Discover powerful Mexican films that illuminate the lives of those affected by drug cartels, offering perspectives beyond ‘Emilia Perez.
One of the Oscar favorites , Emilia Perez has received mixed reactions from the film industry, critics, and audiences alike. On Rotten Tomatoes, it has a 72% approval rating from critics, but only a dismal 17% from moviegoers.
Mexican audiences have been particularly harsh on the film. In its opening weekend in Mexico, it grossed just US$74,000 . Many viewers even demanded refunds .
French director Jacques Audiard has described Emilia Perez as a bold but compassionate take on Mexico’s drug war and the resulting forced disappearances. The film, however, has been criticised for treating Mexicans with pity and condescension, without truly understanding the violence it purports to portray.
Those seeking to understand the suffering caused by enforced disappearances in Mexico would do well to look no further than Emilia Pérez . These five films are essential viewing.
Storm
The 2016 documentary Tempestad , directed by Mexican-Salvadoran filmmaker Tatiana Huezo, authentically portrays suffering and the search for redemption in a Mexico marked by violence. The documentary is about two women’s experiences with organized crime and the Mexican justice system.
Miriam Carvajal, a former customs officer and mother of a young child, is unjustly imprisoned on false charges of human trafficking and sent to a prison controlled by a criminal organisation. In order to survive, she is forced to be complicit in the brutal violence inflicted on the most vulnerable inmates, such as migrants.
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Adela Alvarado is a professional clown who is looking for her daughter, who disappeared a decade before filming began. Despite death threats from some police officers, possibly involved in the case, Adela continues her tireless search to find her against all odds.
Both women are driven by their love for their children. While Miriam is present only through her voice and never appears on screen, Adela’s life in the circus is shown on camera. This visual contrast highlights how their stories reflect each other, even if they are not identical.
Huezo thus acknowledges that perpetrators can also be victims. However, he refuses to turn the harm they have caused into an instrument for their redemption.
The devil’s freedom
The documentary La libertad del diablo (2017), by Everardo González, also explores both the suffering of the victims and the possibility of redemption for the perpetrators.
González presents a choral narrative of the war on drugs in Mexico. The testimonies come from, among others, hitmen, soldiers involved in public security work, a mother whose children disappeared, girls whose mothers were kidnapped and a man tortured by the police.
Both victims and perpetrators wear compression masks, used in burn treatment, ostensibly to protect their identities. However, these masks also act as a disturbing equalizer that exposes a society marked by violence.
In one powerful scene, a victim recalls how she felt compassion for her children’s killer when she perceived his shame. As she finishes her story, she removes her mask and flashes a hesitant smile at the camera. The slight trembling of her lips raises essential questions about the challenges Mexico faces in healing the wounds caused by the so-called war on drugs.
Without any particular signs
As Mexican actress Giovanna Zacarías says, filmmakers in the country have been turning to fiction for years to “ exorcise the pain ” of forced disappearances. A striking example of this is Sin señas particulares (2020), the debut feature by Fernanda Valadez.
Valadez’s sober narrative moves away from the stereotypical passion that is usually attributed to Latin Americans.
Magdalena (Mercedes Hernández), a humble peasant, is looking for her son Jesús (Juan Jesús Varela), who disappeared on his journey to the United States. Her soft voice and reserved attitude hide a discreet resistance: she refuses to be relegated to oblivion. We never see those she addresses on screen, only the pain on her face and her stoic determination.
Mexico is far from a fairy tale. In the agonizing final minutes, Magdalena adopts one child while losing another. She cannot, however, be with either of them. Life goes on: Magdalena has found a grave in which to weep, and we share her pain.
Night of Fire
Noche de Fuego (2021) marked Tatiana Huezo’s first foray into fiction cinema. The film follows the story of three friends who grow up together in the mountains of Mexico, in an environment where violence and forced disappearances have become part of everyday life.
The girls’ world is shaped by survival strategies in the face of the dangers that threaten them, whether at the hands of organised crime or the State, represented by the army. However, amidst the tension, the girls still find space for joy and the challenges of childhood and adolescence.
Drug violence is part of their reality, but it does not define them. Huezo does not present them as mere victims. As they grow up, we see how their rural mothers and teachers have provided them with the critical tools they need to think clearly and question their environment.
Although one of the girls is snatched away by the local underworld, the film hints at a future in which her friends will one day be able to challenge the silence and brutality of the adult world. Despite the truncated childhoods of so many children in Mexico, Huezo leaves room for hope.
Noise
Noise (2022), by Natalia Beristain, tells the story of Julia (Julieta Egurrola), a middle-class woman in her 70s. She is the mother of Gertrudis (“Ger”), a student who disappeared while on vacation with friends. Faced with bureaucratic inefficiency and the indifference of the State, Julia is forced to “do other people’s work” and investigate Ger’s disappearance herself.
On her odyssey, she meets women willing to risk everything for the truth. Among them she finds compassion and solidarity: from young feminists who demand justice to mothers who, after losing their loved ones, accompany her in the labyrinth of legal and forensic processes involved in the search for clandestine graves.
“You are not alone,” women repeat like a mantra. As Mexican writer and Pulitzer Prize winner Cristina Rivera Garza reminds us , grief is never experienced in solitude. In grief, we always cry for and with someone.
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