It wasn't Rome. Even so, I was captured.
ROMA
Roma (2018 / USA-Mexico)
Director, Screenplay, Cinematography: Alfonso Cuarón
Cast: Yalitza Aparicio (Cleo), Marina de Tavira (Sofía)
I started watching it with absolutely no prior knowledge. I only knew it was a film that had been nominated for many Academy Awards.
And, I was brilliantly mistaken. I was convinced it was a story about Rome. And for some reason, pre-war Rome at that. Even when Spanish was flying around and conversations mocking Germany appeared, I found myself trying to force an understanding, thinking, 'I see, so that's the setting.' Human assumptions are truly resilient.
However, as the details of the city's atmosphere and people's lives accumulated, my sense of unease eventually turned into certainty. This is a story set in the Colonia Roma district of Mexico City in 1970–71. The moment I realized that, I was drawn into the screen by some great force.
I was captured.
The black-and-white imagery is surprisingly serene and clear to the very end. The daily life of the housekeeper, Cleo, is projected calmly by a camera that maintains a constant distance. The camera is often fixed, and even when it moves, it only slides slowly and horizontally. There is no direction intended to stir up emotion. Yet, that 'time where nothing seems to be happening' conversely pulls me in with a strong gravitational force.
The character of Cleo is also quiet. She almost never reveals her emotions. She does not raise her voice at the Sofía family who employs her, nor at her selfish boyfriend. But that does not mean she is emotionless. Rather, in an environment where she is not permitted to show her feelings, she still maintains an unbreakable core. That strength seeps out from deep within her subtle gestures and silences. The reason the children and the dogs adore her is surely because of that quiet, strong kindness.
This gentle flow of time wavers significantly only at certain moments.
The scene where she heads to the movie theater with the children. The long tracking shot showing the 70s streetscape, cars, and fashion seems to carry the very essence of that time. And then, she witnesses Antonio, who shouldn't be there.
In the scene where she goes to buy a crib with Sofía, the chaos and violence of a crowd suddenly pour in. It is a moment where violence intrudes unceremoniously into the interior of daily life. Fermín is also among that violence.
And then, the beach scene. Facing the children being swept away by the waves, Cleo, who cannot swim, enters the sea. That long take is heart-wrenching as the moment her inner self is exposed all at once. A character who had been so quiet stands at the center of the story with that one step.
The background of this film is the tension of Mexican society at the time. The disparity widening behind high economic growth, and the student movement and the power suppressing it. That conflict intersects with Cleo's personal story and casts a shadow over her life. History is not happening far away; it flows in right next to her life, sometimes mercilessly.
Even so, this film does not loudly assert anything. This is because the film does not want to depict politics, history, or violence. It only wants to capture the accumulation of quiet daily life. In that daily life, the strength of ordinary people, of humanity.
There is no flashy drama. But there is an unforgettable experience. It is a film that is painfully beautiful and leaves a deep impression on the heart.