Amores Perros

"Amores Perros" is a Mexican film whose title can be roughly translated as "Love's A Bitch." With characteristic sly roughness, this title refers to the fact that everyone in this movie loves a dog and gets maltreated by some other love. As written by Guillermo Arriaga and directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu, however, "Amores Perros" deals with much more than simple canine and human companionship. Man's inhumanity to animals and to men, violence as (perhaps) a necessary precursor to and successor of beauty, and most importantly the claustrophobic, surreal, frenetic energy of Mexico City in the twenty-first century all come under the scope of this breathtaking film, which amazingly is González Iñárritu's first.

This film opens with a shot of dashed white lane lines, passing by the camera at a dizzying pace. We soon see a car driven by two worried youths, one of whom tends a wounded dog in the back seat. As the proximate reasons for their flight become clearer and clearer, spaces around them seem to close in, until they finally try to break away from their pursuers by running a red light, smacking the side of another car at full speed.

The narrative then splits into three sections. In the first section, "Octavio y Susana," we learn why the driver (Octavio; played by Gael García Bernal) was speeding away so quickly, as we watch him enter into the world of underground dog fighting and make enough money to seduce the lovely Susana (Vanessa Bauche) away from her husband, who beats her, robs banks for a living and has the same parents as Octavio. The second section, "Daniel y Valeria," shows us the woman in the other car, a supermodel named Valeria (Goya Toledo), and how her affair with the still-married-but-separated Daniel (Alvaro Guerrero) suffers in the wake of the crippling accident. The third section brings us the great Mexican actor Emilio Echevarría, in tremendous form here, as ex-guerrilla El Chivo; in "El Chivo y Maru," he sees the accident, ponders mortality, and tries to decide whether to give up his job as a hit man and how to re-establish contact with his estranged daughter.

That's a lot of story, especially when you consider that each section leaks into the other sections to some extent or another. The only way to get through it all in the space of one film is to move quickly, and this is precisely what González Iñárritu does. A D.J. before he became an auteur, González Iñárritu is perfectly comfortable with pushing the tempo to an exhilarating breaking point, then suddenly slowing into dramatic scenes which are all the more arresting for their stillness.

But González Iñárritu is fully comfortable with visuals, as well. It's a pleasure to see the pop an adeptly wielded handheld camera can bring to the numerous scenes of constant motion in "Amores Perrros," as well as the subtle emotional tremor a very lightly shaking handheld can cause at moments of seeming repose. Without Guy Ritchie-style trickery or techno wizardry, González Iñárritu has managed to make the most propulsive, vibrant film of recent memory.

Yet unlike Ritchie or the techno-action devotees, González Iñárritu has also created places in this film for deliberation, meditation and questioning. Lots of Hollywood filmmakers talk a good game about showing violence's ugly side while simultaneously celebrating it every change they get, but all violent acts in "Amores Perros" have consequences. The dog fight scenes, for example, are about as good an argument as you could make for an immediate donation to the local humane society; they're all consequence, from the barely repressed nausea on Octavio's face during the fight to the bloody carcasses of man's betrayed best friend afterwards.

In fact, all of these characters in some way are trying to come to terms with violence, whether emotional or physical, through the dogs in their lives. Daniel and Valeria have a dog which goes under the floorboards of their new apartment immediately after her injury, and won't come out, serving as something for the two romancers to displace their fears and rages onto; El Chivo cares for homeless dogs which are mostly snow-white and which trail him like the ghosts of his past. Love is truly a bitch, González Iñárritu seems to be saying; look how we treat our dogs, look how we treat those we love. This basic message is older than time, but in such a supercharged atmosphere, in a setting González Iñárritu clearly knows and loves, the message hits with even more force than it did the first time you realized it was true.

"Amores Perros" is not perfect. The second section struggles against some heavy-handed symbolism, and the third section dilutes Echevarría's performance with sometimes lazy writing and a banal ending. In addition, sometimes González Iñárritu simply pushes the film too hard, which makes the viewing experience more punishing than is really necessary. By the end of the film, even the hardiest viewers will feel their stamina taxed.

Still, "Amores Perros" should have beaten "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" in the Academy Awards for Best Foreign Language film. While "Crouching Tiger" was the culmination and highest expression of Hollywood's current reverence for Hong Kong cinematic style, "Amores Perros" threatens to create a cinematic style all its own through sheer energy and instinctive but careful artistry. This is a brilliant film, a stunning debut and a promise of even more amazing things to come.

WHAT A PIECE OF WORK IS HUMANITY

The screening for the above film was sponsored by the Washington Film Society, which is composed of people who don't like responding to me when I ask them if this is a Film Society screening. [Some woman apparently thought I was trying to pick her up and apparently wasn't flattered.] As I left the theater, I walked behind two men and a woman who were discussing the film. The woman made some flip, sarcastic comments about the film, ending with, "If there's a message, I don't see it! B-minus!" The two men laughed. As she walked to her car, one of the men said, "We should talk to her after every film." I beg to differ, guys. It's one thing to have a problem with a film, and another to go into every film you see looking for something to criticize so you can feel better than the filmmakers, as I am willing to bet this woman does. Artists deserve better than audiences like that. The problem is that this attitude is widespread among intellectuals. There are a lot of people in the world who enjoy not enjoying things. I know this, yet every time I encounter it, it still boggles my mind.

Foreign Films Home

Spam-O-Matic Home