With companies like WarnerMedia and Disney announcing their own streaming services, it’s going to be interesting to see how the competition between all these companies will play out, and how it will affect the kind of projects that will be produced exclusively for the format. Netflix has been gaining more legitimacy with their exclusives with Oscar nominations for films like Mudbound, and the documentary, 13th. However, it isn’t just compelling to see how Netflix plans on pushing their work for awards, but what kind of films they’re willing to take a chance on and hedge their bets, especially as they keep bringing in talent like Paul Greengrass, Martin Scorsese, and the Coen Brothers.
Which brings us to Roma, the latest film from Alfonso Cuarón, a film that likely wouldn’t have seen the light of day had it gone through the traditional Hollywood machine. It’s a black-and-white, semi-autobiographical film that follows a year in the life of Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio), who works as a maid for an upper-middle class family in Mexico City during the early 70s. It’s largely plotless, focusing more on the smaller, personal turmoils that the characters are confronted with during this time.
A lot has already been said about the film since it first premiered Venice International Film Festival, and I don’t have much else to say than…yeah, that all sounds about right.
But I guess I’ll elaborate, just for formality’s sake.
It’s interesting to see what Cuarón did with Roma from a visual standpoint, considering how many of his previous films, specifically the ones where he collaborated with cinematographer, Emmanuel Lubezki, where the camera is almost constantly in motion, and throwing you right there with the characters. Here, the camera is mostly static, only moving to follow characters while still being locked into place. It creates a more distancing effect, but it’s an effect that feels very appropriate for a film like this, especially with Cuarón serving as his own cinematographer (and co-editor). Given the film has autobiographical roots, the film feels like you’re walking into someone’s memory, observing things, maybe not necessarily the way it really was, but in the way it feels like in retrospect.
And whatever distancing effect you might feel from the calm and static camera work, it’s counterbalanced by the incredibly engrossing sound design. It might be more powerful experiencing it in a theater, but even with a small screen and some decent headphones, it’s very transportive. It really brings the cities and towns and streets to life in a way that few films have been able to do, despite how seemingly simple the effect and design work is.
Technical merit aside, it’s a deeply moving film. Yalitza Aparicio has never acted before, but there’s a soft and quiet confidence and warmth to her performance here. It’s almost like she’s done this a million times already. It’s not a showy role, and often relies on her to passively react to certain moments, but it’s so fully realized and she’s such an engaging presence. Her character’s dynamic with that of Sofia (Marina de Tavira), the mother in the family, is an interesting one, in terms of how it’s portrayed. It’s all clearly coming from a place of love from Cuarón, who is seemingly paying tribute to the important women in his life growing up. There’s some subtle complexities that address things like class and gender roles, but much of it is kept below the surface, with only brief, passing mentions. It’s not because it isn’t a concern of the film, but it wants to reflect the fact that these characters can’t afford to dwell on these things, since so much of their energy and strength fades just from the day-to-day struggles.
So, in case you haven’t heard it enough already from other critics and such, I’ll go ahead and affirm that Roma is a stellar piece of filmmaking. It’s so masterfully crafted, so beautifully composed, so deeply felt, and so effortlessly engaging for its entire methodically paced two-plus hour runtime, that it’s honestly kind of intimidating. It’s scope and emotional depth is overwhelming, but always delivered with clarity and empathy. It’s the kind of film that I can see being described as “the film Alfonso Cuarón has been building up to his whole career,” and that would be a totally fair assessment. It’s a breathtaking film, and it deserves your attention.