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Justin Patchett (42 KP) rated Roma (2018) in Movies
Mar 3, 2019
Caught in a bad Roma
Contains spoilers, click to show
It’s been a long while since I watched a film deserving of a truly, harshly negative review. I have gotten so close so many times, and I’ll be damned if Netflix hadn’t gotten close to earning that with the fridge-logic that ruined Bird Box. Even Bird Box, though, feels enjoyable in retrospect compared to another Netflix exclusive: Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma.
Since I’m in a clear minority on this film, I feel obligated to preemptively address some common criticisms. If Roma had been produced in English, presented in color and with any score, it couldn’t fix the fact that I simply dislike Roma’s genre. Sure, I’ve liked slice-of-life drama films, and modern period pieces do fine by me. Pretentious Oscar-farming arthouse flicks like this, though, never win my praise.
Roma follows Cleo, a housemaid in Mexico City. Cleo has gotten pregnant and the presumed father, Fermín, leaves her to buy cigarettes before the baby’s even born. Her employer, Sofía, is dealing with a cheating spouse. What follows is two hours of both of these women marginally helping each other with their respective situations. As slice-of-life films do.
Since it's a slice-of-life film, much of the story just basically happens. You'll remember a scene here or there that happened, even if it was ultimately insignificant. In one scene for instance, Cleo goes to confront the baby daddy, who’s at a huge martial arts class. She spectates and proves to be the only one able to perform a certain yoga pose. Which is important because it helped add another few minutes to the film.
Cleo goes into labor not long after this confrontation, but her daughter ends up being stillborn. This all happens in the midst of the Corpus Christi Massacre. What the heck was the Corpus Christi Massacre, you may ask? According to this film, it was a brutal inconvenience on Cleo’s way to the hospital after her water breaks. This actual historical event simply happens and is never addressed for one second more. You know, just like in Titanic where the shipwreck just makes things inconvenient for Rose and Jack.
The last major scene in the film comes when Sofía invites Cleo to come with her family on a trip to the beach, not as staff but to help Cleo cope with the tragedy of losing her child. While they’re there, Sofía leaves the children in Cleo’s care for two freaking minutes, and two of the kids nearly drown. Cleo, though, can’t swim, and so she stands out in the water as the kids rescue each other. And that's about as close as Roma gets to a cohesive plot. Cleo only came with them to help her grieving, which meant she could be there to be powerless while her employer’s kids save each other’s lives. Bad things happen to us, the film teaches, so that good things can coincidentally happen in our proximity.
In fact, coincidence seems to be the running theme, here. Remember the Corpus Christi Massacre? No? What if I call it “the scene where Cleo goes into labor”? Maybe that helps? Fermín briefly held Cleo at gunpoint in the middle of it. Again, mere coincidence. Just like it’s a mere coincidence that she goes into labor the same day as a massacre that killed 120 people. As coincidences do.
Roma isn’t an aggressively bad film. There are a rare few moments within Roma’s 2-hour runtime where you think, “I can see that clip showing up during a Facebook video binge,” but again: These are moments more rare than our current president ordering a rare steak. That rarity has everything to do with the fact that the movie has so few moments, at all. The rest is shots that linger too long from angles that repeat themselves all too often. It’s like Cuarón asked someone, “What does a movie like Juno need to be better?” They responded, “Nothing.” So Cuarón packed Roma with nothing.
Which brings up one of my biggest criticisms of Roma: The cinematography is bland. Cuarón shot practically the entire film on one camera, set a specific distance from the subject, and kept takes running as longer than they should have, padding out a short-film’s worth of content to feature length. It’s bland cinematography that somehow earned an Oscar for Best Cinematography.
Gravity showed us what Cuarón was capable of. Beyond bringing a seemingly authentic view of space to the big screen, Gravity offered variety. Yes, the huge collision scene in Gravity takes on the feel of a one-take scene, but even then, the camera moves with the action. And if your attention moves away from the foreground the shot, you’re able to see other important things going on. With Roma, though, your foreground is your film. Period. And to be sure, you'll be kept at arm's length from that foreground at all times, both metaphorically and cinematically.
There's a number of reasons why Roma wasn't the Best Picture, this year. Gravity proved that Roma is not Cuarón’s best film. Bo Burnham–yes, that Bo Burnham–wrote and directed a better slice-of-life film with Eighth Grade. And Roma might not even be the past year’s best black-and-white film; I dare suggest that Cold War may have been better.
To give it the credit it’s due, Roma’s cast rightly earned nominations for their performances. Yalitza Aparicio and Marina de Tavira earned Best Actress nominations for their roles, and for their part, their performances were authentic as can be. It's the least the Academy could do for having them endure Cuarón's lengthy takes.
But now that I've given it credit, I demand my time back for the scene of Fermín going Star Wars Kid meets Full Monty.
Since I’m in a clear minority on this film, I feel obligated to preemptively address some common criticisms. If Roma had been produced in English, presented in color and with any score, it couldn’t fix the fact that I simply dislike Roma’s genre. Sure, I’ve liked slice-of-life drama films, and modern period pieces do fine by me. Pretentious Oscar-farming arthouse flicks like this, though, never win my praise.
Roma follows Cleo, a housemaid in Mexico City. Cleo has gotten pregnant and the presumed father, Fermín, leaves her to buy cigarettes before the baby’s even born. Her employer, Sofía, is dealing with a cheating spouse. What follows is two hours of both of these women marginally helping each other with their respective situations. As slice-of-life films do.
Since it's a slice-of-life film, much of the story just basically happens. You'll remember a scene here or there that happened, even if it was ultimately insignificant. In one scene for instance, Cleo goes to confront the baby daddy, who’s at a huge martial arts class. She spectates and proves to be the only one able to perform a certain yoga pose. Which is important because it helped add another few minutes to the film.
Cleo goes into labor not long after this confrontation, but her daughter ends up being stillborn. This all happens in the midst of the Corpus Christi Massacre. What the heck was the Corpus Christi Massacre, you may ask? According to this film, it was a brutal inconvenience on Cleo’s way to the hospital after her water breaks. This actual historical event simply happens and is never addressed for one second more. You know, just like in Titanic where the shipwreck just makes things inconvenient for Rose and Jack.
The last major scene in the film comes when Sofía invites Cleo to come with her family on a trip to the beach, not as staff but to help Cleo cope with the tragedy of losing her child. While they’re there, Sofía leaves the children in Cleo’s care for two freaking minutes, and two of the kids nearly drown. Cleo, though, can’t swim, and so she stands out in the water as the kids rescue each other. And that's about as close as Roma gets to a cohesive plot. Cleo only came with them to help her grieving, which meant she could be there to be powerless while her employer’s kids save each other’s lives. Bad things happen to us, the film teaches, so that good things can coincidentally happen in our proximity.
In fact, coincidence seems to be the running theme, here. Remember the Corpus Christi Massacre? No? What if I call it “the scene where Cleo goes into labor”? Maybe that helps? Fermín briefly held Cleo at gunpoint in the middle of it. Again, mere coincidence. Just like it’s a mere coincidence that she goes into labor the same day as a massacre that killed 120 people. As coincidences do.
Roma isn’t an aggressively bad film. There are a rare few moments within Roma’s 2-hour runtime where you think, “I can see that clip showing up during a Facebook video binge,” but again: These are moments more rare than our current president ordering a rare steak. That rarity has everything to do with the fact that the movie has so few moments, at all. The rest is shots that linger too long from angles that repeat themselves all too often. It’s like Cuarón asked someone, “What does a movie like Juno need to be better?” They responded, “Nothing.” So Cuarón packed Roma with nothing.
Which brings up one of my biggest criticisms of Roma: The cinematography is bland. Cuarón shot practically the entire film on one camera, set a specific distance from the subject, and kept takes running as longer than they should have, padding out a short-film’s worth of content to feature length. It’s bland cinematography that somehow earned an Oscar for Best Cinematography.
Gravity showed us what Cuarón was capable of. Beyond bringing a seemingly authentic view of space to the big screen, Gravity offered variety. Yes, the huge collision scene in Gravity takes on the feel of a one-take scene, but even then, the camera moves with the action. And if your attention moves away from the foreground the shot, you’re able to see other important things going on. With Roma, though, your foreground is your film. Period. And to be sure, you'll be kept at arm's length from that foreground at all times, both metaphorically and cinematically.
There's a number of reasons why Roma wasn't the Best Picture, this year. Gravity proved that Roma is not Cuarón’s best film. Bo Burnham–yes, that Bo Burnham–wrote and directed a better slice-of-life film with Eighth Grade. And Roma might not even be the past year’s best black-and-white film; I dare suggest that Cold War may have been better.
To give it the credit it’s due, Roma’s cast rightly earned nominations for their performances. Yalitza Aparicio and Marina de Tavira earned Best Actress nominations for their roles, and for their part, their performances were authentic as can be. It's the least the Academy could do for having them endure Cuarón's lengthy takes.
But now that I've given it credit, I demand my time back for the scene of Fermín going Star Wars Kid meets Full Monty.
A Bibliophagist (113 KP) rated Wuthering Heights in Books
Feb 12, 2020
Stands up (2 more)
Enthralling
Unique
Dislikable characters (1 more)
Difficult accents without translations
I will do my best to review this, however, I didn't heed the intro, this tour de force really does leave you as quickly as it comes, and reading another book before reviewing this one was a mistake.
In reading reviews prior to reading this book, I learned three major things; 1, people either love or hate this book, 2. I had no idea what I was actually in for, and 3. this may have not been the romantic pick for February I was expecting it to be.
So yes, PSA for anyone out there considering going into this thinking it's a romance. It is NOT. There are love stories in this, absolutely, powerful love stories that made me read quotes to my boyfriend with snarky statements like "if you don't say this at my funeral, did you ever really love me?". But it is NOT a romance. If anything this has more in common with "The Count of Monte Cristo" than it does "Pride and Prejudice". Honestly, the only thing it has in common with other, romantic books of this time, is the time period. But beware, no balls and high society and Mr. Darcy's await you in this novel. I feel a number of the reviews decrying the book, calling the characters "monstrous" both were the orchestrators of their own disappointment by assuming it to be like an Austin, and really need to look in the mirror and reflect on if they are really as perfect as they think they are. Especially if they were in the circumstances that surround this tale.
I find that Heathcliff himself addresses this mistake many readers had going into this book.
"picturing in me a hero of romance, and expecting unlimited indulgences from my chivalrous devotion. I can hardly regard her in the light of a rational creature, so obstinately has she persisted in forming a fabulous notion of my character and actin gon false impressions she cherished."
SO many readers went into this expecting Heathcliff to be some misunderstood brute or one harsh but salvaged by the purity of his love of Catherine. But this isn't the case.
Wuthering Heights tells the story of (I guess technically 3) but really 2 generations of families. Living in the Yorkshire Moors, isolated from high society. We have the Liptons, primmer and properer and more in touch with society, and the Earnshaws which become a little rough around the edges in their isolation and loss. Papa Earnshaw has two children, Catherine and Hindley, and adopts a small boy of unknown heritage but is implied to be Romani or of mixed race (sorry Tom Hardy and nearly every portrayal of Heathcliff), that he names, simply, Heathcliff. He loves Heathcliff, and dotes on him greatly, much to the chagrin of Hindly who grows to resent Heathcliff, treating him terribly until Hindly leaves for school. Catherine and Heathcliff become great playmates, their care is given primarily to a maid scarcely older than them, as Papa Earnshaw is a single daddy. They are wild things, as children I would assume would be, in such isolation as the Yorkshire Moors in a time before the creature comforts and entertainment we have. They grow very close, obsessively close. Upon Papa Earnshaw's death, Hindley returns (at around the age of 23) to run the household, and take over the care of these two youngsters, one of which, he hates. So, Cinderella-style, Heathcliff gets treated worse and worse and treated like a servant rather than the adoptive child that Papa Earnshaw loved so dearly. Suddenly Heathcliff is nothing, treated terribly, and has the most important thing in his life banned from him, Catherine. Meanwhile, the Liptons also have two children, not wild, but spoilt in their own ways, Edgar and Isabella, close in age to Heathcliff and Catherine. When H and C run off on a camping adventure and find themselves at the Lipton's house, Catherine is injured and stays with the Liptons, in their higher society for 5 weeks. Leaving Heathcliff to the abuse of her brother and further isolation. She returns much more a lady and with her connection to Heathcliff slightly burned. In an attempt to protect Heathcliff, and because Heathcliff is now no more than a servant and not an option to marry, Catherine intends to marry Edgar. Causing our resident bad boy to run off for a number of years. Only to return a proper, but still broody gentleman, and confuse Catherine's affection much to the displeasure of Edgar.
Now, this is where a number of shows and movies end things. With a focus on Catherine and Heathcliff's whirlwind romance, obsession. It has some of the most to the point and beautiful lines regarding love, not all flowery, not "I love you most ardently" but rather cries of "I am Heathcliff" by Catherine. Absolutely heart-rending, even though I didn't like Catherine. But this is not where the book ends. The book goes on to follow Heathcliff's obsession with revenge, with his treatment as a child, his rage against Hindley, and against losing Catherine to Edgar. He spends years slowly ruining everyone's lives. Not that you could really ruin Hindley's life, he was a mean drunk. But he even goes as far as to meddle with the next generation, Hindley's son Hareton is raised terribly and is a bit of a wild thing (those his redemption and love story is quite beautiful), Catherine's daughter Cathy and Heathcliff's son Lipton are whisked up into a big scheme by Heathcliff to take everything. Heathcliff even marry's out of pure spite.
Love does not redeem this man, he's barely an antihero without his youth story. He is angry and passionate and obsessed. Which for the first half of the book I didn't fault him for, but he does do some damnable things in the second half that you cannot argue away. No matter how romantic and beautiful and heartrending his lamentations can be. I was quite the character arc, quite the tale of revenge and loss. He was unredeemable because of his big sprawling schemes and harsh intentions. Catherine for me was unredeemable because she was an obnoxious, selfish thing, that honestly if Heathcliff had stopped thinking about two minutes would have found a better woman in every town. She whined and treated Edgar (who was honestly super sweet) so terribly, she had an anger problem and would work herself up until she was sick. But it is in this imperfection that I fell in love more with the book. Here is something unique and real, this is no Elizabeth Bennett. The isolation and hermetic lifestyle created very different characters than what we see in Jane Austin or even in Emily's sister's novel.
It's no wonder this book was harshly critiqued upon release, here is a woman, writing a revenge story, with love stories in it. That based on the biographical intro had some parallels to her own life. She lived an isolated existence, surrounded by the death of the majority of her family young. She was in her late 20s when she wrote this and died a year after publication. She made humans of monsters and monsters of humans and wrote something unexpected and truly unique.
It's hard for me to explain, amongst the harshness and bleakness of this novel, why I loved it so much. But I did, I loved every bit. The anger, the passion, the love, the scheming, I loved it all.
I also feel it's important to note that this whole story is told by a maid to a new tenant. So the narrator is unreliable. Were these people truly this way? Or is it clouded by this maid's opinions of them? How much is omitted due to the maid not being privy to an event?
Truly a fantastic read, that punched me in my chest and gut, grabbed and twisted my insides and refuses to let go. I would argue it's a cult classic rather than a classic. So please, shed all preconceived notions of what this book is, shake that Austin out of your mind and read this tale of obsession and revenge. It's well worth it.
In reading reviews prior to reading this book, I learned three major things; 1, people either love or hate this book, 2. I had no idea what I was actually in for, and 3. this may have not been the romantic pick for February I was expecting it to be.
So yes, PSA for anyone out there considering going into this thinking it's a romance. It is NOT. There are love stories in this, absolutely, powerful love stories that made me read quotes to my boyfriend with snarky statements like "if you don't say this at my funeral, did you ever really love me?". But it is NOT a romance. If anything this has more in common with "The Count of Monte Cristo" than it does "Pride and Prejudice". Honestly, the only thing it has in common with other, romantic books of this time, is the time period. But beware, no balls and high society and Mr. Darcy's await you in this novel. I feel a number of the reviews decrying the book, calling the characters "monstrous" both were the orchestrators of their own disappointment by assuming it to be like an Austin, and really need to look in the mirror and reflect on if they are really as perfect as they think they are. Especially if they were in the circumstances that surround this tale.
I find that Heathcliff himself addresses this mistake many readers had going into this book.
"picturing in me a hero of romance, and expecting unlimited indulgences from my chivalrous devotion. I can hardly regard her in the light of a rational creature, so obstinately has she persisted in forming a fabulous notion of my character and actin gon false impressions she cherished."
SO many readers went into this expecting Heathcliff to be some misunderstood brute or one harsh but salvaged by the purity of his love of Catherine. But this isn't the case.
Wuthering Heights tells the story of (I guess technically 3) but really 2 generations of families. Living in the Yorkshire Moors, isolated from high society. We have the Liptons, primmer and properer and more in touch with society, and the Earnshaws which become a little rough around the edges in their isolation and loss. Papa Earnshaw has two children, Catherine and Hindley, and adopts a small boy of unknown heritage but is implied to be Romani or of mixed race (sorry Tom Hardy and nearly every portrayal of Heathcliff), that he names, simply, Heathcliff. He loves Heathcliff, and dotes on him greatly, much to the chagrin of Hindly who grows to resent Heathcliff, treating him terribly until Hindly leaves for school. Catherine and Heathcliff become great playmates, their care is given primarily to a maid scarcely older than them, as Papa Earnshaw is a single daddy. They are wild things, as children I would assume would be, in such isolation as the Yorkshire Moors in a time before the creature comforts and entertainment we have. They grow very close, obsessively close. Upon Papa Earnshaw's death, Hindley returns (at around the age of 23) to run the household, and take over the care of these two youngsters, one of which, he hates. So, Cinderella-style, Heathcliff gets treated worse and worse and treated like a servant rather than the adoptive child that Papa Earnshaw loved so dearly. Suddenly Heathcliff is nothing, treated terribly, and has the most important thing in his life banned from him, Catherine. Meanwhile, the Liptons also have two children, not wild, but spoilt in their own ways, Edgar and Isabella, close in age to Heathcliff and Catherine. When H and C run off on a camping adventure and find themselves at the Lipton's house, Catherine is injured and stays with the Liptons, in their higher society for 5 weeks. Leaving Heathcliff to the abuse of her brother and further isolation. She returns much more a lady and with her connection to Heathcliff slightly burned. In an attempt to protect Heathcliff, and because Heathcliff is now no more than a servant and not an option to marry, Catherine intends to marry Edgar. Causing our resident bad boy to run off for a number of years. Only to return a proper, but still broody gentleman, and confuse Catherine's affection much to the displeasure of Edgar.
Now, this is where a number of shows and movies end things. With a focus on Catherine and Heathcliff's whirlwind romance, obsession. It has some of the most to the point and beautiful lines regarding love, not all flowery, not "I love you most ardently" but rather cries of "I am Heathcliff" by Catherine. Absolutely heart-rending, even though I didn't like Catherine. But this is not where the book ends. The book goes on to follow Heathcliff's obsession with revenge, with his treatment as a child, his rage against Hindley, and against losing Catherine to Edgar. He spends years slowly ruining everyone's lives. Not that you could really ruin Hindley's life, he was a mean drunk. But he even goes as far as to meddle with the next generation, Hindley's son Hareton is raised terribly and is a bit of a wild thing (those his redemption and love story is quite beautiful), Catherine's daughter Cathy and Heathcliff's son Lipton are whisked up into a big scheme by Heathcliff to take everything. Heathcliff even marry's out of pure spite.
Love does not redeem this man, he's barely an antihero without his youth story. He is angry and passionate and obsessed. Which for the first half of the book I didn't fault him for, but he does do some damnable things in the second half that you cannot argue away. No matter how romantic and beautiful and heartrending his lamentations can be. I was quite the character arc, quite the tale of revenge and loss. He was unredeemable because of his big sprawling schemes and harsh intentions. Catherine for me was unredeemable because she was an obnoxious, selfish thing, that honestly if Heathcliff had stopped thinking about two minutes would have found a better woman in every town. She whined and treated Edgar (who was honestly super sweet) so terribly, she had an anger problem and would work herself up until she was sick. But it is in this imperfection that I fell in love more with the book. Here is something unique and real, this is no Elizabeth Bennett. The isolation and hermetic lifestyle created very different characters than what we see in Jane Austin or even in Emily's sister's novel.
It's no wonder this book was harshly critiqued upon release, here is a woman, writing a revenge story, with love stories in it. That based on the biographical intro had some parallels to her own life. She lived an isolated existence, surrounded by the death of the majority of her family young. She was in her late 20s when she wrote this and died a year after publication. She made humans of monsters and monsters of humans and wrote something unexpected and truly unique.
It's hard for me to explain, amongst the harshness and bleakness of this novel, why I loved it so much. But I did, I loved every bit. The anger, the passion, the love, the scheming, I loved it all.
I also feel it's important to note that this whole story is told by a maid to a new tenant. So the narrator is unreliable. Were these people truly this way? Or is it clouded by this maid's opinions of them? How much is omitted due to the maid not being privy to an event?
Truly a fantastic read, that punched me in my chest and gut, grabbed and twisted my insides and refuses to let go. I would argue it's a cult classic rather than a classic. So please, shed all preconceived notions of what this book is, shake that Austin out of your mind and read this tale of obsession and revenge. It's well worth it.