 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
AMORES PERROS (LOVE'S A BITCH)
Alejandro González Iñárritu, Mexico, 2001
|
|
|
| |
Its interconnected plots may well revolve around pooches but the emotionally riveting and visually arresting Amores Perros is no shaggy dog story. Following three generations of characters from opposing ends of Mexico City's social spectrum, this is a rough diamond of a movie - a vibrant, visceral triptych on familial duty, sexual desire and innate violence.
The film begins in the middle of things, presenting an intense car chase that ends in tragedy. With barely a pause for breath, we're then jolted into the city's slums and subjected to the bloody subterranean business of dog fighting. The young Octavio (Gael García Bernal, one of the horny teens in Y Tu Mama Tambien) hopes that the lucrative sport will help him earn enough to abscond with his brother's mistreated wife.
This galvanizing episode at first threatens to overwhelm - then neatly complements - the remaining two-thirds of the picture. The next section treats a married man who moves in with his lover only to see their dream home turned into a nightmare when her pet pup Richie goes exploring and gets trapped under the floorboards. In the final strand, a tramp-cum-assassin balances his efforts to extinguish one life with those to repair his own.
On its release in 2001 critics were as quick to dub Amores Perros "the Mexican Pulp Fiction" as they were to name last year's City of God "the Brazilian GoodFellas". Such a tag, while rightly acknowledging a structural experimentalism akin to Tarantino's LA tapestry, pays scant justice to the achievement of first-time director Alejandro González Iñárritu. His agile camerawork, masterly control of tone and unflinching eye for irony make Amores Perros one of the more eminent debuts of the decade.
The director's grasp on the material is in no doubt from that adrenaline-fuelled opener. High among his achievements is a consistently impressive use of sound, from the ominous rumblings of the title sequence to the mighty "thud" of an unexpected head butt, the pregnant suggestions of a ringing phone and the troubling scrabbling of the unfortunate Richie.
Chris Wiegand
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Pixote (Hector Babenco, 1981)