Verbotene Straße

I saw "Victims of Sin" as part of the annual Noir City festival at Chicago's Music Box Theater. TCM's Eddie Muller was on hand to introduce the film, and he spent a good while talking about the magnetism of the film's star, Ninon Sevilla. And boy was he not kidding. She is a dynamo in this film, a hard-edged noirish tale about a nightclub performer who takes an abandoned baby under her protection and spends the rest of the film protecting it and herself from a thuggish gangster.

This film has some content that an American film would never have gotten away with, and there are a few moments in it so rousing that the audience I saw it with burst into cheers and applause. There are a lot of musical moments in the film, quite a few showcasing Sevilla's talents as dancer. But even in the non-musical moments, there's something about this movie that feels like a musical. It moves like one, as if a choreographer had a hand in blocking out all of the scenes.

It's not a long film, but yet I did feel like it overstayed its welcome by a hair. The end teeters into the kind of melodrama that for me gets tiring pretty quickly. But that's a small complaint -- mostly this film is a blast.

Grade: A.

For people raised primarily on Hollywood films, particularly those from the 1950's on, this dazzling immersion in sin of all sorts may come as a surprise--in how many films, for instance, is a baby left unceremoniously in a garbage can on the street? And only Hitchcock, in Shadow of A Doubt, can created an ominous creepy feeling when a train chugging into the Santa Rose depot spreads an ominous black cloud over a group of relatives waiting for a beloved uncle? It happens here, with dazzling results during a shootout next to a cabaret on the fringes of town; all through the film the camera creates seedy worlds almost surreal, and places in them the lead, Ninon Sevilla, with even more energy to spare than Ann Miller, an actress whose life is a constant battle of survival for herself and an adopted son.

No use to relate the plot, the joys of revelation, and the heavy melodrama enriched with often shocking complexity. This film is great fun for the viewer interested in a special change in cinematic exposures.

This gem from the Golden Age of Mexican cinema is a potent mix of film noir, dance hall musical and prostitute melodrama directed by Emilio Fernández and providing a dazzling showcase for the force of nature that is Ninón Sevilla. Her dance routines combining Cuban and Afro-Caribbean rhythms are daring, provocative and intoxicating and it is no surprise that she turned down the blandishments of Hollywood where the oppressive Production Code would have neutralised her primal sexuality. Although her line readings are at times questionable, she more than compensates with her vibrancy and fiery passion and is furthermore blessed with wide, expressive eyes. Her role as an adoptive mother would have meant a great deal to her as she was obliged to have an abortion before filming began.

Fernández has brought together the team responsible for his earlier 'Salón Mexico' with Gabriel Figueroa's glorious chiaroscuro cinematography providing a stark contrast between the middle-class Club Changoo and the urban, working-class milieu of La Maquina Loca down by the railway tracks. The quintessential score is by Antonio Díaz Conde whilst Gloria Schoemann's brisk editing ensures that a great deal of ground is covered in its 84 minute length. Actor Rodolfo Acosta again excels as a well-groomed low life.

To the delight of home-grown audiences of the time there are cameos by popular entertainers Pedro Vargas, Rita Montaner and Pérez Prado with his band.

Not exactly renowned for undercooking his ingredients, Fernández and his writer Mauricio Magdaleno have given us an emotional, ferociously entertaining piece that lingers long in the memory. An appreciation of its leading lady's attributes came from an unexpected source when Francois Truffaut wrote of her: "Ninón does not dance for glory. She dances for pleasure."

«Víctimas del pecado» (Victims of Sin) is one of the most over-the- top melodramas ever made by Emilio "Indio" Fernández. The reason may be the presence of Cuban star Ninón Sevilla in the leading role, whose screen persona and religious faith permeate the story, the dance numbers, and even the tone of this genre film. It is one of the "películas de cabareteras" (cabaret dancer films) that were so popular in México. In these musical melodramas, brutish men seduced and abandoned young women who would become prostitutes, but for a chance of destiny they had the opportunity to become singers or dancers. This transcended the bleakness in their lives and transformed them into icons of female supremacy, even in the machista frame where the films were conceived. Ninón, a well-known santería practitioner in real life, and daughter of Changó in this Yoruba religion, plays Violeta, a strong-willed dancer-prostitute that works in the Cabaret Changó, where she performs sensual African dance numbers, and sings Panamanian songs like "La Cocaleca". It is clear that she would like to become a star and leave the seedy nightclub, but she gets into trouble with a pimp (Rodolfo Acosta, in outrageous pachuco outfits, swings on the dance floor, turns into violent fits of rage, and admonishes a prostitute in French!). He forces another woman to get rid of her newborn, but Ninón rescues the baby literally from the garbage can and decides to keep him to herself. She eventually gets help from Santiago (Víctor Junco), the owner of another nightclub who goes around town followed by a group of mariachis! Tragedy is a prerequisite in these films, so the story follows the usual pattern of fall and redemption; but Ninón's strong character gives other solutions to what suffering and tearful Dolores del Río or Columba Domínguez would do in the films by Fernández. She dances and sings for survival, she argues and fights in constant revolt against the cabaretera's destiny. «Víctimas del pecado» is a true joy, a real gem, with musical performances by Cuban superstar Rita Montaner, Mexican singer Pedro Vargas, and the real "mambo king", Pérez Prado. Call it camp if you will, but it is one of the outstanding pieces of the golden era of Mexican cinema and one of the best films by Indio Fernández.

Immediately after "Aventurera", Ninon Sevilla was top-billed in "Victimas del pecado" (1950). Powerfully directed and co-written by Emilio Fernandez, here is a movie that almost tops its predecessor in noir ambiance and gritty effects. Particularly striking is the use of black smoke from passing trains to color Junco's cabaret which is literally located on the wrong side of the tracks. Our old friend, Rodolfo Acosta, gives his most chilling portrayal ever as the unscrupulous heavy whose flamboyant style is neatly contrasted by expressionless yet charismatic Tito Junco. Sevilla, of course, is once again in her element as the swirling dancer with a heart of gold, although Fernandez has obviously ensured that the musical numbers are more realistically presented. In fact, even the obligatory song by Pedro Vargas is better integrated into the narrative (even though introduced by an unlikely fanfare – what is Vargas doing in such a low dive? Slumming? And how come he brought his full orchestra with him?) and Vargas himself is much less stiff than usual. And, as might be expected, Figueroa's low-key photography is a stand-out, as are the gloriously cavernous, seedy sets designed by Manuel Fontanals. In the support cast, Rita Montaner is delightfully over-the-top (the sub-titles are rather bland compared to what she actually says), while Poncianito makes his shoeshine boy as solidly believable as Margarita Ceballos enacts her pitifully weak Rosa and Francisco Reiguera his squalidly hawkish yet often ineffective manager.