Telling a small-scale story with the expansive sweep of an
epic, Alfonso Cuarón’s semi-autobiographical film
“Roma” draws on his childhood memories of growing up in Mexico City during the
early 70’s to chart a year in the lives of a middle-class family residing in
the small neighborhood of Roma.
We see this
story through the eyes of Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio), the live-in maid and nanny in the home of Doctor
Antonio (Fernando Grediaga), his wife Sofía (Marina de Tavira), and
their four children. Though caring for the family takes up the majority of
Cleo’s time, we get glimpses into areas of her life beyond them, including her
close friendship with the family cook, Adela (Nancy GarcíaGarcía), and outings with her martial arts-obsessed
boyfriend Fermín (Jorge Antonio Guerrero).
Continuing a
frequent theme in Cuarón’s films, “Roma” examines
divisions between social classes, in this case observing the strange in-betweenness of the employer and domestic worker
relationship. There’s a natural barrier, and like many such relationships, the
one between Cleo and her employers lies on a spectrum somewhere between exploitation
and genuine affection. Sure, the family is willing to take care of Cleo when
the need arises, but in the end that’s largely because they’re dependent on the
physical and emotional labor she provides.
But as the
year goes on, there’s much that unites Sofía and
Cleo, especially when they both end up abandoned by the men in their lives.
Fermín disappears on Cleo after she informs him she’s pregnant, while nearly
simultaneously, Doctor Antonio decides to move out of the family home. Each in
her own way, the two women soldier on.
Acting as
his own cinematographer, Cuarón films “Roma” in
lustrous black-and-white, dwelling in the small, nostalgic details before
gradually allowing slivers of Mexico’s broader social and political canvas to
creep in. But the country’s political turmoil remains in the background,
affecting the characters only occasionally, as when Cleo gets caught in a
student protest that grows violent during one of the film’s more suspenseful
sequences.
In his
impeccably composed widescreen images, Cuarón uses
deep-focus and long tracking shots to follow Cleo from room to room and through
the city streets. The film’s impressive sound design complements the immersive
feeling.
A first-time
actress, the luminous Aparicio invests Cleo with a
quiet strength; with her deeply expressive eyes, she make us feel every emotion
even when Cleo chooses not to vocalize them. It’s a wonderful, intuitive
performance that hopefully will get the recognition it deserves.
In
interviews, Cuarón has called “Roma” a tribute to the
women who raised him (he dedicates the film to Libo,
the nanny who lived with Cuarón’s family when he was
a child), and what a lovely tribute it is. Supported by Aparicio’s
beautiful performance, “Roma” draws together the epic and the intimate in the
way Cuarón does so well, growing from the sum of its
parts into an altogether stunning achievement.
This article appears in Dec 19-25, 2018.
