Showing posts with label Alfonso Cuarón. Show all posts

Thursday, December 27, 2018

The 50 best films of 2018 / No 1 / Roma

Roma

The 50 best films of 2018:

No 1 – Roma

Topping both our US and UK critics’ polls, this is a great piece of storytelling with inspired and surreal setpieces and electrifying sequences in the teeming streets of Mexico City

Peter Bradshaw
21 December 2018

s this the film that Alfonso Cuarón has been yearning to make all his career, or all his life? It certainly looks like the apparently difficult, non-commercial, personal work that only someone with a vast accumulation of prestige could get made. Every richly considered detail looks as if he spent a great deal of time honing it. Roma, based on his own childhood and set in a well-to-do household in early 70s Mexico City, is Cuarón’s return to his roots after high-profile English-language movies such as Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, the dystopian nightmare Children of Men and most recently his glorious outer space adventure Gravity. In fact, Cuarón gives a hint in Roma of what might have inspired this previous film when some characters go to a cinema in Mexico City to see the 1969 sci-fi adventure Marooned, with astronauts floating off into deep space.

It is a great piece of storytelling, sympathetic and intelligent, with inspired and surreal setpieces and electrifying sequences in the teeming streets of Mexico City, in which I think the beautiful black-and-white cinematography has facilitated digital work visually, modifying and fabricating the period details. It is a very involving story, in which there are these extraordinary moments of excitement. And then, just when you think you have got the measure of its tone, Roma blindsides you with something desperately sad, and an aftermath that gives a catharsis for this sadness.

Alfonso Cuarón and actress Yalitza Aparicio on the set of Roma. Photograph: Carlos Somonte

Non-professional newcomer Yalitza Aparicio plays Cleo, the live-in maid who is of Mixteco heritage and occasionally speaks her own language and not Spanish – about which one of the children complains: “Stop talking like that.” Her private life begins to unravel in tandem with that of her employer, Sofía (Marina De Tavira) whose husband has abandoned her and the kids – and she is in denial, a process with which Cleo is effectively expected to help, along with all other domestic duties. For her part, Cleo has to inform her boyfriend, a dodgy martial-arts enthusiast, that she has missed her period.

Cleo is much loved within the family. Even when Sofía loses her temper with her, or treats her harshly, it is obviously just a symptom of her own marital breakdown and she will apologise immediately, and emotionally. The truth is that in being such a rock, Cleo is being the responsible figure that the children’s father is not. Both Cleo and Sofía know what it is like to have men who let them down. The difference is that Cleo has an extra load to bear: a secret pregnancy, as well being a quasi-parent to these children. This is the powerful narrative which licenses byways into wonderful incidental moments, such as the family’s Christmas trip to some relatives who are into guns, and treat everyone to an uproarious shooting party out in the country – and then a New Year’s Eve trip to some other in-laws, including a Scandinavian family called the Larssons, where there is a bizarre, almost dreamlike forest fire. Only a storyteller of enormous confidence could handle what might otherwise feel like pointless digressions. But they are dazzling visually, and every moment reveals something in both Sofía and Cleo.

The distinctions of race and class are everywhere in Roma, not in fact in the dramatically overt snobbery and racism that Cleo might face in another sort of film, but rather in a thousand tiny assumptions about her servitude, which are there even in her employers’ quite genuine kindliness and concern. The point is that her own innate dignity and moral generosity make her equal to anyone with whom she is in contact. This is her heroism.

Get involved

What have we missed? Tell us about your favourite film of 2018 and why you are voting for it in the form here, including the moment or plot point you think was most memorable. We’ll publish a selection of readers’ contributions before the end of the year.

THE GUARDIAN

DE OTROS MUNDOS
Alejandro González Iñárritu / Mi amigo Alfonso Cuarón
Por qué la portada de ‘Vogue’ México con Yalitza Aparicio es histórica
No entenderá "Roma" quien conozca Ciudad de México
Alfonso Cuarón / “En México existe un profundo racismo, pero las cosas están cambiando”
Alfonso Cuarón / "Roma", cine puro al servicio de la memoria

DRAGON
The 10 best films of 2013 / Gravity
The Oscars 2014 / Gradding the Speeches
Alfonso Cuarón by J.J. Abrams
The 50 best films of 2018 / No 1 / Roma

Sunday, December 23, 2018

Alfonso Cuarón by J.J. Abrams

Alfonso Cuarón

J.J. Abrams
April 24, 2014

There is much to admire in Alfonso Cuarón. His talent, his humor, his “What? I just woke up looking this handsome!” demeanor. We can certainly admire his tenacity, which has allowed him to make some of the most arresting, visually stunning work in recent cinema. Or, perhaps mostly, we can admire the fact that in addition to bringing authenticity and emotion to pre-existing universes (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban), Alfonso is making original films, creating new worlds and introducing us to characters not based on a corporation’s fave existing IP (intellectual property). Like a certain character you may have seen floating alone in space, Alfonso doesn’t have much company in the rarefied air in which he, lucky for us all, lives and creates. Here’s to his staying in orbit.

Abrams is a writer, director and producer

TIME

DRAGON
The 10 best films of 2013 / Gravity
The Oscars 2014 / Gradding the Speeches
Alfonso Cuarón by J.J. Abrams

Saturday, March 8, 2014

The Oscars 2014 / Grading the speeches

Lupita Nyong'o
Los Angeles, 2014

The Oscars 2014

GRADING THE SPEECHES

by Michael Schulman
New Yorker, March 3, 2014

Matthew McConaughey
Photograph: Kevin Winter/Getty

Movie stars—award-worthy ones—know how to play to the big screen, but last night’s Academy Awards were pitched to the four-inch variety, the kind that digests GIFs, retweets, and viral memes with the ravenousness of a Best Supporting Actress nominee chomping on a slice of pizza. Intentionally and not, the evening was full of three-second-or-less moments of pure WTF, starting with Jennifer Lawrence’s tumble on the red carpet. Yes, there was Ellen DeGeneres’s bid for Internet posterity, when she and every A-list actor in reach posed for history’s most retweeted selfie. But there were plenty of unplanned nuggets: Meryl Streep shimmying with Pharrell Williams. (GIF!) Kim Novak’s husky guffaw announcing Best Animated Feature. (Ringtone!) There was Liza Minnelli’s reluctant standing ovation for the “Wizard of Oz” tribute. (Note to Pink: there’s no breath between “some” and “where.”) And no sooner had John Travolta introduced Idina Menzel as “Adela Dazeem” than aparody account on Twitter had sprung up and responded, “THANK YOU, JORN TROMOLTO!”

The acceptance speeches, by contrast, were mostly classy and coherent. The best speeches are emotional but not maudlin (Gwyneth Paltrow), spontaneous but not spacey (Jacqueline Bisset), self-knowing but not self-indulgent (James “King of the World” Cameron). On top of that, several of this year’s speechifiers were navigating some tricky subtext. The “12 Years a Slave” crew had to acknowledge that they were riding to victory on the legacy of slavery (and generally did a gracious job of it), as did “Dallas Buyers Club” with the AIDS crisis (not so much). And Cate Blanchett had to find a way of thanking a director who’s not exactly Mr. Popular. How did everyone fare?

Jared Leto (Best Supporting Actor): At the Golden Globes, Leto used his perch to speak of Brazilian waxes and bubble butts. Had he gone through adolescence between then and Oscar night? Kind of. Looking like a stoned cater waiter, he began, “In 1971, Bossier City, Louisiana, there was a teen-age girl who was pregnant with her second child.” Was this the lede of a New Yorker Profile? In fact, it was an homage to his mother, who was tearing up in the audience. Then Leto thanked his brother (for “this insane and amazing adventure that is 30 Seconds to Mars”) and spoke to “all the dreamers out there around the world watching this tonight in places like Ukraine and Venezuela.” I’m not sure if the dreamers of the Crimean peninsula were watching the Oscars, since they’re busy getting invaded, but it was a nice thought. Finally, he dedicated the prize to “the thirty-six million people who have lost the battle to AIDS.” No mention of the bubble butt. B+

Darlene Love (Best Documentary Feature): Technically, this award went to the filmmakers of “20 Feet from Stardom,” about the lives of backup singers. But, to everyone’s benefit, they brought up their protagonist, the redoubtable Darlene Love, who stepped center stage—where she belongs—and belted out a gospel verse that was earth-shaking, unexpected, and a long time coming. A

Lupita Nyong’o (Best Supporting Actress): Nyong’o, besides having the best dress of the night, delivered far and away the best speech: humble, gracious, and principled without being grandiose. “It doesn’t escape me for one moment that so much joy in my life is thanks to so much pain in someone else’s,” she began. Then she thanked her director, her co-stars, the editor (“the invisible performer”), her family, and the Yale School of Drama (which Meryl Streep also attended, so I assume they offer training in perfect Oscar speeches). Finally, Nyong’o, who grew up in Kenya and Mexico, held up her statuette as a reminder “that no matter where you’re from, your dreams are valid.” It was a thoughtful, politically meaningful spin on that Oscar cliché that “your dreams can come true.” Extra points (as if she needed them) for hugging Liza Minnelli on her way up. A+

Bobby Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez (Best Original Song): This husband-and-wife team’s rhyming double act was so adorable that I was ready to book ’em on the Orpheum Circuit. Plus: Lopez (“The Book of Mormon,” “Avenue Q”) is now an E.G.O.T. B+

Spike Jonze (Best Original Screenplay): Jonze’s screenplay for “Her” was nothing if not original, but his speech was on the dry side. Still, his gratitude toward his collaborators felt individual and affectionate, and, unlike his characters, he got through the whole thing without checking his phone. Siri, what is a June Squibb? B

Alfonso Cuarón (Best Directing): The man who made “Gravity” at first sounded strangely Valley Girl-esque and forced. (“What really sucks is that, well, for a lot of these people that transformation was wisdom. For me, it was just the color of my hair.”) But the speech picked up as he thanked his son (and co-writer), Sandra Bullock (“Sandy, you are ‘Gravity’ ”), and, mixing up his idioms, the “wise guys of Warner Brothers.” Finally, he reverted to his native Spanish, ending with a sweet “te amo” for his date, the astoundingly named Sheherazade Goldsmith. B+

Cate Blanchett (Best Actress): Winning her second Oscar, Blanchett presented herself as a shrewd old-timer, beginning: “As random and as subjective as this award is, it means a great deal in a year of extraordinary—yet again—extraordinary performances by women.” Her shout-outs to her fellow-nominees seemed genuine, including “Julia hashtag ‘Suck it,’ you know what I mean?” Well, no one else does, but I’m onboard regardless. When it came to Shmoody Shmallen, she held briefly for applause, of which there was an uncertain smattering. Then she dispelled the notion that “female films with women at the center are niche experiences. They are not. Audiences want to see them, and, in fact, they earn money. The world is round, people!” Needless to say, making money got more applause than her director. A-

Matthew McConaughey (Best Actor): Cater Waiter No. 2 told his fellow-nominees that “I didn’t see a false note anywhere,” but I could point out a few in this self-indulgent lemon of a speech. Matthew McConaughey, we learned, needs three things each day: something to look up to, something to look forward to, and someone to chase. What he looks up to is God, who has shown him that “it’s a scientific fact that gratitude reciprocates.” Scientific fact, eh? What he looks forward to is his family, including his father, who’s relaxing in his underwear with a “big pot of gumbo” in Man Cave heaven. His hero? Surprise! It’s him ten years in the future. This was an Oscar telecast with two montages of movie heroes, though shockingly neither included Phyllis Nefler, the Shelley Long character from “Troop Beverly Hills.” Ten-years-in-the-future Matthew McConaughey wasn’t there, either, perhaps because he still hasn’t learned to say something about AIDS when winning an award for an AIDS movie, and is still hawking his grating catchphrase, “All right, all right, all right.” It’s time for the preening McConaissance to come to a close. All right? C

Steve McQueen (Best Picture): By the time McQueen accepted the big prize, for “12 Years a Slave,” the ceremony had gone half an hour over schedule. So it was forgivable that his speech felt a little rushed and rambling. Most of it was a list of names, but they included Sue Eakin, the “amazing historian” from Louisiana who called attention to Solomon Northup’s book and died in 2009. Who can fault a guy for name-dropping a historian? I have a hero to nominate next year.B+

Photograph: Kevin Winter/Getty

THE NEW YORKER

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

The 10 best films of 2013, joint 3rd / Gravity

The 10 best films of 2013, joint 3rd – Gravity

Sandra Bullock's down-to-Earthiness and some stunning special effects raise Alfonso Cuarón's space thriller above the rest, in our continuing countdown of this year's top 10 films

Andrew Pulver
Tuesday 17 December 2013 15.21 GMT

When Gravity finally dropped at the Venice film festival earlier this year, it answered a question that had been perplexing the film world for quite some time: was this long-in-the-making space thriller going to be a gigantic disaster, a folie de grandeur from fast-talking Mexican writer-director Alfonso Cuarón who, despite his impassioned rhetoric, was not necessarily considered the most reliable reins-holder in town?

Well, within minutes of the lights going down, sighs of relief could be heard all around the auditorium – or perhaps it was the first sobbing gasps of terror as the audience, pinned back in their seats, realised what was in store for the two doughty astronauts, played by Sandra Bullock and George Clooney, stranded high above Earth. Cuarón, who had been plugging away on the film for several years, and who had opted to develop entirely new lighting and visual effects techniques to convincingly portray the extra-terrestrial settings, was entitled to feel triumphant, and the film's subsequent box-office performance will have more than satisfied his masters.

With the benefit of hindsight, what Cuarón pulled off is properly extraordinary. Spending vast amounts of money on – and perfectly realising – box-fresh documentary-style visuals which put the viewer right up there in the space shuttle alongside astronauts Ryan Stone (Bullock) and Matt Kowalski (Clooney) is the first, and most obviously impressive achievement. Then, to construct a nerve-shredding thriller that – science quibbles aside – refused to adopt any of the standard sci-fi tricks usually employed by space-set films. More than that, to somehow nudge the narrative into an area that – while not quite Kubrickian – allowed for some heavyweight philosophical/spiritual musing on death and rebirth. And finally – to do all this with Sandra Bullock, queen of quirk, in the driving seat. Though she was by no means first choice for the role, Bullock has turned out to be absolutely inspired casting, injecting a quotidian human warmth to the role that, possibly, may have been lacking had Angelina Jolie, the original lead, not jumped ship.

Gravity, if we're being honest, is not perfect: there are one too many clunking narrative nudges, particularly in the fleshing out of Stone's backstory, which are designed no doubt to ease the minds of studio executives anxious the film would not be relatable enough to be a mainstream hit. But no matter: the immersive brilliance of those zero-grav scenes is without equal – certainly this year, and possibly the entire century to date.

THE GUARDIAN