Dos monjes

Until now, my experience with early Mexican cinema hadn't been great, La llorona (1933) and El baúl macabro (1936) proving big disappointments. Dos Monjes (Two Monks) is a much more impressive effort, both visually and in terms of narrative.

The film opens in a monastery - a wonderful piece of gothic set design, with vast stone features and atmospheric chiaroscuro lighting: Brother Javier (Carlos Villatoro) is supposedly possessed by the devil, suffering from fits of rage; he is visited by the new friar, Juan Servando (Víctor Urruchúa), who Javier clobbers over the head with a crucifix.

Javier explains his act of violence to the padre: before he became a monk, he was a struggling musician who fell in love with a beautiful young woman called Ana (Magda Haller). But Javier's wealthy best friend Juan, who recently returned from his travels abroad, also took a fancy to Ana. He tells how, after recovering from a bout of illness, he agreed to spend an evening going through legal papers for his friend, but returned home early - to catch Juan pawing Ana. A fight broke out, Juan pulled a gun, and accidentally shot the woman dead. Juan promptly legged it, leaving Javier to join the monastery.

The padre then goes to Juan to get his version of events. Juan says that Javier's account is partially true, revealing that he was in love with Ana before Javier ever met her. According to Juan, Ana had promised to wait for him while he was on his travels, so seeing her with Javier when he returned was a shock. Ana told him that she still loved him, but didn't want to upset Javier for fear that the news might kill him. Both have dark thoughts about Javier dying so that they can be together, and decide that they must punish themselves, Ana by going through with her wedding to Javier and Juan by traveling abroad again. Before leaving, Juan tried to get one last kiss from Ana, which is when Javier walked in. A fight broke out, Juan pulled a gun, and Ana got in the way of the bullet.

Having heard from both men, the padre declares that he will only absolve them if they forgive each other, but it is too late for Javier: madness grips him and, after playing wildly on the monastery organ, he falls down dead.

The film's narrative structure - where the same events are told from different perspectives - had been done before (and would famously be repeated in Kurosawa's Rashomon), but it works extremely well in this instance, the ambiguity of the two accounts leaving the viewer mulling over the story well after the film has finished. The excellent performances also add to the effectiveness, as does the wonderful direction by Juan Bustillo Oro, who uses a variety of styles and techniques to make his film aesthetically interesting throughout, including a dash of German expressionism, canted angles, great use of light and shadow, and some surreality towards the end, as Javier loses what's left of his marbles.

7.5/10, rounded up to 8 for IMDb.

One of the greatest films of all time is Kurosawa's 'Rashomon', which features an unusual narrative structure: the same events are shown in flashback four times, each time from the viewpoint of a different character. The subtle differences in each flashback compel the viewers to decide for themselves the truth of what actually happened. 'Rashomon' (1950) proved to be so innovative that several later films have used the same idea. I can think of at least three different sitcoms, each of which has done an episode ripping off the 'Rashomon' premise.

The 1934 Mexican film 'Two Monks' uses precisely this same narrative gimmick, 16 years before it was used in 'Rashomon'. Unfortunately, because 'Two Monks' uses only two conflicting flashbacks (rather than four, as in 'Rashomon'), the audience are put in an "either/or" situation rather than a pick'n'mix. Still, it's intriguing to see that one of the most famous narrative innovations in the entire history of film was used in an obscure Mexican movie more than a decade before it was employed in the film that brought it to greatness and prominence.

Juan and Javier are two young men, rivals for the charms of pretty Anita. She dies, in circumstances which are intentionally kept obscure, and the rivals go their separate ways. Javier becomes a monk, and puts his painful memories behind him ... until, one day in the priory, he encounters a monk who turns out to be Juan. Straight away, Javier is so angered that he attacks Juan, giving him a near-fatal blow.

The kindly old prior confesses each of the two men separately. Each confession is shown in flashback, with first one man and then the other telling the story of the tragic triangle from his own self-serving viewpoint. Now we learn -- from two conflicting viewpoints -- what happened to Anita.

The art direction throughout this film is astonishing, and there is the clever touch of having each of the rivals dressed in white in his own flashback, but garbed in black in the other man's flashback: a splendid way of helping the audience to remember that this narrative is subjective.

'Two Monks' deserves to be much, much better known, and I eagerly rate this film 10 out of 10.

"Life wanted things this way, not me."

Absolutely loved this, and consider it a masterpiece from director Juan Bustillo Oro. In telling the story of how these two monks came to be at odds with one another via flashback, the film very stylishly utilizes Expressionist art, chiaroscuro shadowing, surrealism, and a variety of nifty camera work. The angles, tilts, handheld shots, slow zooms, soft focus, jump cuts, and wipe transitions are artistic and feel well ahead of their time, and I really must seek more of the work of avant-garde photographer Agustín Jiménez. The story is also multi-dimensional, with elements of romance, drama, guilt, and a different version of the same events ala Rashomon. It's not often that a film does so well in so many area, and it's the synthesis which makes it a treasure. Underrated, and one to look for.

An interesting Mexican melodrama, very important for preserving the German expressionist style when it had almost faded away. Stylistically the film is a wonder, but also the script uses the structure of telling a past event from two different points of view (that "Rashomon" will make very popular two decades later, but that has been used even before this film). On the bad side, the acting is stiff and theatrical (more so if you understand Spanish) and the story itself is a little old fashioned.

A plot device that has been played both for comedy ('The Caucasian Chalk Circle') and melodrama ('Days of Heaven') is here combined with the narrative twist usually attributed to 'Rashomon', although it actually dates back well into the silent era; at least as early as John Stahl's 'The Woman Under Oath' (1919).

Directed for all its worth by Juan Bustillo Oro with abrupt optical wipes and dollies rather creakily executed with the rather basic facilities available to him; it boasts an extraordinary hallucination sequence near the end for which all the cast wear masks.