A fresh spin, found in translation
“You’ve gained a little bit of weight,” the mother — a rather regal woman — tsks-tsks.
“It’s Trump weight,” her grown-up daughter snaps back. “Every time he tweets … I eat.”
Just a tiny vignette in the premiere episode of the GIFgenerating reality series Mexican Dynasties — a show that comes bearing dynasties, dinero, and dysfunction. Or, as the tagline for it puts it: “Three family dynasties, two generations of friends … one big family circus.” If Schitt’s Creek mated with Roma: that’s what I sorta thought when watching it, pulled in by its zany, meta complexion but also by its inside look at Mexico City (one of my all-time favourite cities!) at this time in the political discourse.
Doris Bessudo, the aforementioned daughter, made the case as much in the opening reel for the series when she cried, “Americans don’t know s--t about Mexico!”
As the series zeroes in on the dynamics of three elite families, Doris has just returned home after the death of her father, an heir to Jarritos (the massive soft-drink brand in Mexico). She is also the manager (or “daughteranager” as she says) to mom Raquel, a socialite and TV host — the “Joan Rivers of Mexico.” I get a distinctly Terms of Endearment vibe from them.
Meanwhile, in another orbit of the show, there is the brother-sister duo of Paulina and Oscar Madrazo, who we are told come from a luxury-car dynasty, and who seem so close that, as family friend Doris points out, “I’m sorry. It reminds me of Game of Thrones, like Jaime and Cersei” — though both Madrazos clearly seem in on the joke.
They both have children — without partners — and seem to be part of a very 21st-century blended family. Oscar — who also hosts a television show called Que Madrazo with his sis — was the first gay father of surrogate kids in Mexico (and had the magazine cover to prove it). Their main storyline in the first episode revolves around a pet parrot that died, and which Paulina put in the freezer for two weeks until Oscar returned from a holiday. A parrot burial does indeed follow, and the message is, I guess, clear: families who freeze their dead pets together, stay together.
The third — and probably best known — part of this dynastic trio of families is headed by Fernando Allende, an aging telenovela star of some renown in Mexico (who gives me a frisson of Bruce Jenner pre-Caitlyn). His particular fiefdom includes his wife of 30 years Mari, and their two sons Elan and Adan, who are both aspiring musicians. But there’s a low hum of rivalry between the brothers and, in particular, tension between Mari and her outspoken daughter-in-law Jenny (Elan’s wife), whom Adan at one point dubs “Yoko.”
What one might not expect from the show, and might throw you at the start — since it does require a leap — is that they are mainly speaking English to each other on the show, even in a context they ordinarily would not be. That gives all of the interactions an airquotes feel, in the same way we all become performers when we try to speak in a foreign language! Think about it. It is “what makes Mexican Dynasties a fascinating bilingual cultural object,” as a writer with the Latin-centric website Remezcla. “It makes the presence of the cameras all the more obvious than in a regular reality TV show, especially as they have to use Spanish when addressing their help and street vendors.”
“Our development team is always looking for the next big hit, a way to be different ... We were intrigued with Mexico City. We feel it’s in a Zeitgeist right now. It felt unexplored,” Shari Levine, an exec with Bravo, explained to Forbes about why the series was concocted. (In Canada the show can be seen on the streaming service Hayu, or on Tuesdays on Slice.) Levine goes on: “The families literally leap off the screen. We think their person- ality and lifestyles transcend geography and cultures.”
There is, yes, something intriguing watching this series in a post- Roma world. And thus far the real stars have turned out to be the maids and security guards of the families who provide running commentary and subtly throw shade, in Spanish, in their own confessionals. Unlike the lead character Yalitza in Roma, these servants have plenty to say, existing to almost conspire with the viewing audience: “Esta familia no es normal.”
While Mexican Dynasties may seem, on the surface, like your run-of-the-mill ladies-who-lunch show, it has been hit by some criticism that the only dark-tinted people on the show are the servants, and it is clear that politics cannot be escaped — especially in a time of rhetoric about “The Wall” stateside. Producer Jaime Davila’s Campanario Entertainment aims to create content for Latinos, produced by Latinos, he told Deadline Hollywood recently, adding that “Mexican Dynasties is not supposed to represent all of Mexico — and it shouldn’t.”
Pointing out that Latinos account for only five per cent of film and TV roles in Hollywood and even then are often cast as gangsters, housekeepers or other dated stereotypes, Davila remains philosophical about the success of Roma, and even the fact that five out of the past six Oscar winners for Best Director have been Mexican. “I think for me, I’m always super excited about Roma … I’m excited about Guillermo del Toro. I’m excited about ( Birdman and The Revenant director) Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (but) it doesn’t change the fact that we have to make a little bit more progress ... Yes, Roma exists, and we could celebrate it, but that doesn’t mean that we’ve solved representation … I hope Roma galvanizes and influences Hollywood to see that people do want to see Latino stories.”
It is a world view I have some sympathy with: even though Mexican Dynasties is Real Housewives- y in nature, and runs on the narrative drumbeat of Rich People Doing Rich Things, I have long believed that diversity in storytelling does not necessarily mean whole cultures need only be shown in an earnest light, but depicted in all their many, messy forms.
After all, nobody ever asked Richard Hatch — the iconic reality villain from Survivor — to represent all of white people, right?