By Roberto Leal
As I write this, my eyes look and feel like huevos rancheros. TCM aired six Mexican-themed movies, Sombrero, Viva Villa!, The Fugitive, Robin Hood of El Dorado, The Treasure of Pancho Villa, and Juarez, as a tribute and salute to Cinco de Mayo, because for me a film buff, every day is Cinco de Mayo! And, for some fideo loco reason, I binge-watched all of them in one day!
Well, why the hell not? The current pendejodemic has turned me into Ronald Coleman in Lost Horizon, but, I must wear a mask and if I leave the premises, I would dry up like a piece of beef jerky, as Jane Wyatt did at the end of that movie.
In the wake of the Chicano Movement and the admirable, ongoing efforts to bring the Latino experience to a wider audience, it is easy to point out that the majority of the Mexican lead roles, in these films, are Anglos. And yes, through the enlightened, corrective lens of Latinx pride and identity, portrayals of Mexicans, in these six films, are often stereotypical, simplistic, and downright racist.
But these films must also be seen through the historical lens of the old major studios monopoly, the Hollywood star system, marketing, and social context. My film theory professor always drilled into our often-sleepy heads, that all films are, by their nature, political, and all films have worthy elements in them, because of the vast array of skilled craftsmen who work on them. From a film theorist perspective, it is important to find those elements and illuminate them.
So, here goes…
Sombrero, (1953), Ricardo Montalban, Yvonne de Carlo, Cyd Charisse, Thomas Gomez, José Greco.
Ricardo Montalban is the undisputed giant in Latino entertainment. Period. Full stop. Over his long, illustrious career, Montalban has been a beacon, a trailblazer, and a role model for the Latino entertainment community. Before he achieved TV immortality, as the enigmatic Mr. Roarke on Fantasy Island, Montalban was one, of a few, Latin performers in MGM’s famous Galaxy of Stars.
In this charming, drama/musical, Montalban plays Pepe Gonzales, a cheese maker. Thankfully, there are no scenes of Pepe cutting the cheese. But there are some nice scenes of Montalban singing, dancing, and displaying a light, comedic touch with his characteristic class and style. Also noteworthy is Sombrero was written by Mexican-born, Josefina Nigali.
It was exceedingly rare, in those days, for a major studio to produce a film that was written by and starred two native-born Mexicans. Sombrero also showcases Cyd Charisse’s glorious gams in a sultry gypsy dance number. There is also an unforgettable flamenco dance sequence with José Greco doing his rapid-fire staccato, machine-gun, jackhammer-like steps in Cuban heels that surely must have struck sheer terror into the heart of any cockroach thinking of crossing the dance floor.
Viva Villa!,(1934), Wallace Beery, Leo Carillo, Stu Erwin
Wallace Beery portrays the famed, revolutionary military genius, Pancho Villa as a Latino Baby Huey who cannot pronounce his own name properly. Beery pronounces “Pancho” with a hard, flat “A”, like the “A” in frying pan. Beery’s, Pancho Villa also refers to himself in the third person, indicating his peasant ignorance. The real Villa was a brilliant guerilla fighter who ran circles around Gen. Pershing’s US Cavalry, when they chased him all over Chihuahua, in a frustrating exercise in futility.
But Beery’s portrait of this great Mexican hero can also be explained as a Hollywood studio’s smart marketing tactic, with an eye on the contemporary, social context.
In 1931, Beery won the hearts of movie-goers in Champ, when Beery played a lovable, Baby Huey boxer who befriends an equally lovable, Jackie Cooper. Beery’s, character dies in a teary scene with the kid. The studio heads wisely capitalized on that emotional gold, by putting Beery in a serape, sombrero and created Viva Villa! Beery even enlists a young boy to be his bugler, who gets killed in a battle, evoking the pathos of Champ.
We must remember that in 1934, Mexico City was a red-hot chili pepper, bohemian rhapsody of radical artists, writers, as well as socialist and communist politics. Diego Rivera was at the height of his muralist powers. Sergei Eisenstein directed his monumental epic, ¡Que viva Mexico! (1932), and Leon Trotsky goes to Mexico City, has a torrid affair with Frida Kahlo and gets his brains blown out.
Today, Viva Villa! is not regarded as a cultural or historical success. But, at the time, it was an enormous marketing and socially relevant triumph for MGM.
The Fugitive, (1947), Henry Fonda, Dolores del Rio. Pedro Armendáriz
Does Pedro Armendáriz always play a bad guy? Armendáriz is the Lee Van Cleef of Mexican cinema. It seems that Pedro is indeed ALWAYS a bad guy in either a Federale or military uniform. In director, John Ford’s, beautifully shot, black and white drama, Armendáriz is a Federale tasked with carrying out a regrettable Mexican government policy of persecuting Catholic priests. Henry Fonda plays an Anglo priest, in a small Mexican village. Dolores del Rio plays an Indian woman determined to help Fonda. It is a grim story. The cinematography, which evokes the influence of German Expressionism, makes effective use of light and shadows, along with gorgeous close-ups of Dolores del Rio. The Fugitive tells the true story of a sad chapter in Mexican history. But the artistry of John Ford and the strong cast, make it highly watchable, nonetheless.
Robin Hood of El Dorado, (1936), Warner Baxter, Bruce Cabot, Ann Loring
Anyone who takes a California History class learns about the infamous Mexican bandit and avenging angel of 1840’s California, Joaquin Murieta. Despite an all-white cast, director William Wellman, takes a very uncompromising examination of the terrible racial discrimination and bigotry toward the original Mexican inhabitants of California, by the invading gringos, during the California Gold Rush. In the Hollywood of 1936, that was an act of artistic moral courage, on the part of Wellman.
The film also features some great shoot-out scenes between Murietas gang and the greedy gringos.
Wellman’s Robin Hood of El Dorado resonates all to painfully today in America. Witness the Gestapo tactics of ICE and the anti-immigrant policies of Trump’s White House Minister of Xenophobia, Stephen Miller, the illegitimate spawn of Olive Oyl and Pee Wee Herman.
Oh, where have you gone, Joaquin Murieta, our nation turns its lonely eyes to you. Woo, woo, woo.
The Treasure of Pancho Villa, (1955), Rory Calhoun, Shelley winters, Gilbert Roland
I’ve had this casting injustice peeve stuck in my cinematic craw, like the skin off a popcorn kernel, for years; why did Orson Welles cast Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston) in the role of Mexican-American cop, Mike Vargas, in his 1958, iconic, border town, crime masterpiece, Touch of Evil? Was Gilbert Roland not available? The part must have been written with Gilbert in mind. Well, turns out Roland was busy in 1958, appearing in three films; God was in The West, Too, At One time, Land’s End and Johnny Hamlet. But I am sure he could have found some time between those projects to make Det. Mike Vargas an authentic, dynamic Latino character.
Juarez, (1939), Paul Muni, Bette Davis, Brian Aherne, Claude Rains, John Garfield
1939 produced some of the greatest films in Hollywood history; Gone with the Wind, The Wizard of Oz, Stagecoach, Wuthering Heights, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, just to name a very, very few.
Juarez always makes that list. Famed Chinese actor, Paul Muni (The Good Earth) plays…hey, wait a minute. Muni was not Chinese. But that is the genius Paul Muni brought to all his roles. Muni had the uncanny ability to literally shape-shift into any character, regardless of ethnicity, he played on the big screen. Muni does his magical transformers routine again as the first Mexican Indian to become President of Mexico, Benito Juarez.
Muni’s, Benito Juarez, is Lincoln-esque (Juarez and Lincoln were contemporaries), saintly, stoic, and majestic. Muni was nominated for a Best Actor Academy Award, six times, winning in 1937 for The Story of Louis Pasteur. It was reported in the Hollywood tabloids, at that time, Muni’s representation of Pasteur was so realistic, so true to life, Mrs. Pasteur mistakenly took him home with her and cooked a four-course, French gourmet, celebratory meal, for her beloved, “Louie, Louie”. Muni, always the perfect gentleman, left before “dessert” was served.
Juarez was the sixth and final film of TCM’s salute to Cinco de Mayo. However, the historical event that Cinco de Mayo is all about, The Battle of Puebla, in which Juarez’s ragtag, underdog Mexican army defeats the Las Vegas betting odds on favorites to win, redoubtable French troops, is missing. That major league upset was an epic dog fight where gutsy, little Mexican chihuahuas kick French poodle ass, sending them yelping all the way back to Paris.
That omission was a little disappointing. I also wish there had been some Hollywood movies depicting contemporaneous, everyday Latino life here or anywhere in Latin America. A growing, emerging Latino Hollywood will soon remedy that disparity. Next time, TCM will have a whole new film library of Mexican, Mexican American, and Chicano productions, the whole Latinx cinematic enchilada portfolio to celebrate Cinco de Mayo.
I will have to prepare my bloodshot orbs for that film fiesta, but right now, I must sit in my recliner, close my eyes, put an ice pack over them, and listen to a rerun of a Liga MX fútbol match.
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