Mexico is in need of blood transfusion but Coca-Cola is injected in the veins like a serum, this induces a series of disjointed but interconnected nightmares that are as many acid and occasionally satirical portraits of what it means to be Mexican and the asphyxia produced by the progressive penetration of the United States in its culture. This experimental short film protests against the economic and cultural expansionism of the United States towards Mexico. Rubén Gámez embarks on a visionary journey that also includes superstitions, religion and death. Of course, the director critically examines the phenomenon, but does not not slip into moralizing and quite interestingly comes to the solution of the problem through the acceptance of himself and his surrounding reality and through the declaration of love for life. It is noteworthy that Gamez tells a award bait story in such a bizarre and hypnotic manner, but it is brilliant. This doesn't lead to the pleasant disappointment of being confronted with a plot that can be predictable after a while. He boldly clashes genre conventions that seeks to invent a new form of film-making appropriate and there is no middle ground; this film can only inspire like or dislike for it's surrealistic narrative.
Overall, this works as a a social critique but the outcome depends on the viewers mood and how they treat each symbolism presented on the screen. This is a slap in the face to the progressive penetration of the West, it reminded me a lot of Georges Franju's Blood of the Beasts (1949) and particularly it belongs to similar kind of atmosphere found in Jean Cocteau's The Blood of a Poet (1932), Drahomíra Vihanová's Squandered Sunday (1990), Charles Burnett's Killer of Sheep (1978) and Ernst Moerman's Monsieur Fantômas (1937).
