Dos monjes

When the Monk Javier (Carlos Villatoro) acts violently in a gothic monastery, the Prior (Beltrán de Heredia) asks the Monk Juan (Víctor Urruchúa) to calm him down since he believes that Javier is possessed by demons. When Juan comes to Javier's cell, they recognize each other and Javier runs after him. Javier reaches Juan and hits his head with a heavy crucifix, and returns to his cell. Later, Javier confesses to the Prior that Juan was his best friend when he was a tubercular musician and how their friendship ended when his beloved fiancé Ana (Magda Haller) died. Then, Juan confesses to the Prior that Javier's confession is correct, but he would like to tell the same story through his eyes.

"Dos monjes", a.k.a. "Two Monks", is a Mexican expressionist melodrama based on a triangle of love. This 1934 film was made sixteen years before Akira Kurosawa's Rashomon (1950); therefore, it is precursor of the idea of the same event seen by different perspectives. Meaning, the same event, watched by two different persons in different angles or knowledge, presents different testimonies. Amazing the credit has always been made to Kurosawa by cinephiles and only now I acknowledge the work by Juan Bustillo Oro. Even the surrealism by Luis Buñuel is presented in this film. My vote is seven.

Title (Brazil): "Dois Monges" ("Two Monks")

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.

Who would have known that extreme Germanic expressionism was alive and well in the Mexican cinema of the mid-30's? This remarkable macabre melodrama has only recently been rediscovered in the rest of North America (see "Video Watchdog" #85 and Fab Press's anthology "Fear Without Frontiers"); had it not appeared in such isolated circumstances and been several years out of date in its own time, it would likely be looked on today as a seminal work. The style (both visually and in mise-en-scène) is pure UFA, with strong elements of early Lang, Wiene and Dreyer, and similar in design to many highly stylized early-talkie Hollywood chillers like "Murders in the Rue Morgue" and "Svengali". There are huge, high-ceilinged sets with rampant diagonal lines, thick venetian-blind style shadows, tilted angles, abrupt and shaky camera movements, strikingly artificial compositions. The performances are appropriately intense and highly mannered, as is the musical score when it intrudes. The hallucinatory climax, with the main character wildly playing a lush romantic melody on the pipe organ as a group of gargoyle-like monks looks on, is a marvel of shivery montage, reminiscent of Gance's "J'Accuse".

Equally significant is the story structure, which relates the same tale of romantic trespass and murder, in turn, from two diverse points of view, anticipating "Rashomon" by many years. In that vein, an extremely clever touch is having the first narrator dressed in white in the flashback (considering himself the "good guy") and his rival in black, then switching the colours for the rival's version of the story.

Although the print is not in the finest condition (and only available in Spanish), this is a must-see for connoisseurs.

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.

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.