in the United States with two literary adaptations—A Little Princess (1995) and Great Expectations (1998).

Cuarón ON Y TU MAMA TAMBIEN Alfonso Cuaron has become well known for his cinematic style and ability to create groundbreaking special effects, most notably in Children of Men and Gravity. For Y Tu Mama Tambien Cuaron wanted to do the opposite. He wanted to get rid of the traditional tool filmmakers were using to make films. In a way he was rebelling against they way people believed movies had to be made in Hollywood and he embraced a philosophy similar to the New Wave and Neorealism, Cuaron stepped outside of the studio in order to capture life as it is. He utilized a documentary style camera thus making setups lighter and getting rid of traditional locked off shots. Cuaron is quoted as saying, “I wanted to make the film I was going to make before I went to film school…” This movie would draw on similarities from the American road movies such as Easy Rider. But Cuaron wanted to make it in Spanish and highlight the real world of Mexico, its people, culture, and land. Thus with minimal technical setups and an outlined script that was worked out during production, Cuaron and his cast and crew were able to create a film that depicted life in Mexico while coupling it with a fictional story. This was key for Cuaron, as he wanted to both reveal life and entertain, which many didn’t believe should be done when creating a film of this nature.

ExaM technique. Plan In the exam, you will have 6o minutes for Section A - allow yourself 5 minutes to put together a plan.

• Key points and scenes • Quotes/research of context • Structure

Introduction How would you start? Introduce your texts

• Mexico film industry • Nuevo Cine Mexicano (New Mexican Cinema) • Key developments • Suggestion of influence (FNW & INR) • Introduce filmmakers • What was similar (refer to question) between films • Make suggestions of points you may cover • Context

Example Mexican cinema has an interesting history. Who knows where it could be today if it followed the path of Hollywood as it had a parallel Golden Age through the 1930s-50s, but it was regulation and censorship that blocked this perhaps successful path. It was genre in the 80s as Hollywood popularised Horror, Mexico turned its back on these anti-Catholic visuals and themes. However, it was a more paranoid and self-aware government that tore down the curtains on Mexican film industry; during the 90s, there were whispers of government corruption and this didn’t fall well on a society that was defined by a growing division of rich and poor and by the 90s this was half of the population. However, IMCINE was formed in the 90s, privatising the film industry and releasing the shackles of censorship and political agenda. Leading the change during a movement known as Nuevo Cine Mexicano were Cuaron and Inarritu, directors of Y Tu Mama Tambien (YTMT) and Amores Perros (AP) respectively. Both directors schooled and exposed to French New Wave and Italian Neo-Realism, clearly influencing the style and themes of the films. YTMT and AP films were daring in content. The characters were having sex, violent, committing crime and consuming drugs. This was a new horizon for Mexican cinema and in particular its effect on Mexican audiences. Cuaron has defined the release of YTMT as a sociological event because it gave its young people the confidence to tackle issues. Both film’s characters are defined by their position in society, and this representation of class gives them little purpose and identity. Their situations are defined by their class, a theme contextually driven; a society crying for political change to reidentify its country and was on the brink of doing so.

Main Body PEDAL Point

Directly respond to the question and make your point clear and precise.

Evidence

Refer to construction and make sure you use correct and appropriate key terminology

Develop

The meaning and response - link to ‘answer’

Answer

Make sure that you are answering the question within your paragraph. This is often just evidenced with a phrase or sentence by reinforcing your original point now that it has been developed.

Link

A short sentence can provide a transition to the next point. In addition… Alternatively...

Conclusion Link back to the question and draw conclusions from the points you have developed.

PASt questions.

• How far do the films you have studied for this topic deal with specific national themes and issues? • With reference to image and sound, what are some of the ways in which filmmakers have created the sense of a distinct national cinema in the films you have studied for this topic? • How far has your understanding of your chosen films been increased by placing them within a national cinema study? • ‘Such is the dominance of Hollywood that it is very difficult for filmmakers to develop a national film style.’ How far is this true of the films you have studied for this topic? • How far can it be said that the films you have studied for this topic reflect national themes in the stories they tell? • How far has a broader study of national context given you greater insight into your chosen films? • By comparing the cinematic styles used in the films you have studied for this topic, is it possible to identify a distinctive ‘national cinema’? • How useful is it to study films by reference to their national cinema context? • How important is a broader knowledge of your chosen national cinema in understanding and appreciating the films you have studied for this topic? • How far is it possible to identify similar representations of either people or situations in the films you have studied for this topic? • What have you discovered about your chosen national cinema from making a comparison of major themes in the films you have studied for this topic? • How far is it possible to identify stylistic features of your chosen national cinema? Refer in detail to the films you have studied for this topic. • Having studied your chosen films, discuss how far it is possible to pick out cinematic features that create the impression of a ‘national style’. • How far have your contextual studies informed your understanding of characters and their situations in the films you have studied for this topic? • Discuss the representation of gender and/or sexuality in your chosen national cinema. Refer in detail to the films you have studied for this topic. • What may be some of the qualities of your chosen national cinema that contribute to its international appeal? Refer in detail to the films you have studied for this topic.