Before it even started, Roma was unlike any film I had ever seen. There was the usual festival hype and awards talks, but it was in Spanish, black & white, and had no familiar faces in front of the camera. Mostly though, there was a very familiar red and white logo up on the screen. Netflix deserves a lot of credit for being the place that gave Alfonso Cuaron the opportunity to make exactly the film he wanted to, sharing a deeply personal journey with the world. I’m disappointed that most people will not have the chance to see this film in a theater, but it's a very small price to pay to ensure this film exists at all, and it wouldn’t without a company like Netflix. When you watch it at home, stay off your phone, turn off the lights, and just soak it in. If you do, you will find one of the most rewarding emotional journeys put to film in a very long time. Throughout Roma we follow Cleo, the nanny/housekeeper to a family of four children, as well as their mother, grandmother and mostly absent father, in Mexico in the early 1970’s. While the pacing is certainly slower than the average film of this scale, it always keeps you engaged, even if the stakes initially feel minor. We observe how important each of these relationships is, which ones might be taken for granted, and how quickly they can go from familial to seemingly tenuous. There are multiple moments of beautiful bonding, like when Cleo plays dead with the youngest child after his older brother abandons their game or when she does small exercises with the family’s cook Adela in their tiny room. A few brief mentions of Cleo's mother make it clear she has left her a rural home for a far different life in the city, but she appreciates what her life has become. Yet from the moment the film starts there is an underlying sense that this routine is at risk and everyone is walking on eggshells despite the clear affection for each other. After being told for months how incredible this film was, about an hour in I honestly thought to myself ‘ok, it’s really gorgeous, but I must be missing something.’ This is why I must urge you to watch with as much focus as you can (which you always should, but can be difficult when at home), because it is all worth it. As tensions started to rise, the investment put into learning about these relationships pays off in bursts of emotion that overcame me while different conclusions popped in and themes intersected. There are some ‘plots’ to follow, but watching these people grow closer through difficult times is the most engrossing part, as even the most monumental events are treated as matter of fact. We are simply following along on Cleo’s journey. Nothing is forced, it just makes sense in a perfectly poetic way. Sometimes beautiful, sometimes painful. Such is life. The final few scenes are crescendos of emotional tension and catharsis, one after another, that make you want to spend the rest of your life with these characters, having developed such a deep connection after this short amount of time.
Throughout the film, a single vehicle represents the father’s need for style over substance, forcing this wide car into a tiny driveway is initially painful and unnecessary, yet director-writer-cinematographer-editor Alfonso Cuaron makes the whole endeavor beautiful and satisfying. Cuaron has always made beautiful movies on varying scales, but with Roma his style and heart are perfectly matched for the first time, and Roma is overflowing with character substance. He has managed to recreate the Mexico of his childhood with an almost surreal sense of beauty, bathed in light, and lived in by real characters. Any and all technical achievements – of which there are MANY – are overshadowed by the astonishing character work done in small moments, grabbing hold of you in a completely natural way until you are in deeper than you could have imagined. A lifetime’s worth of pure, unfiltered emotion is somehow developed in about two hours. This is grand scale intimacy shared in the most compelling way possible. The character of Cleo is an immaculate portrait of someone that Cuaron clearly has a deep affection for, and who Yalitza Aparicio (in what must be one of the best performances ever for a first time actor) brings to life in a portrait of almost intimidating subservience. The subtle power Cleo uses to support everyone around her seems to frighten away one particularly insecure character, but slowly comes to the surface as the story moves along. While watching dozens of men practice martial arts in a field, she shows more strength than all of them in a scene that is brilliantly, gorgeously, and even hilariously staged. Eventually this strength is put to the test, and while Cleo remains tough, her own support network begins to close-in on her until she finally feels secure enough to let it all out in the breathtaking climax. Roma celebrates the power instilled in everyone by our quiet caretakers who often go underappreciated. But despite what she believes, it is revealed that Cleo is anything but forgotten. Her power has supported these people, and they show their support in return when it’s finally needed, just as a true family would.
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