Crepúsculo

Julio Bracho came from a family of film professionals: his sister Andrea Palma (an actress), his brother Jesús Bracho (an art director), his cousins Ramón Novarro and Dolores del Río (both actors), as well as his descendants, including his daughter Diana Bracho and his grandson Julio, also actors. Bracho was an educated and cultured man, but he hardly received any recognition from the Mexican film industry; in his writings he sometimes alternated disdain with resentment, due to his disgust with the low cultural level of authorities and people of all levels. However he is recognized today as a top filmmaker from the golden era of Mexican cinema, but I confess I have seen only a few of his movies: his first work, "Ay, qué tiempos, señor Don Simón" (1941), was a musical comedy about the morals of the rural bourgeoisie aligned with the government of dictator Porfirio Díaz, before the 1910 revolution; the following year, "The Virgin That Forged a Country" (starring cousin Novarro), was a mixture of legend and history recounting the origin of the cult of Our Lady of Guadalupe; "Another Dawn" (1943), starring sister Andrea and considered his best film, is a solid drama with a laborer and a taxi dancer as main characters; and now "Crepúsculo", an erotic melodrama tinted with psychology, among the rich in Mexico City. The film has a few elements against it that if you are tolerant you may enjoy its viewing more: first it is narrated every now and then by its protagonist (Arturo de Córdova), an anti- cinematic resource that needs fine images to ingeniously illustrate the spoken word, something that Bracho is not always able to achieve; then it has frequent little speeches against the commercialization of medicine, against Mexican movies or bad psychiatry; and finally it is too long due to a script (also by Bracho) who gets lost in winding mental paths which in the end lead to an eye-popping location that, up to that moment, has not had any relevance in the plot. To compensate there are many technical and artistic virtues, that captivated me in a few moments: the breakdown of some scenes in virtuoso shots by maestro Alex Phillips, Jorge Fernández's conscientious art direction that gives visual unity to the story, the beautiful costumes by Margaret Vogel, Raúl Lavista passionate melodramatic score; and the performances of the whole cast, in particular veteran Julio Villarreal as the old psychiatrist who, although reciting his lines, delivers a strong conclusion in his big scene, when he orders hesitant De Córdova to perform a surgery. Somehow I feel that "Crepúsculo" conforms a group of similar three films that I would call "Arturo de Córdova' s Neurosis Trilogy", along with Roberto Gavaldón's "The Kneeling Goddess" (1947) and Luis Buñuel's "He" (or This Strange Passion, 1953). It is true that De Córdova often played crazy men in films… Just consider "The Man Without a Face" (1950), "The New Invisible Man" (1958) and "The Skeleton of Mrs. Morales" (1960)... But the first three have sexuality and the female body as common denominators, as De Córdova becomes obsessed with the women he lusts after. All what "He" lacks of is a statue of a nude woman (instead you have the girl's bare feet!), but the three share De Córdova's addiction to women's bodies. Enjoy it.

Crepúsculo or TWILIGHT (1945) is a fascinating story about a surgeon split in as many fragments as bones has the skull. His love goes to his brother, the woman he thinks he loves, the woman who desires him, the woman who truly loves him and the woman he truly loves. Complicated? Alejandro (De Córdova) falls deeply in love with Lucía (Marín) who is a sculptor nude model, only one day before he goes on a journey around the world that will last a very long time. When he comes back home, he is surprised by the news that his brother has married Lucía. She tries to have them both, but Alejandro can't break his brother's heart. Then Cristina (Michel) shows up. She is Lucía's younger sister and falls deeply in love with Ricardo, her brother in law. Everything gets very complicated as the four of them seem not to realize the real situation. They all have to live in the twilight of their love! Great scenes and two beautiful and strong, impressive women frame this flawless production.

Two years after the film under review Arturo be Cordoba made 'Kneeling Goddess', playing a character for whom the spark of obsessive passion is ignited by a nude sculpture of a woman played by sultry Maria Felix. In 'Crepusculo' the nude sculpture is that of sultry Gloria Marin. Here one has the added complications of a teenage girl whose 'silent love' is longing to be awakened and a jealous husband who succumbs to 'mans instinct to kill' only to be thwarted by Mother Nature. This heady mixture is strengthened by the chiaroscuro cinematography of Alex Phillips and a lush score by Raul Lavista. This is really an excellent film noir in Hollywood mode with the bonus of a literate script and smouldering Latin 'heat' without the obligatory Hollywood happy ending. Director Julio Bracho has concentrated on 'character' and on those little looks that speak volumes. De Cordoba did a Hollywood stint of course but was always far too interesting to play the Latin Lover. He was far more effective on 'home turf' and his portrayal here as the 'tortured' surgeon would make his outstanding performance a few years later as a paranoid in 'El' for Bunuel a natural progression. The final scene of Gloria Marin and Lilia Michel at the waterfall is stupendous. A must for all lovers of film noir.

Excellent cinematography, a fine musical score and a dated script reviewed by a psychiatric expert as well as a surgeon expert, all this was state-of-the-art filmmaking in 1944, as I see it. All is still quite fascinating today, as far as I am concerned, although I recognize that very few people (movie historians excepted) are really interested in old b&W Mexican melodramas these days. Most interesting mentioning is the picture's intrincate flashback structure, full with time twists. And, of course, Miss Marín is absolutely gorgeous. Who else (but Maria Felix) would be able to induce such a fatal attraction and provoke such a lethal, twilight (= Crepúsculo, in Spanish) passion?

After a couple of years in Hollywood Arturo De Córdova returned to Mexico to make this opulent melodrama in which De Córdova's glamorous existence as a top surgeon is seismically disrupted by his overpowering infatuation with high-maintainance tease Gloria Marin, now wed to his brother.

Already set in the lap of luxury, shot in jagged black & white by Mexico's second-most acclaimed cameraman Alex Phillips, the cast puff their way through cigarette after cigarette as the film plunges headlong through what feels like an extended dream sequence from 'Spellbound' with surging musical accompiment by Raul Lavista, in which the very false-looking beard worn by chief psychiatrist Julio Villarrreal further adds to the generally hallucinatory feel of the piece.