Alfonso Cuarón
Roma

Forget open space and astronauts; here we start again from the dirty floors covered in dog poop. We are at the last rung of the social ladder, following the everyday stories of Cleo, a maid for a wealthy family in Mexico City. Yet, in the end, what the director unravels is the ultimate meaning of existence, the forces that animate and challenge it. In an extreme play of high and low, built around an exercise in realism that seems rigorous, Cuarón speaks of universal matters without ever giving even a hint of philosophy in his work, without indulging in moralism, without self-reflection. The dignity of existing in the world, even on the last rung, emerges calmly and unstoppably.

An exercise in realism expressed obviously in the writing, in the unforced flow of sequences, in the peaceful rhythm. The view is that of a small creature crossing the forest without understanding everything, observing, suffering, struggling, but never having a comprehensive perspective of things. However, there are at least two elements that betray this profession of realist faith: color, the black-and-white photography that gives an emotional connotation to the events. It's undeniable, the absence of color conveys an inherent bitterness in things, that even corrupts beauty, silencing it a little, without managing to choke it.

The supreme stratagem to refute the realism of the narrative, however, lies in the direction and camera movements. They do not follow a human pace typical of realist films, quite the contrary. Tracking shots and panoramas, fixed frames, almost never a close-up. A stylistic construction that does not want to bring us into the events, but demands an effort of detachment to understand the values and concepts behind the individual (and family) story. It's no coincidence that there are only two or three close-ups throughout the film, and no extreme close-ups at all. The events that would require an introspective investigation are not missing. But the choice is programmatic because Cleo's days, Mrs. Sofia's sorrows, and the cheerful chatter of her four children are just one of the infinite stories that make up the human experience.

And Cuarón, even in the minute story, aims at great, all-encompassing concepts. The forces that regulate life: the violent, phallic, incendiary, murderous one, and the passive, patient, maternal one, water that calms the flames, the reproductive instinct. Family, like politics and the entire world, lives off these two forces that love and hate each other, that merge and clash, that complete one another. It's not a simple celebration of women, because here women are always searching for male support, which is often lacking, ungrateful, and rebellious. But necessary. Not lasting, not understanding, but inevitable.

It would be wrong to see it as a gender dispute, even though it is very easy to do so. Violence is an inescapable element, symbolized in several slightly more expanded passages of the film. The impact that breaks the vase from which Cleo was about to drink, the fire engulfing the forest, Fermín’s relentless anger. These are lamps lit that the maid patiently extinguishes before going to bed. They are the impetuous waves of the sea, which bring joy but almost kill. They are a gun aimed at a pregnant woman, by the man who impregnated her.

The quiet force of a nine-month gestation that might not end well. The Mexican director celebrates the fundamental importance of this part of the world that seems only to endure, but in reality, gives so much every day, like the active, incendiary part. Existence is that thing that arises from the encounter and clash between these two forces. But even the apparent passivity contains an awe-inspiring energy, which does not express itself explosively, but in the constancy of resisting every day. Without this will, life cannot exist (as a tragic twist in the film will demonstrate).

But all this is not enough to make a masterpiece. And so, Cuarón includes two sequences that bring a lump to the throat to represent at its extremes the salvific and mortifying possibilities of Cleo’s quiet strength. In these two (and a few other) passages, the emotion of the particular story and the essential knots of the philosophical vision blend into moments of overwhelming beauty.

8/10