In the late forties Mexico was changing rapidly. Industrial growth fueled the economy. Thousands abandoned their farms for manufacturing jobs in the city, where construction was booming and mass media was becoming a part of daily life. Of course, all of this meant that the culture was changing, too, and the family was a central part of Mexican culture.
Buoyed by the booming economy, the Mexican film industry was riding high, and family dramas were a popular genre. A number of movies were made about the pressures that drove mothers and fathers, sons and daughters apart, but generally everything came together in a happy ending that reinforced the importance of traditional values. This was a Catholic nation, after all. If a son strayed from the straight and narrow, he had to repent. If a daughter disrespected her parents, she had to beg forgiveness. No matter how bad things got, order had to be restored before the music swelled up and the credits rolled.
It was unusual in this era for a Mexican filmmaker to question those traditional beliefs that supposedly held society together, but that’s exactly what Alejandro Galindo does in Una familia de tantas. In this film Galindo presents a portrait of a middle-class family living a comfortable life in Mexico City. He shows us first the rigid discipline that holds the family together, and then he shows us how that same rigid discipline tears the family apart.
The Cataños are a typical middle-class family of the period. The five children and their parents live in a large house which is run with an iron hand by Sr. Cataño. He dominates the household, insisting that all the proprieties be observed. A child is not to leave the room without permission. No one sits down at the dinner table without saying a prayer. When he gives a command the children scamper to obey.
And this rigid order is overthrown by a young man selling vacuum cleaners. This smooth-talking salesman with an answer for everything belongs to a new breed. Roberto is hard-working and ambitious, and smart enough to see the potential in the household appliances which are now becoming available to anyone with money to spend. He goes door to door, speaking with such glib assurance that his customers don’t know quite how to respond. He invites himself into the Cataño house when one of the daughters, Maru, is home alone, never thinking that this would be improper. He is only focussed on selling her a vacuum cleaner.
When Sr. Cataño finds out that Maru was alone in the house with a stranger he’s furious. After learning that this brash young man is coming back in the evening to seal the deal, Sr. Cataño can hardly wait for the encounter so he can overwhelm the intruder with outraged indignation. And when Roberto arrives, the self-righteous patriarch lays into him with an angry lecture. But he’s met his match. Roberto at first tries to politely calm the outraged father, but when it’s suggested his motives for entering the house were improper, he becomes outraged himself. And when he mentions that he’s supporting his widowed mother, Sr. Cataño is taken aback. The stern patriarch’s own values make him suddenly docile. Being a devout Catholic, he understands that respect for motherhood trumps everything.
And of course, he ends up buying the vacuum cleaner.
It’s important to say that Sr. Cataño isn’t fundamentally bad. He loves his children and wants the best for them. It’s just that he’s so completely immersed in the rigid culture that shaped him, he sees any deviation as a sin that must be corrected. Because his children are afraid of him, there’s a wall between them. When he talks, they listen. When he asks them a question, he will only accept the response he considers correct. As a result, he’s completely isolated from his own family. He has no idea what’s going on in their lives.
The story is centered on Maru, the young woman who was unfortunate enough to let a salesman in the house. She’s fifteen years old, and her family is her whole world. That world is dominated by her father. She would never think of challenging him. But then Roberto enters Maru’s life and her world starts to change. Roberto talks to her about his ambitions, his hopes, his fears, and she has no idea how to respond. No man has ever talked to her this way before. She’s completely stunned when he asks her what she thinks. No one has ever asked for her opinion.
Maru’s quinceañera, the celebration of her fifteenth birthday, is a hugely important event. As is traditional, Sr. Cataño throws an elaborate party to mark his daughter’s passage to womanhood. He dances the first dance with her, stiff and stately, but obviously proud of Maru. Afterward, he makes a dignified speech about the importance of this moment in a young woman’s life, and the responsibilities that she must fulfill. In his mind, her future is completely settled. He’s got it all figured out.
Unfortunately, this is where everything starts to fall apart. Maru is already is in love with Roberto, and deeply unhappy about the fact that Sr. Cataño has already chosen another suitor for her. But she’s shaken to the core when her father beats her older sister savagely over a suspected breach of propriety. From this point on she gradually realizes that she has two choices. She can go on living in fear, or she can run for freedom.*
As Maru, Martha Roth gives a remarkable performance. Her transition from obedient child to defiant woman takes place in a very short time, but Roth makes it completely believable. Maru is riding an emotional rollercoaster, and we have to ride it with her. There are many moments when the film could veer off into melodrama, but Roth always keeps it real. David Silva seems completely at home on the screen, but without the self-consciousness that some stars betray. He has a presence that makes him the center of attention, and at the same time he’s completely absorbed in the role he’s playing. Roberto may be a fast talking salesman, but Silva shows us that he also has other sides. Eugenia Galindo plays Sra. Cataño expertly. She knows better than anyone the price for confronting Sr. Cataño, and the actress shows us the struggle that goes on within her as she slowly realizes the cost of her husband’s authoritarian attitudes. The director was fortunate to have Fernando Soler playing the father. In the hands of a less gifted actor, Sr. Cataño could have become nothing more than a monster. Soler plays the role forcefully, and at times he’s terrifying, but he also brings depth to the character, allowing us to see the moments of doubt and uncertainty that make him human.
Honestly, the entire cast is excellent. Galindo shows his skill with actors, not only eliciting fine individual performances, but making the ensemble feel like a real family. The morning chaos in the bathroom, the subtle glances at the dinner table, the whispered conversations behind closed doors, all add up to a richly detailed portrayal of life in a middle class household. As for the visuals, Galindo’s style is simple and straightforward. He often lets the camera hold a master shot, observing the actors as they play out a scene, cutting only when necessary. He seems to know intuitively where to place the camera, allowing it to serve the actors, telling the story with a fluid, unpretentious ease.
You may be asking why the screenshots I’m using to illustrate this post look so fuzzy. It’s because I was working from a cheap DVD where the source material looks like it was 16 mm and the transfer is less than stellar. Sadly, this is currently the only way you can view this movie. I posted on another Galindo film a while ago, and complained about the fact that his work was only available in sub-standard releases with no subtitles. Really, this is true of the vast majority of Mexico’s cinematic output, and it’s a terrible shame.
I was encouraged recently when I heard that MOMA was showing a Mexican noir series. Hopefully this will encourage more people to explore the country’s cinema. Una familia de tantas is just one of many remarkable movies waiting to be discovered by English-speaking audiences.
I’m sure many readers will be startled to learn that the central character is a fifteen year old girl who’s being groomed for marriage. These days we see this as deplorable, but in post-war Mexico it was an accepted part of the culture. We can condemn it, but we should be keep in mind that American cinema from the studio era is filled with attitudes that seem pretty shocking today.
This post was revised on February 3, 2015.
Cuando los hijos se van is very much a product of the time and place it was made. Released in 1941, it shows a middle-class family being torn apart by tensions between the parents and the children. In many ways it’s a steadfastly conventional melodrama from the Mexican studio era. But beyond that, it’s also a reflection of the changes that were taking place in Mexico at the time. The government was pushing the economy towards rapid industrialization, and people were abandoning their small towns and villages to go to the city.
The film opens with a slow tracking shot that takes us into the home of the Rosales family, as a narrator sets the scene for us. It’s Christmas Eve. The mother, Lupita, is busy preparing the table for dinner. The father, Don José, is occupied in his study. An old friend drops by to pay a visit, laughing and joking with the family. But the festive mood is broken when a neighbor arrives unexpectedly. He complains that money has been stolen from his desk, and he suspects Raymundo, one of Don José’s sons. The father takes the neighbor’s accusation at face value and castigates his son mercilessly. The spirit of harmony is shattered. The Christmas celebration is poisoned. This is only the beginning.
As the story progresses, the children go off one by one to follow their fortunes. José, the father’s favorite, leaves for the city to work in a bank. Amalia, the daughter, runs away to marry a man show thinks she loves. And Raymundo is kicked out of the house when his father comes to believe that he’s been having a fling with a friend’s wife. As before with the stolen money, the guilty party is actually José, but the father is adamant. He’s convinced that Raymundo has disgraced the family and insists that his son leave. Raymundo complies. The two aging parents are left on their own. And as the years go by, we watch as this frail couple is slowly overwhlemed by loneliness.
This is a deeply Christian film. It opens by showing us into the family’s Christmas Eve celebration, and closes the same way. Raymundo is clearly meant to be a Christ figure. The family is broken apart by dishonesty and greed, but the members are brought together again by love and forgiveness. While the Christian symbolism is pretty heavy handed at times, the director’s passionate commitment to his faith makes the film compelling. Bustillo Oro isn’t just going through the motions to manipulate the audience. He’s making a heartfelt statement about the importance of compassion and forgiveness.
The director uses a clear formal framework to tell the story. Each section opens with a shot of the front of the house, and then the camera tracks slowly inside. Each of these shots is accompanied by voiceover narration. The narrator comments on the family and the changes that have taken place as the years pass. As traditional as the film is in some ways, this device gives it an interesting, modern edge. I have no idea if Bustillo Oro was into Brecht, but the stylized camerawork and the narrator’s commentary make us very aware that we’re spectators watching a story unfold, and that the events we’re witnessing are part of a larger design. The repeated use of symbols also gives the film an interesting symmetry. The dinner table, the flowers in the courtyard, and most importantly the star on the Christmas tree are all recurring motifs. Bustillo Oro presents these symbols in a straightforward manner, laying his cards right on the table. You could accuse him of being obvious, but you could also say he’s just being honest.
The camerawork is simple and fluid, with the director often allowing the scenes to play out in long, uninterrupted takes. The results of this approach are mixed. When the dialogue is sharp and the actors are strong, it works well and the film has emotional impact. But when the dialogue becomes tedious, when tiresome comic scenes drag on, the film seems to stop dead. Over all I’d say the first third and last third are strong, but the middle could be a lot tighter. The scene where Lupita listens to her long lost son perform a Mother’s Day song over the radio is especially hard to handle. It seems to drag on interminably, and the maudlin sentimentality is oppressive.
Sara García, who plays the mother, is fine, but she doesn’t deliver any more than you’d expect. Fernando Soler, on the other hand, plays the father beautifully. This is a man who loves his wife and his children deeply, but he’s so bound by the conventions of his time that he can’t see beyond them. He believes that in kicking Raymundo out of the house he’s doing the only thing he can do, but we can also see that it pains him deeply. His transformation from the confident head of the family to the lonely old man, abandoned by his children is heartbreaking. As Raymundo, Emilio Tuero gives a first-rate performance. His love for his parents is palpable, and when his father condemns him it’s obvious that Raymundo is more hurt than angry. It’s not easy to play a part like this, the devoted son who makes the ultimate sacrifice for his family, but Tuero pulls it off nicely, making his devotion to his family believable without getting maudlin.
Some people won’t have patience for this film, and I can’t say I blame them. No question it’s really sentimental. In many ways Bustillo Oro’s approach reminds me of Leo McCarey. And just like McCarey, the thing that makes it work is that the director believes in what he’s doing wholeheartedly. This is not someone trying to wring tears from the audience to make a buck. I don’t doubt Bustillo Oro’s sincerity for a minute. This is a deeply Christian man, who believes that compassion and forgiveness can heal any wound, no matter how deep. When Amalia places the star on the Christmas tree at the end, it’s a simple but sincere way of saying that love conquers all.