Vita rubata

This movie is rarely seen in the United States. This is a shame. This film is filled with suspense, atmosphere and poetry, from its visuals to its score.

There is a hint of German Expressionism here, as in all Noir movies of the forties and fifties. (This was made in 1946 by a studio in Mexico City.) Del Rio is statuesque and, at the same time, vulnerable. Her work in the silent era informs this performance. I have a feeling Billy Wilder had a glance at this. It preceded SUNSET BOULEVARD by a few years, and Del Rio could very easily have played Norma Desmond.

The other actors here are solid, and they each have doppelgängers. (Del Rio plays twins.) There is a good guy who courts the protagonist and there's a bad guy doing the same.

There is a mood of regret bordering on a fear of damnation and Del Rio conveys this mood with her face. Mexico City looks holy, haunted and hard, what with the monumental stonework in every shot.

1946 may have been the best time to film this, and Mexico the best place. Nothing is overt, but it is a daring, dramatic look at a life lived under the surface.

With only a handfull of reviews, and seemingly no wide-spread popularity, it is time to advocate for this movie.

There is nothing wrong with it, it has a 'noir' feeling, and plays on a larger scale of levels of the basic human feelings. There are some twists and turns, there are no lengths, a tight script, good cinematography, and as basis a story of depth. All well done! (Except, and we all knew that, didn't we? That Mexican actors are not the greatest ones. So here. Otherwise I might have given a '10'.

The story has been described elsewhere, a twin of sisters, one completely different character-wise from the other - so it seems - lead totally different lives: one in luxury, the other at the lower end of the financial scale. They quarrel frequently.

At one moment in time, one has to chance to slip into the role of the other. And does that quite efficiently. Though only to discover that the other, the rich one, doesn't actually suffer less.

And then there's this police officer who - we assume by the script - was told to vie for about the most ridiculously-in-love person that one can imagine. But he's not in love with the lady that the other one has taken up, so he'll probably miss his luck.

And at the very end, when discovering the true ongoings, he suddenly falls from love. So it seems that only his girl kind of expects to be loved, and still is in love.

Sometimes this movie reminds me of Bunuel: In the end, there is not 'the good one' and neither 'the bad one'.

In case you have an opportunity to watch this movie: make sure not to miss it!

Dolores del Rio back in Mexico following her wartime sojourn in Hollywood made her own equivalent of Bette Davis' 'A Stolen Life' the same year, from a story by Rian James actually remade with Davis nearly twenty years later as 'Dead Ringer' (1964) under the direction of Paul Henried (with Karl Malden as the heroine's true love).

Del Rio looks more ravishing than Davis ever could, and Gunther Gerszo's dramatic sets are garnished with appropriate photography by Alex Phillips and a 'psychological' theremin score by Raul Lavista.

The final scene is a classic, although it does take a long time getting there.

Although I liked very much the detailed review of "Melvelvit" I would like to add that this interesting film, one of the best in the Mexican movies history, is due to the collaboration of American writer Rian James and one of the most important Mexican writers of the era, José Revueltas, and the Mexican film director Roberto Gavaldón. Actually, "La Otra" is one of the best Del Río and Gavaldón films, as well the set designer Gunther Gerszo (sometimes written Gerzso or Gerzo)and photographer Alex Phillips, all important figures in the artistic Mexican world. The "gothic nightmare... somber night-world ambiance" is due to Mexican Gerszo, who studied and worked at the Cleveland Play House in the USA, and combined his movie jobs with painting, becoming one of the most important Mexican abstract painters. In movies, he worked with John Ford ("Sombrerito", in Hollywood), John Houston ("Under the Volcano"), Luis Buñuel ("Susana", "Una mujer sin amor" and "El Bruto" with Kathy Jurado) as well with the most important Mexican directors. He did the sets for Mexican cult films "El Vampiro" (The Vampire) and its sequel, El Ataud del Vampiro" (The Vampire Coffin) about which he claimed, never even watched once they were finished (and they're great as camp Mexican movies examples!)

A masterpiece in any language, La Otra, in the skillful hands of its impeccable players and highly imaginative craftsmen, emerges as one of the most moving, dramatic and poignant experiences in the whole history of the cinema.

I don't wish to give away too many details of a plot that is so brilliantly constructed that shock after shock after shock is tellingly delivered right up to the emotionally devastating finale. It's even too much to say that Dolores Del Rio has a dual role. The sudden revelation, when the widow finally lifts her veil, that the sisters are identical twins is the first of many startling twists in this tautly realistic yet wholly credible plot. Needless to say, Miss Del Rio not only plays both roles so brilliantly we always know which sister is on the screen (even when one wears the other's clothes), but manages the transformation with even greater finesse. Yet, at the same time, she always captures the viewer's complete sympathy.

Victor Junco is wonderful in a showy role as the villain, but tends to obscure (on a first viewing anyway), the superb performance delivered by Agustin Irusta. The scene in which he re-enters the café with the "twin" is one of the most poignant and emotionally charged moments in world cinema. Director Gavaldon focuses our attention on his ravaged face as he explains his feelings to Magdalena, and it is impossible to remain unmoved at his despair.

In this movie all the special effects are used to re-inforce the drama. They are not ends in themselves. In the confrontation scenes between the twins, I noticed only one effect on a first viewing. (There are actually two. The other is very subtle, yet far more dramatic). There are, however, many frightening visual effects when the house itself seems to take on an air of confrontational menace. What I didn't realize on a first viewing, is that it is actually in sound effects that the movie excels. If I were giving an award for the most imaginative and emotionally charged audio effects in the cinema, La Otra would top the list.

To say Gavaldon's direction is absolutely brilliant would be to gravely underestimate his artistry and inventiveness. Mind you, he was able to take advantage not only of Alex Phillips' skillfully moody cinematography and Raul Lavista's emotive music score, but the amazingly atmospheric sets designed by Gunther Gerszo. True, these sets do become more terrifyingly expressionistic at the finale, but mostly they look—at first glance—elaborate yet pretty ordinary. But Gerszo has actually built hidden menaces into these sets, which Gavaldon and Phillips never fail to explore at just the right dramatic moments.

It's difficult to credit that La Otra was edged out of a swag of Ariels by Enamorada—a movie I've not seen but am now eagerly looking forward to. It's hardly possible to imagine another 1946 Mexican nominee equaling or excelling the enervating emotional intensity of La Otra.