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honingwords (32 KP) rated No Good Reason in Books
Jul 5, 2018
Cari Hunter is most definitely as top notch a writer as you are going to find in crime/thriller writing.
Cari Hunter’s Dark Peak crime series, starting with No Good Reason, was recommended to me by a Lesfic author. I reckon you have to be pretty good for your peers to claim you are ‘top notch’ and after reading four of her books in quick succession I can guarantee that Cari is most definitely as top notch a writer as you are going to find in crime/thriller writing.
Let me admit to you that I generally find crime novels too much hard work to follow. I like my books to be romances, and the sexier the better. I’m surprised as all get out to find I love Cari’s thrilling ride through these Police stroke Hospital novels. Especially as there is almost no juicy sex to lubricate the grit. The infrequency of sex scenes is because the main characters, Sanne and Meg, aren’t officially a couple. Or maybe they are. It’s entirely possible everyone knows they are, except themselves.
The story isn't necessarily about their sexual tension, but it was always in the back of my mind that they would see sense in the end and I patiently waited them out.
I have found in the last few years that there are many padded-out books on the market by well-respected authors, where you can skip through whole pages at a time without losing any real sense of the plot. Not so with No Good Reason which kept me riveted through each paragraph and exquisite word right from the tense prologue.
Cari definitely makes every single word count and I felt engaged in the story and with her main characters within the first few pages.
I’d already read Snowbound, which was a fantastic debut novel, but the characters in No Good Reason are one smidge more sophisticatedly written.
Sanne and Meg go back a very long time, from before their first kiss at the age of twelve, and they know each other better than they know themselves. They have generated a world around them where they are each others’ support and comfort. They are BFFs, they are Friends With Benefits, but somehow Cari has written them as even more than these things. They are each others’ absolute other halves.
These two girls have aches and bruises, and tears and emotions, and genuine exhaustion from their ridiculously long work hours.
They do things like accidentally drop perishable shopping on the floor, but eat it anyway; burn their tea; and turn the shower off when the toilet flushes for fear of being scalded.
I love details like these. I love that they can have a discussion about putting the bins out and HobNobs can fall in their tea the same as they do for you and me, without making the whole book boring and mundane. It simply endears the characters to me all the more.
They made me smile a lot. Meg prefers ham and quaver butties, for goodness sake, what’s not to love?
It doesn’t take long for Cari to completely draw you into their world in Northern England, around the Manchester area, and mainly in the Peak District which is where Cari lives and I feel like I have travelled the hills and crunched the snow and tramped through the same streets as she has now.
This area has its own accent, Northern English, and it is noticeable that she uses phrases and words particular to there. I can’t remember which words I picked up on first, probably some dialogue, but you quickly become used to the fact this is not written by an American. It’s refreshing to have only regional UK main characters: no Londoners; no Americans.
Don’t let the idea of a local accent and local characters put you off, there is nothing in the book you wouldn’t understand, it is still all ‘plain English’ and if you come across a word you can’t decipher I will more than happily translate for you!
Other than the almost-a-romance-but-so-much-more between the two girls there is also this whole other kidnapping / crime malarkey going on. Sanne is a little too personally involved in the case right from the beginning, being caught up in the initial rescue of the victim. She and her police partner, the sensitive, caring, supportive, gorgeously written Nelson, are embroiled in working the case together. Needless to say they spend a lot of time visiting Meg in her role as A&E Doctor in the local hospital for one reason or another. Nelson is a beautiful soul and just the kind of partner Sanne needs, but that writers seldom allow their straight characters to be, especially in Police fiction.
The kidnapping plot is fast paced and exciting. The characters on both sides of the investigation were all believable and there was an audible ‘Huh!’ out of me with the final twist at the end. I really didn’t see that coming. Such a simple way to pull the whole plot together. Chilling!
Cari has a remarkable flair for descriptive writing and she pays particular attention to details like sounds and how things feel against skin. You are left in no doubt every time a character is sore, almost feeling the pain and peeling off the scabs with them.
Sometimes you have to reread a passage to understand the gist of what an author means, or furrow your brow over a combination of words because they just don’t make sense or even belong together, but with Cari Hunter the only thing I can point out to her is ‘Try feeding goldfinches niger seeds instead of nuts.’ That’s it. No other tweaking or corrections required. Nothing. Cari Hunter writes sheer perfection.
My favourite line in the book is the first one I stopped at, blinked appreciatively and re-read.
“Sanne ran her fingertips across the gritstone, letting it wear away her skin like an over-keen emery board.”
From that point on I knew I was going to love not only the book, but also Cari’s style and I wasn’t disappointed with further chapters.
I have a simple test for new authors, to find out how much I like them. The test is ‘how sick has this author made me?’ By that I mean - how long did they keep me awake reading when I ought to have been asleep for work the next day. If I am awake too long it makes me sick for several days after - it shouldn’t be something I am proud of but
Let me admit to you that I generally find crime novels too much hard work to follow. I like my books to be romances, and the sexier the better. I’m surprised as all get out to find I love Cari’s thrilling ride through these Police stroke Hospital novels. Especially as there is almost no juicy sex to lubricate the grit. The infrequency of sex scenes is because the main characters, Sanne and Meg, aren’t officially a couple. Or maybe they are. It’s entirely possible everyone knows they are, except themselves.
The story isn't necessarily about their sexual tension, but it was always in the back of my mind that they would see sense in the end and I patiently waited them out.
I have found in the last few years that there are many padded-out books on the market by well-respected authors, where you can skip through whole pages at a time without losing any real sense of the plot. Not so with No Good Reason which kept me riveted through each paragraph and exquisite word right from the tense prologue.
Cari definitely makes every single word count and I felt engaged in the story and with her main characters within the first few pages.
I’d already read Snowbound, which was a fantastic debut novel, but the characters in No Good Reason are one smidge more sophisticatedly written.
Sanne and Meg go back a very long time, from before their first kiss at the age of twelve, and they know each other better than they know themselves. They have generated a world around them where they are each others’ support and comfort. They are BFFs, they are Friends With Benefits, but somehow Cari has written them as even more than these things. They are each others’ absolute other halves.
These two girls have aches and bruises, and tears and emotions, and genuine exhaustion from their ridiculously long work hours.
They do things like accidentally drop perishable shopping on the floor, but eat it anyway; burn their tea; and turn the shower off when the toilet flushes for fear of being scalded.
I love details like these. I love that they can have a discussion about putting the bins out and HobNobs can fall in their tea the same as they do for you and me, without making the whole book boring and mundane. It simply endears the characters to me all the more.
They made me smile a lot. Meg prefers ham and quaver butties, for goodness sake, what’s not to love?
It doesn’t take long for Cari to completely draw you into their world in Northern England, around the Manchester area, and mainly in the Peak District which is where Cari lives and I feel like I have travelled the hills and crunched the snow and tramped through the same streets as she has now.
This area has its own accent, Northern English, and it is noticeable that she uses phrases and words particular to there. I can’t remember which words I picked up on first, probably some dialogue, but you quickly become used to the fact this is not written by an American. It’s refreshing to have only regional UK main characters: no Londoners; no Americans.
Don’t let the idea of a local accent and local characters put you off, there is nothing in the book you wouldn’t understand, it is still all ‘plain English’ and if you come across a word you can’t decipher I will more than happily translate for you!
Other than the almost-a-romance-but-so-much-more between the two girls there is also this whole other kidnapping / crime malarkey going on. Sanne is a little too personally involved in the case right from the beginning, being caught up in the initial rescue of the victim. She and her police partner, the sensitive, caring, supportive, gorgeously written Nelson, are embroiled in working the case together. Needless to say they spend a lot of time visiting Meg in her role as A&E Doctor in the local hospital for one reason or another. Nelson is a beautiful soul and just the kind of partner Sanne needs, but that writers seldom allow their straight characters to be, especially in Police fiction.
The kidnapping plot is fast paced and exciting. The characters on both sides of the investigation were all believable and there was an audible ‘Huh!’ out of me with the final twist at the end. I really didn’t see that coming. Such a simple way to pull the whole plot together. Chilling!
Cari has a remarkable flair for descriptive writing and she pays particular attention to details like sounds and how things feel against skin. You are left in no doubt every time a character is sore, almost feeling the pain and peeling off the scabs with them.
Sometimes you have to reread a passage to understand the gist of what an author means, or furrow your brow over a combination of words because they just don’t make sense or even belong together, but with Cari Hunter the only thing I can point out to her is ‘Try feeding goldfinches niger seeds instead of nuts.’ That’s it. No other tweaking or corrections required. Nothing. Cari Hunter writes sheer perfection.
My favourite line in the book is the first one I stopped at, blinked appreciatively and re-read.
“Sanne ran her fingertips across the gritstone, letting it wear away her skin like an over-keen emery board.”
From that point on I knew I was going to love not only the book, but also Cari’s style and I wasn’t disappointed with further chapters.
I have a simple test for new authors, to find out how much I like them. The test is ‘how sick has this author made me?’ By that I mean - how long did they keep me awake reading when I ought to have been asleep for work the next day. If I am awake too long it makes me sick for several days after - it shouldn’t be something I am proud of but
Well written (1 more)
Great characters
If the world ended, could you keep your morals and values? Imagine that your a father, with a young child in a burned-out world, barely surviving out on the road, and there are cannibals and murderers out to get you. Over time, you would watch your child become thinner and thinner, and every now and then you're lucky enough to find some canned or jarred food here and there, but it's only a matter of time before you can't find anymore. Soon, you would both be too weak to move - - - would you murder someone if they had food? Yet, most people out on the road are just like you, with no food and searching for more - - - in that case, could you kill and eat a person to survive? Or would you let yourself and your child starve, keeping your morals and values intact?
This is a scenario people may have to face one day, especially with the shape the world is in today. Even now people are faced with sticking with their morals and values, from helping our fellow man to the decision of holding a door open for a stranger. The Road, Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize winning novel, brings the very question of humanity to the forefront, as well as how hard it is to hold onto it.
The father, The Road's main character, takes us on a journey through the mountains in a burned-out America, but the fires that took over are never explained and they didn't need to be. Apparently having been on the move for a couple of years, he wants to take his young son South to survive the winter months that are very close by. Readers get glimpses of what happened the night the grid went down from the father's point-of-view, but so many years have passed that the memories are few, the facts aren't completely straight, and any type of life before the fires seems to have been just a dream. So the two begin the story heading South, dragging everything they have scavenged in their travels inside of a metal shopping cart, and the father isn't sure they'll make it out of the mountains before winter. He only has tattered pieces of a map that they have carried for a long time, having numbered each piece with a broken crayon they had found, making it hard to estimate how far they need to travel.
While traveling, they very rarely run into other people, at one point, when they run into a very bad man, the father realizes he hasn't spoken to another person (other than his son) in at least a year. This is mostly because the majority of people that are still alive are the type of people that would rather kill you and take whatever you have than speak to you. Even most of the houses they come upon are burned and abandoned, but the father sees these buildings as a chance to find food and supplies: "The roadside hedges were gone to rows of black and twisted brambles. No sign of life. He left the boy standing in the road holding the pistol while he climbed an old set of limestone steps and walked down the porch of the farmhouse shading his eyes and peering in the windows. He let himself in through the kitchen. Trash in the floor, old newsprint. China in a breakfront, cups hanging from their hooks. He went down the hallway and stood in the door to the parlor. There was an antique pumporgan in the corner. A television set. Cheap stuffed furniture together with an old handmade cherrywood chifforobe. He climbed the stairs and walked through the bedrooms. Everything covered with ash. A child's room with a stuffed dog on the windowsill looking out at the garden. He went through the closets. He stripped back the beds and came away with two good woolen blankets and went back down the stairs. In the pantry were three jars of homecanned tomatoes. He blew the dust from the lids and studied them. Someone before him had not trusted them and in the end neither did he and he walked out with the blankets over his shoulder and they set off along the road again. " The young son is usually left close by outside because he seems scared that either there will be bad people or dead people inside.
Throughout this incredible, heart wrenching novel, the father slowly becomes more ill with what seems to be a case of pneumonia, possibly caused by all of the ash that is in the air from the fires; this makes him cough uncontrollably. Yet, he doesn't focus on that he may not live too much longer, instead he tries everything to get his son as far South as possible without too much of a plan of what to do when they get there.
The horror of this book is brought to light by the realism of what could happen if the world were to end, when people lose their humanity and begin to kill and eat their fellow humans. It leaves us wondering if we could hold onto what we are today when the basic need for shelter and food become more important than another person's life. But the father and son are examples of the few individuals who are able to hold onto their humanity during the end of the world: they share supplies if they can, they don't kill humans or animals to feed themselves, and they live by one rule: if a person is still alive, they take nothing from them.
The struggle these two go through is very real and believable, and McCarthy's writing is so well done that this book is hard to put down. Even while reading, most won't notice that there is only one character in the entire story that is given a name; our two main characters are never addressed by anything other than Papa or son/boy. The father's worry about keeping his son alive and unharmed is heartbreaking, for instance, one scene where he believes that he and his son are going to be found by cannibals, he quickly goes over with his son on how to shoot himself with the pistol, so neither of them will be taken alive. As a parent, I choked up in quite a few scenes, including this one - - - and as with the film adaptation, I cried heartily at the end.
This emotional, dark novel is an amazing book to read. The Road is bound to leave readers questioning what they would do in the same circumstances as the father. I highly recommend this book to people who love dystopian novels, but beware, this is a story you won't be able to forget.
This is a scenario people may have to face one day, especially with the shape the world is in today. Even now people are faced with sticking with their morals and values, from helping our fellow man to the decision of holding a door open for a stranger. The Road, Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize winning novel, brings the very question of humanity to the forefront, as well as how hard it is to hold onto it.
The father, The Road's main character, takes us on a journey through the mountains in a burned-out America, but the fires that took over are never explained and they didn't need to be. Apparently having been on the move for a couple of years, he wants to take his young son South to survive the winter months that are very close by. Readers get glimpses of what happened the night the grid went down from the father's point-of-view, but so many years have passed that the memories are few, the facts aren't completely straight, and any type of life before the fires seems to have been just a dream. So the two begin the story heading South, dragging everything they have scavenged in their travels inside of a metal shopping cart, and the father isn't sure they'll make it out of the mountains before winter. He only has tattered pieces of a map that they have carried for a long time, having numbered each piece with a broken crayon they had found, making it hard to estimate how far they need to travel.
While traveling, they very rarely run into other people, at one point, when they run into a very bad man, the father realizes he hasn't spoken to another person (other than his son) in at least a year. This is mostly because the majority of people that are still alive are the type of people that would rather kill you and take whatever you have than speak to you. Even most of the houses they come upon are burned and abandoned, but the father sees these buildings as a chance to find food and supplies: "The roadside hedges were gone to rows of black and twisted brambles. No sign of life. He left the boy standing in the road holding the pistol while he climbed an old set of limestone steps and walked down the porch of the farmhouse shading his eyes and peering in the windows. He let himself in through the kitchen. Trash in the floor, old newsprint. China in a breakfront, cups hanging from their hooks. He went down the hallway and stood in the door to the parlor. There was an antique pumporgan in the corner. A television set. Cheap stuffed furniture together with an old handmade cherrywood chifforobe. He climbed the stairs and walked through the bedrooms. Everything covered with ash. A child's room with a stuffed dog on the windowsill looking out at the garden. He went through the closets. He stripped back the beds and came away with two good woolen blankets and went back down the stairs. In the pantry were three jars of homecanned tomatoes. He blew the dust from the lids and studied them. Someone before him had not trusted them and in the end neither did he and he walked out with the blankets over his shoulder and they set off along the road again. " The young son is usually left close by outside because he seems scared that either there will be bad people or dead people inside.
Throughout this incredible, heart wrenching novel, the father slowly becomes more ill with what seems to be a case of pneumonia, possibly caused by all of the ash that is in the air from the fires; this makes him cough uncontrollably. Yet, he doesn't focus on that he may not live too much longer, instead he tries everything to get his son as far South as possible without too much of a plan of what to do when they get there.
The horror of this book is brought to light by the realism of what could happen if the world were to end, when people lose their humanity and begin to kill and eat their fellow humans. It leaves us wondering if we could hold onto what we are today when the basic need for shelter and food become more important than another person's life. But the father and son are examples of the few individuals who are able to hold onto their humanity during the end of the world: they share supplies if they can, they don't kill humans or animals to feed themselves, and they live by one rule: if a person is still alive, they take nothing from them.
The struggle these two go through is very real and believable, and McCarthy's writing is so well done that this book is hard to put down. Even while reading, most won't notice that there is only one character in the entire story that is given a name; our two main characters are never addressed by anything other than Papa or son/boy. The father's worry about keeping his son alive and unharmed is heartbreaking, for instance, one scene where he believes that he and his son are going to be found by cannibals, he quickly goes over with his son on how to shoot himself with the pistol, so neither of them will be taken alive. As a parent, I choked up in quite a few scenes, including this one - - - and as with the film adaptation, I cried heartily at the end.
This emotional, dark novel is an amazing book to read. The Road is bound to leave readers questioning what they would do in the same circumstances as the father. I highly recommend this book to people who love dystopian novels, but beware, this is a story you won't be able to forget.
Bob Mann (459 KP) rated Roma (2018) in Movies
Sep 28, 2021
“Siempre estamos solas”
Alfonso Cuarón‘s “Roma” has been lauded with praise and award’s hype, and I must admit to have been a little bit snooty about it. A black-and-white Spanish language film with subtitles that – to be honest – looks a bit dreary: can it really be that good? Having now (finally) seen it on Netflix I can confirm that’s a big YES from my point of view. It’s a novelty of a glacially slow film that grips like a vice.
A primer on 70’s Mexican History.
This is a film about ordinary life set against tumultuous times. Set in the Colonia Roma district of Mexico City (if you were puzzled, as I was, where the title came from) it is an “Upstairs, Downstairs” tale of Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio), a maid and nanny to a middle class family in the early 70’s.
There are two intertwined stories here: Cleo’s personal story and that of the family background in which she works.
Cleo has a pleasant enough life working as partners in crime in the household with Adela (Nancy García García). Life is about getting the work done (well, more of less), keeping the four children happy – to who she is devoted – and scraping enough by to spend her downtime with her martial arts boyfriend Ramón (José Manuel Guerrero Mendoza).
Meanwhile the lady of the house Senora Sofia (Marina de Tavira) has an affluent and cosseted lifestyle amid her loving family.
But times are about to change for all of the players, as events – not just the events of the ‘Mexican Dirty War’ of 1971 going on in the background – transpire to change all their lives forever.
A masterclass in framing.
It’s criminal that I wasn’t able to get to see this in the cinema. Since every frame of this movie is a masterpiece of detail. There is just so much going on that your eyes dart this way and that, and you could probably watch it five times and see more. Even the opening titles are mesmerising, as the cobbled floor becomes a screen and an airliner lazily flies across it.
Even major action sequences, that other directors would fill the screen with (“Do you KNOW how much this scene is costing for God’s sake??”), are seen as they would typically be seen in real life – second hand, from a place of hiding. This is typified by the depiction of the Corpus Christi Massacre of June ’71, where the military, and more controversially the elite El Halconazo (The Hawks) of the Mexican army, turned on a student protest. Most of the action is seen as glimpses through the windows by the characters during a shopping trip to the second floor of a department store. How this was enacted and directed is a mystery to me, but it works just brilliantly.
A masterclass in pacing and panning.
One of Cuarón’s trademarks is the long take (think “Children of Men”) and here he (literally!) goes to town with the technique. An incredibly impressive scene has Cleo and Adela running through the streets of the City to meet their lovers at the cinema. It’s a continuous pan that again defies belief in the brilliance of its execution.
Even the mundane act of Cleo tidying up the apartment is done with a glorious slow pan around the room. Some of this panning is done to set the mood for the film (“Get settled in… this is going to be a long haul”) but others manage to evoke a sense of rising dread, an example at the beach being a brilliant case in point.
The cinematography was supposed to have been done by the great Emmanuel Lubezki, but he was unavailable so Cuarón did it himself! And it’s quite brilliant. So, that’s a lesson learned then that will reduce the budget for next time!
A personal story.
Cuarón wrote the script. Of course he did… it’s his story! He’s the same age as I am, so was nine years old for the autobiographical events featured in the film (he is the kid who gets punished for eavesdropping). Numerous aspects of the film are from his own childhood, including the fact that his younger brother kept spookily coming out with things that he’d done in his past lives! It’s a painful true story of his upbringing and of the life of Liboria Rodríguez: “Libo” to whom the film is dedicated.
Where the script is delightful is in never destroying the mood with lengthy exposition. Both of the key stories evolve slowly and only gradually do you work out what’s really going on. This is grown-up cinema at its finest.
It’s also a love letter from Cuarón to the cinema of his youth, a passion that sparked his eventual career. We see a number of trips to the local fleapit, and in one cute scene we seen a clip from the Gregory Peck space epic “Marooned”: the film that inspired Cuarón’s own masterpiece “Gravity“.
A naturalistic cast.
Casting a large proportion of the cast from unknowns feels like a great risk, but its a risk that pays off handsomely, particularly in the case of Yalitza Aparicio, who is breathtakingly naturalistic. Cuarón withheld the script from his cast, so some of the “acting” is not acting at all – specifically a gruelling and heartrending scene featuring Cleo later in the film. That’s real and raw emotion on the screen.
Marina de Tavira, although an actress with a track record, is also mightily impressive as the beleaguered and troubled wife.
Final Thoughts.
This is a masterpiece, and thoroughly deserves the “Best Picture” awards it has been getting. It’s certainly my odds on favourite, as well as being my pick, for the Oscar on Sunday. Will it be for everyone? Probably not.
There are some scenes which feel slightly ostentatious. A forest fire scene is brilliantly done (“Put out the small fires kids”), but then a guy in a monster suit pulls off his head-wear and starts singing a long and mournful song. Sorry?
There will also be many I suspect who will find the leisurely pace of the film excruciating; “JUST GET ON WITH IT” I hear them yelling at the screen. But if you give it the time and let it soak in, then you WILL be moved and you WILL remember the film long after you’ve seen it.
I remain cross however that this was released through Netflix. This is a film that deserves a full and widespread cinema release in 70mm format. It’s like taking an iPhone snap of the Mona Lisa and putting the phone on display instead.
A primer on 70’s Mexican History.
This is a film about ordinary life set against tumultuous times. Set in the Colonia Roma district of Mexico City (if you were puzzled, as I was, where the title came from) it is an “Upstairs, Downstairs” tale of Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio), a maid and nanny to a middle class family in the early 70’s.
There are two intertwined stories here: Cleo’s personal story and that of the family background in which she works.
Cleo has a pleasant enough life working as partners in crime in the household with Adela (Nancy García García). Life is about getting the work done (well, more of less), keeping the four children happy – to who she is devoted – and scraping enough by to spend her downtime with her martial arts boyfriend Ramón (José Manuel Guerrero Mendoza).
Meanwhile the lady of the house Senora Sofia (Marina de Tavira) has an affluent and cosseted lifestyle amid her loving family.
But times are about to change for all of the players, as events – not just the events of the ‘Mexican Dirty War’ of 1971 going on in the background – transpire to change all their lives forever.
A masterclass in framing.
It’s criminal that I wasn’t able to get to see this in the cinema. Since every frame of this movie is a masterpiece of detail. There is just so much going on that your eyes dart this way and that, and you could probably watch it five times and see more. Even the opening titles are mesmerising, as the cobbled floor becomes a screen and an airliner lazily flies across it.
Even major action sequences, that other directors would fill the screen with (“Do you KNOW how much this scene is costing for God’s sake??”), are seen as they would typically be seen in real life – second hand, from a place of hiding. This is typified by the depiction of the Corpus Christi Massacre of June ’71, where the military, and more controversially the elite El Halconazo (The Hawks) of the Mexican army, turned on a student protest. Most of the action is seen as glimpses through the windows by the characters during a shopping trip to the second floor of a department store. How this was enacted and directed is a mystery to me, but it works just brilliantly.
A masterclass in pacing and panning.
One of Cuarón’s trademarks is the long take (think “Children of Men”) and here he (literally!) goes to town with the technique. An incredibly impressive scene has Cleo and Adela running through the streets of the City to meet their lovers at the cinema. It’s a continuous pan that again defies belief in the brilliance of its execution.
Even the mundane act of Cleo tidying up the apartment is done with a glorious slow pan around the room. Some of this panning is done to set the mood for the film (“Get settled in… this is going to be a long haul”) but others manage to evoke a sense of rising dread, an example at the beach being a brilliant case in point.
The cinematography was supposed to have been done by the great Emmanuel Lubezki, but he was unavailable so Cuarón did it himself! And it’s quite brilliant. So, that’s a lesson learned then that will reduce the budget for next time!
A personal story.
Cuarón wrote the script. Of course he did… it’s his story! He’s the same age as I am, so was nine years old for the autobiographical events featured in the film (he is the kid who gets punished for eavesdropping). Numerous aspects of the film are from his own childhood, including the fact that his younger brother kept spookily coming out with things that he’d done in his past lives! It’s a painful true story of his upbringing and of the life of Liboria Rodríguez: “Libo” to whom the film is dedicated.
Where the script is delightful is in never destroying the mood with lengthy exposition. Both of the key stories evolve slowly and only gradually do you work out what’s really going on. This is grown-up cinema at its finest.
It’s also a love letter from Cuarón to the cinema of his youth, a passion that sparked his eventual career. We see a number of trips to the local fleapit, and in one cute scene we seen a clip from the Gregory Peck space epic “Marooned”: the film that inspired Cuarón’s own masterpiece “Gravity“.
A naturalistic cast.
Casting a large proportion of the cast from unknowns feels like a great risk, but its a risk that pays off handsomely, particularly in the case of Yalitza Aparicio, who is breathtakingly naturalistic. Cuarón withheld the script from his cast, so some of the “acting” is not acting at all – specifically a gruelling and heartrending scene featuring Cleo later in the film. That’s real and raw emotion on the screen.
Marina de Tavira, although an actress with a track record, is also mightily impressive as the beleaguered and troubled wife.
Final Thoughts.
This is a masterpiece, and thoroughly deserves the “Best Picture” awards it has been getting. It’s certainly my odds on favourite, as well as being my pick, for the Oscar on Sunday. Will it be for everyone? Probably not.
There are some scenes which feel slightly ostentatious. A forest fire scene is brilliantly done (“Put out the small fires kids”), but then a guy in a monster suit pulls off his head-wear and starts singing a long and mournful song. Sorry?
There will also be many I suspect who will find the leisurely pace of the film excruciating; “JUST GET ON WITH IT” I hear them yelling at the screen. But if you give it the time and let it soak in, then you WILL be moved and you WILL remember the film long after you’ve seen it.
I remain cross however that this was released through Netflix. This is a film that deserves a full and widespread cinema release in 70mm format. It’s like taking an iPhone snap of the Mona Lisa and putting the phone on display instead.