‘El Ángel’ glamorizes a serial killer from the ’70s
Our endless fascination with serial killers has many explanations. There’s the fear factor, the thrill that accompanies the thought of extraordinary danger lurking in ordinary places. There’s the desire to explain the unexplainable. And no doubt for some there is the dark fantasy of living life without fear of consequences.
All of these impulses are at play in “El Ángel,” Argentina’s entry in the 2019 Oscar race for Best Foreign Language Film. Directed by Luis Ortega (“Lulu”), it’s about Carlos Robledo Puch, who racked up 11 bodies in 197172, most of them before he turned 20, and was later named one of “South
‘El Ángel’
Great Fair Luis Ortega. Lorenzo Ferro, Chino Darín, Mercedes Morán.
Not rated. Includes graphic sexual and violent content and depictions of drug use.
At Harkins Valley Art. In Spanish with subtitles.
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America’s 8
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scariest serial killers” by With a pretty face and wispy blond curls, he was dubbed “The Angel of Death.”
live-in housekeeper. The Spanish-language movie is a moving and empathetic glimpse at the mundanity and innate intimacy of domesticity.
Set in 1970s Mexico City, “Roma” is shot like a series of faded black-andwhite photographs found tucked away in a dusty garret. Cuarón breathes life into the stillness, restoring the snapshots to a full portrait of a bygone life. The film opens with a relentless stream of soapy water gushing over the feces-ridden tiled carport as the credits roll, signaling Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio) begins her duties for the day. The housekeeper later hangs laundry on a line atop the roof, prepares dinner and plays with the precocious children of the house. It’s a rhythm to which Cleo’s become accustomed.
Her employers, absentee doctor Antonio (Fernando Grediaga) and the stressed Sofia (Marina de Tavira), have a relationship that’s tenuous at best by the time the picture opens when his ostentatious boat of car pulls into the compact garage to a cacophony of piercing scratches and screeches his arrival.
Their lavish, multi-storied home in the Colonia Roma neighborhood has become suffocating for Antonio, who continually leaves his wife to look after four children (with the help of Cleo, of course). Sofia is in disbelief over her crumbling marriage and lashes out at Cleo in low moments to reclaim some semblance of power in her domain. The maid-cook-confidante remains unflappable; she has her own struggle that exists outside of the family.
And in those quiet moments of shutting the lights off around the towering abode, Cleo can breathe (as seen in an impressive single rotating shot spanning several rooms of the flat). Her life is explored in her days off spent going on a date with a lofty loser who’s more preoccupied with martial arts than learning much about the reserved Cleo.
In a heartbreaking sequence inside a smoke-filled movie house, Cleo informs her would-be boyfriend that she’s pregnant and he, much like Antonio, vanishes. The expectant mother struggles finding her place; one day, she’s bundled with the family watching TV and then she’s helping extinguish the flames of a brewing fire the next. signaling
The uncertainty in Cleo’s life mirrors that of the unrest all around her. Whether it’s found in the embattled riotous streets, out at a luxe country villa or searching for her lover, she’s fraught with trepidation of what the future holds. Newcomer Aparicio dazzles in an unfussy, haunted and gentle role that feels thoroughly alive onscreen through her nuanced performance. There’s no showy monologue or scenery-chewing examination of Cleo’s choices: we just observe them through the details Cuarón injects and love her all the more for it.
It seems apt that the film has been dubbed a love letter to the women in Cuarón’s early life. Each character is delicately drawn through moments of silence preceding an unforeseeable circumstance like the tribulations of an unexpected pregnancy, a near-drowning and the abandonment from those one loves most. They maneuver through hardship with grace in this documentary-like excursion that provides a glimpse at people in transition. It’s an affecting, visceral work that deserves eyes on it no matter if it’s projected in the darkened recess of the cinema or streamed in the comfort of a living room.