1.

Film 11: Crimson Peak, Amazon $4

Crimson Peak follows Edith, a wealthy American heiress, following the death of her father after

she marries a British baronet, Thomas. I had heard a lot about this film prior to its release, and

basically already knew how the film was going to end. It detracted from my enjoyment a little

bit, but overall, I thought this was a good film. To me, this film is the epitome of Del Toro. His

fascination with monsters and ghosts has always been an easily recognizable trademark of his

films. While I thought this film fell into a few of the cliches of a gothic romance story, I still

thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere of the film, particularly the production and costuming. Yes, I

get it, the whole “crimson peak” thing is frighteningly fitting for the horror story. I’m sure once

we discuss this film in class that I will realize more of the underlying themes, but that’s yet to

come. Typically I’m not a huge fan of horror films, but I noticed that Del Toro doesn’t fall into

the typical jump scare traps that many cheap horror films do. His use of creeping, gangly ghosts

is horrifying and works every time. On the costuming front, I can’t say how much I enjoyed the

gothic suits and dresses, particularly the one Lucille wears as she is running down the stairs

while covered in blood. I remember reading about her costuming once, and basically, her clothes

are supposed to match the house more and more as the movie progresses. The final dress she is

wearing is a metaphor for the billowing, empty house of pale wallpaper stained with her blood as

the red from the clay. Additionally, in general, I just really enjoyed the main trio of actors. I

don’t think this was my favorite of the Del Toro films we’ve watched this quarter, but I also have

no complaints. Finally, the line that Lucille Ball has where she’s explaining the “horrors that we

do for love” is quite possibly the best part of the film.

2. R11. Tierney pp. 235-238

In this reading, Tierney notes the similarities of ​Crimson Peak​ to Del Toro’s other films, as well

as how Del Toro mobilizes the horror genre to match his ideas. Similarly to his other films, the

main character of ​Crimson Peak​ is a young, innocent girl. Most of the important characters in

this film are girls, actually. Supposedly the revelation that the ghosts of Allerton Hall are trying

to help Edith instead of harm her, as well as the aristocratic backstory, are representations of how

in a capitalist, misogynistic, homophobic, and monagomous world, there exists the “women and

children” who are constantly repressed and turned into ghosts. While we think that the ghosts are

menacing at first, it turns out that they are not. This narrative of oppression is also implied as the

reason for Thomas and Lucille’s behavior. Personally, I can understand and see where Tierney is

coming from as she makes this point. However, I wonder if this was Del Toro’s actual intention?

Did Del Toro mean for ​Crimson Peak​ to be interpreted this way, or is Tierney’s interpretation

one of many? As analysts, it’s easy to pull deeper meaning out of works of art, but I wonder if

things like this are meant to be as complex as Tierney and others would imply. I feel like I

watched a good horror film, with great acting and production. Though I might have been

supposed to interpret it against themes of systemic oppression, I saw the movie for what I

thought it was: a gothic horror-romance. I don’t think movies require any deep, underlying

political theme to be good, nor would I want them to. I enjoyed this more for its unique horror

style, and I have no desire to change that. I neither agree nor disagree with Tierney’s point of

view, but I do find it unnecessary in the grand scheme of things. This is probably a general theme

I’ve experienced with Del Toro’s films, and maybe even some of Innarritu and Cuaron’s as well.

I don’t always want to think that hard when I’m watching a movie.
3. R12. Tierney, Brazil: Introduction, pp. 123-136 and Ch. 7, Fernando Mireilles, pp. 123-160

I thought the differences that Tierney pointed out between Brazilian and Mexican films were

interesting. For example, the fact that all Brazilian films up until just recently received

government financial support was surprising to me. In general, I guess the thought of the

government intervening and providing financial to the film industry, or the art industry in

general, was something I didn’t expect. One usually doesn’t expect film to be essential to

international diplomacy or anything like that. I guess it makes sense when you consider the fact

that films can really influence worldwide opinion on a particular subject, or the country in

question. It’s rather hopeful to see that there are governments that put value into their cultural

industries, because they are often more important than they seem. On the subject of Miereilles

films, I have to agree with Tierney on her disagreement with people who would discount his

films because they seem too postcolonial or stereotypical. The problem with stereotypes is not

that they are untrue, but they are incomplete. Secondly, I find “cancel culture” so tiring, and this

includes immediately discounting films because the director isn’t the “correct” race. People’s

criticisms of ​The Constant Gardener,​ fail to take into consideration the small parts of the film

that make its meaning much deeper than first glance. In general, I dislike the idea that one’s

identity prohibits them from being about to tell a specific story. I think it’s incredibly

counterproductive and only serves to divide the film community. It’s easy to look at Meirielle’s

films and disqualify them based on arbitrary reasons, but I really appreciate the investment and

sensitivity with which he made ​City of God​. In my opinion, the grit and violence doesn’t feel

excessive at all. I don’t think he’s trying to say that all favelas are violent and drug riddled, but

that is certainly the case for some of them.

4. R13. Article 5: Nagib

The information in this article was actually really interesting! Of course, since I don’t speak

Portuguese, I hadn’t noticed any of this in the film, although the article appears to be arguing that

the importance of language in the film is more diminished than that of the book. The idea of

there being different “classes” of language doesn’t surprise me at all. What this reminds me of a

lot is one of my favorite books, ​The Help​ by Kathryn Stockett. That book in particular follows

the lives of African American maids in 1960s Mississippi. The language in that book is English,

but, for lack of a better term, “Black/Southern English,” so to speak. There were words like

“Law” instead of “Lord” and uses of “they” instead of “they’re.” I’ve since learned in my

linguistics class that though we label dialects like that as “improper” English, it really isn’t.

Language is changing all the time, Black/Southern English is really just another valid, version of

English. Similarly to what the author says about the film, the significance of the language

Stockett chose to use isn’t as prevalent its film counterpart. Thinking back on the choice of

language, it really does provide a sort of immersion into the reality of the story’s setting, in both

cases. To have made a story centering on people from the favelas that wasn’t in the language of

the people would’ve been a disservice. The way the language and the depictions of violence

work together in the film was also a good talking point that I thought the article went over.

“Words fail, Bullets Talk” is an astounding quote that fits the theme of the film well. The film is

a study on people who glorify violence, whether by their own influence or others’, but isn’t itself

a glorification of violence. Though I wonder if upper class Brazilian audiences’ opinions of this

film were colored by the film’s languages choices, if any. I agree with the author’s statement that

people can sometimes think they’re using language for realism’s sake, but not actually.
5. Film 12: City of God

Since we had just finished this class’ segment of The 3 Amigos, I was honestly expecting a

downgrade in quality of films that we were watching. I was pleasantly proven wrong by ​City of

God.​ This kind narrative structure, the kind where the film begins at a certain moment and

recounts all of the events that led up to it, is something I’ve seen many times, and yet it still fails

to disappoint. Particularly in the films, where the backstories of each character are complex and

monumental enough to cause a ripple effect. The feeling of everything clicking into place and

making sense is so satisfying. Another thing that I noticed about this film was its approach to

displaying violence. The creators of this film really tried not to glamourize the violence in the

film, and I think they did a pretty good job. It never felt excessive, but the weight of each

horrible act of killing or otherwise still made its mark. I was particularly surprised by the

boldness of the film’s inclusion of two children being shot, and even a child shooting and killing

other people. Even days after watching it, the rape scene still makes me very uneasy. The

violence is there as an act of honesty, and the “coming of age” style of each character’s story

really drives home the fact that kids who see that violent adults are normal will become violent

adults themselves. It’s so disgustingly poetic that the film ends with another group of kids all 10

or younger waving guns around in victory after they have killed Lil’ Z. They claim their actions

to be a work of justice, but we all know that they will grow to be no different from him. I am just

absolutely stunned by this movie. One of the lines that Rocket says multiple times is, “It’s not

time to tell his story yet.” Maybe it’s just me, but that seems like an implication to the audience.

When is it time to tell your story? Will your story mean anything? Or has it just flashed by

without consequence? I will spend many nights pondering these questions.

6. R14. Tierney, Ch. 5, Walter Salles, pp. 161-186

One thing this reading briefly discussed that I had never considered was the road as a metaphor

for privilege. This is most exemplified by the scene in Motorcycle Diaries where Ernesto and

Alberto are speaking to the communist couple fleeing from the police. I think this was probably

the most powerful scene in the film for me. The couple asks Ernesto and Alberto if they are

looking for work too, and when Ernesto says no, they wonder why Ernesto and Alberto are

travelling in the first place. Ernesto’s realization of his privilege is clear when he must admit that

he and Alberto are travelling to travel. In this sense, the road represents the unlimited freedom

that the two men have, in direct opposition to both the literal and social standstill many

disadvantaged groups find themselves stuck in. Another aspect of this idea was the motorcycle

that Alberto and Ernesto ride. It’s old, but nicknamed “The Mighty One” in the film. What I

noticed in regards to it is that the real transformation of Ernesto and Alberto doesn’t quite happen

until the motorcycle fully breaks down and they are forced to walk. As their journey becomes

successively delayed for various reasons, they are forced to stop and see instead of stop and look.

Had the motorcycle functioned properly the whole trip, the pair would’ve had an easy out to

uncomfortable situations or wouldn’t have slowed down enough to notice anything substantial at

all. It all fits together once you really think about it. I realize that Tierney mentions some

discrepancies between Salles’ film and Che Guevaro’s original book, some of which include

accusations of oversimplifying. I’ve seen enough of my beloved books being adapted into

movies to know that it’s impossible to get everything correct in a normal run time, but I would

argue that the spirit was indeed captured.

7. Film: Motorcycle Diaries

I really appreciate this film as both a coming of age film and a politically charged one. We’ve

watched a lot of Gael Garcia Bernal’s filmography in this class, and I have to say that I’m

becoming a fan of his. It’s accurate to say that we, the audience, are akin to Ernesto Guevara. We

also start out the movie cheerful and full of hope, unaware of the trials that go on around us.

However, as Ernesto discovers, we begin to see injustice as we venture outside of our comfort

zone. I think that while this movie does fall into some cliches, for the most part, it felt relatively

stable in its depiction of Guevara’s character development. What people often worry about in

movies like this is that the protagonist is heralded too much for simply learning about what

already exists. The theme of Guevara’s honesty, however, helps refute that in this film. As

Granado teases, Guevara is incredibly honest, and his feelings are an honest reaction to what he

has learned. Guevara, and the audience, go from cheerful and naive to being somber and

determined. I really liked the insertion of the black and white photos of indigenous peoples

throughout the film, it served as a repeated reminder that what is happening in the film is real,

and these people are real, these sufferings are real. One of the quotes that Gael Garcia Bernal had

when filming was that even though the actual journey depicted in the film was over 50 years ago,

while retracing the journey during filming, much of the social problems depicted in the movie

were still the same. Overall, I thought Salles did a fine job with the film. If he had been any more

heavy handed, he might’ve spoiled the movie, but through restraint, he actually expresses a lot

more than you’d think possible. Though this movie came out in 2004, it’s still shockingly

relevant, and not just in Latin America either. Indigenous people all over the world still face

difficulties of wealth inequality.

9. ​R15. Tierney, Argentina: Introduction, pp. 187-200 and Ch. 6, Juan José Campanella, pp.

187-226

A lot of what was in the Argentina section of Tierney’s book comes as no surprise to me.

American/European films still dominate the box office in Latin America, and Argentina is no

different. Argentina does appear to have a better record of film production than Brazil and

Mexico, however, as it had relatively consistent levels of filmmaking throughout the past several

decades. What did surprise me was the controversy surrounding Campanella’s role as head of the

Argentinian Academy of Cinematography Arts and Sciences and his apparent “coziness” with

the government. That seems unfortunate just because it seems like he is turning against his own

industry, which already needs the extra support. On the subject of Campanella, much like the

other directors we’ve discussed for this course, suffers from the “not devoted to his own country

enough” syndrome. Unlike the 3 Amigos however, his filmography didn’t divulge into the

obviously transnational style. Tierney does point out a couple aspects of ​The Secret in Their Eyes

that I do agree with. First of all, this film reeks of the noir genre in its narrative structure and

themes. The flashback narration, revenge, lost love, and more are all very reminiscent of noir.

Tierney also notes some criticism for the melodrama in the film, which critics apparently thought

detracted from the focus on Argentina’s Dirty War. She argues that the melodrama supports the

focus, whereas I think I just have a neutral standpoint on this. I didn’t know anything about the

Dirty War coming into the film, so I didn’t really have any expectations for the depiction of it. I

enjoyed the melodrama as a nice side plot of the film, but not necessarily as something that

contributed or detracted from it. I’d agree with the fact that the placement of the melodrama

probably helped attract more standard Hollywood audiences though.

10. R16. Article 6: Rocha

Previously, I hadn’t considered the comparison of female and male emotions as parallels for

melodrama and noir. It’s clear that all of the men “suffer” from things they have no discretion

over. I hadn’t realized the significance of juxtaposing Esposito and Gomez as the “third wheel”

in their respective love triangles, mostly because they morally seem so contrasting. The cross

between the personal and professional also serves as an interesting point of comparison; For

Esposito, because his professional conflict is unresolved, his personal conflict is also unresolved.

The film definitely commends him for his “silent sacrifice” of not expressing his love for Irene. I

realize now that much of it is a result of class disparity, but I definitely just thought it was for

drama’s sake when I was watching. Esposito is also juxtaposed with Morales in the sense that

both of them are “stuck in time” after the murder, though for different reasons. It makes the end

sequence of Esposito finishing his book, putting flowers at Pablo’s grave, and admitting his

feelings for Irene so much more significant. He is a “fallen man” with no control until the case is

resolved in his mind. It’s weirdly poetic that it works out this way, though I think I was rooting

for the main couple just because I’m a sucker for a happy ending. Also, the play of “Morales”

versus “morales” is just another one of those things you find out after watching a movie and then

reading about it that just blows your mind. One thing the article pointed out that I hadn’t noticed

was that apparently there were implications that Lilliana was unfaithful during her marriage to

Ricardo. It’s certainly a complex implication that adds depth to Ricardo’s character, but then this

also falls into the trap of “using a woman’s rape and murder to further a man’s character

development” which isn’t a bad thing on its own, but I find it more refreshing for Ricardo to

have had a “pure” motivation for his wife’s defense.

11. Film 14: El secreto de sus ojos, Modalis

There were so many things I loved about this film. For one, I think non-linear storylines are

almost always more interesting than linear ones. There were several moments at the end of this

film that clicked and made certain parts of the beginning of the film make sense. For example,

Ricardo keeping Isidoro in his own private jail at the end of the film fits his “passion” for a life

sentence being fit for Isidoro. The “Te Mo” actually turning out to be “Te Amo” fits with the

typewriter that has the broken “A” key. The fact that Pablo is always shown in the earlier

storyline but never the present storyline also foreshadows his death, something I didn’t realize

until right before Pablo dies. Benjamin going back to Irene and finally confessing his desire to be

with her fits the narrative structure as a whole, as it inherently juxtaposes past and present,

decision and consequence, fulfillment and regret. The message of this film is one we’ve heard

time and time again: You choices matter, you choices have consequences, seize the moment,

failing to act can result in years of regret. There’s actually a quote from the latest Fantastic

Beasts film that reminds me of this movie: “Regret is my constant companion. Do not let it

become yours.” This really reminds me of Ricardo’s quote of “Memories are all we end up with.

Be sure to pick some good ones.” I know that there was some significance regarding the state of

Argentinian politics at the time, and that the former timeline took place under a more

authoritarian regime while the latter timeline took place under a more democratic regime. The

democratic regime definitely made the investigation of Isidoro easier, as he was released on

behalf of the authoritarian regime as a hitman. More freedom is evident in the latter timeline,

which is a fitting parallel for Esposito finally pursuing Irene like he’s always wanted to. Overall,

this movie was just a great story with a wonderful cast.

12. Film 15: The Secret in their Eyes Netflix (or Amazon, $4)

I did not have to get very far into this movie before I could tell that it wasn’t even half as good as

the original. I don’t understand why English speakers feel the need to recreate perfectly good

foreign language movies when the originals are perfectly good. In this version, I appreciated the

performances of the main 3 actors, but otherwise, I felt that the story left out a lot of important

things. Replacing the Argentinian “Dirty War” with 9/11 counterrorism didn’t have the same

effect. I was okay with the difference of the character in relation to the rape victim being the

mother instead of the husband, that was fine, but the juxtraposition of the two “love triangles”

from the first film obiously doesn’t fit in this scenario anymore. The tense romance between Ray

and Claire didn’t even remotely reach the tension that was between Benjamin and Irene in the

original movie. For one thing, Ray expresses his adoration of Claire multiple times in this film,

whereas one of the most important parts of the original is that Benjamin doesn’t express anything

at all. Additionally, while I realize that baseball is “America’s pastime,” there’s just no way that

a baseball crowd reacts the same way to a home run as a soccer crowd reacts to a goal. I can see

parts of the movie where the writer/director clearly just copy and pasted the script with American

references, and parts of the movie where he switched things up. The whole thing feels

unfinished, as if the director couldn’t make up his mind how far from the original he wanted to

go. Additionally, I felt that Benjamin’s goals as a writer were pretty pivotal to the story,

especially in the sense that he kept starting his story but was unable to finish it. Ray isn’t a writer

at all, which negates the multiple beginnings of the original, which I felt was a great

juxtaposition. They also tried to use the “Why didn’t you ask me to come?” line without the train

scene, which is an absolute travesty. That line only works with the train scene.
13. R17. Tierney, Epilogue, pp. 227-239

Though we didn’t watch ​Birdman​ or ​Gravity,​ Tierney makes a point of identifying how it is

similar to ​The Revenant​ and ​Crimson Peak.​ All three films seem like typical A-list, big budget

productions, but in reality, Cuaron, Inarritu, and Del Toro all bring elements of their Latin

American roots into their films that don’t allow them to fit neatly into defined Hollywood genres.

It would even be a mistake to say, classify The Revenant as a revisionist Western, because that in

itself is a defined Hollywood genre. I love the idea that Cuaron, Inarritu, and Del Toro have sort

of carved their own little niches for their films. Though some critics may write them off for being

too compliant to Hollywood or vice versa, what they’ve done is actually really interesting. It’s

not like the differences in their films are particularly blatant either; those differences reside in

subtle aspects of the camerawork, writing, and acting. As a whole I’ve mostly agreed with

Tierney and her analysis of the Latin American directors. There’s not much for me to say on it.

The only parts where I may have disagreed with her were still only because I didn’t feel quite as

strongly about certain things as she did, but I suppose if I were to give some of the films a

second watch, I might come away with another opinion. In regards to criticism that the Three

Amigos, or any other Latin American director, is rebuking his heritage when he decides to make

films outside of Latin America, I feel strongly that they are allowed to, even if they didn’t bring

any element of their own style into it. For example, if Cuaron wanted to make the most basic,

cliche movie about a completely uninteresting character, he should be allowed to without people

accusing him of not being Mexican enough. It’s like people think Cuaron owes them a specific

type of story that’s only for them. I refute this, it’s not like Cuaron or any other director signed a

contract stating “I will only make films that are obviously Latin American.”