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Film: Sin Nombre
Release date: 1st February 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 101 mins
Director: Cary Fukunaga
Starring: Edgar Flores, Paulina Gaitan, Jesus Lira, Kristian Ferrer
Genre: Adventure/Crime/Drama/Thriller
Studio: Revolver
Format: DVD
Country: Mexico/USA
Girls, gangsters and a road trip mean only one thing these days, especially when divulged by a young Spanish-speaker. Cary Joji Fukunaga jumps on the Latin coming-of-age bandwagon with a road movie driven by fear and family. In streets ruled by violence, where honesty is absolute, who can a runaway trust?
The three young protagonists, Casper (Flores), Smiley (Ferrer) and Sayra (Gaitan) are quickly established as hailing from old-fashioned families. With their elders’ focus on settling them down, the youngsters have developed something of double lives to accommodate their natural desire to deviate.
Street-wise and savvy, the trio dabbles in warfare and crime. Smiley goes through agony to join Casper’s crime family, the Mara Salvatrucha. Yet spurred by the killing of the girl he loved, Casper is making efforts to leave. The course of the film is based around his long, risky trek from Guatemala to New Jersey.
He is joined by Sayra, whose relatives are the optimum of the traditional family. The importance of unity has led them to send her to the USA to rediscover distant relatives and she accompanies Casper on his escape…
Casper and Sayra’s very different motives but identical journey encapsulates the division between generations. This is a concept not exactly unfamiliar in recent Latin cinema, and Fukunaga seems to have been captured by the same fascination as his peers. Those already familiar with the work of his contemporaries are unlikely to make any enlightening discoveries in Sin Nombre, but the seedy taste of gangland living lends it a slightly darker feeling than some forbearers. Grounded by very physical and very real threats, a smidge of sentiment is replaced by excitement, which is often lacking in other Latin New Wave films.
Crime and punishment may govern Fukunaga’s coming-of-age story, but family is just as influential. By entrusting their beloved to the care of an ex-gangster and his baggage, Sayra’s relations unknowingly push her into a family of quite another kind. This one is just as devoted, but conversely motivated, with a knack of turning adults into children and friends into enemies. The ‘father’ punishes as he sees fit, initiating rituals that suspiciously resemble Smiley’s initiation - a blood-thirsty affair in which grown men barbarically attack the small boy.
So powerful is this network of gang members that, rather obviously, escaping them is far from easy. At times, the Mara seem one step ahead of Casper, and even North America isn’t quite the sanctuary that he needs. Casper turns this to his advantage - or so it seems - by calling upon his own American associates made during his gangster stint.
Dishonesty is an expensive trait for anyone caught up in this lifestyle. Whilst Casper’s ‘aunt’ (by alliance, not blood) helps the pair make their next get away, she is equally loyal to those who pursue them, and it becomes clear that she won’t put her neck on the line by lying for their sake. Apparently, this is the general rule of thumb in the realm of gangsters, invoking a weighty underlying edge of misgiving. Some might make accusations of cowardice and some might call it wisdom, or survival - whatever label viewers choose to attach, this consistent hunch of caution accommodates a little character reflection.
And, despite the youth of the leading cast, they bring the necessary depth and insight. Ferrer’s performance during Smiley’s initiation is painful to watch - but in a good way. Convincingly suffering for his cause, emotions are pulled at the pitiful sight of the boy curled at the feet of men. When he is pulled to his feet and turns to the camera, an unsettling grin of blood on his lips, the heart is apt to crumble in two as a single question booms loud: why? Gaitan’s character of Sayra is also a persuasive one. Her feelings, for example, when informed of her journey north to meet her husband-in-waiting, are perfectly illustrated on her young face. Marred with despair, the young actress portrays a character of sympathy, but also of inner strength, determination and eventually hope, without overacting the script.
If you can’t trust your family, who can you trust? Sin Nombre is both tragic and inspiring, and certainly quenches that current thirst for Latin American teenagers. It does, however, risk being overlooked in a few years’ time; if nothing else simply due to timing. This New Wave’s ground breakers have come and gone, and Fukunaga’s latest is likely to be lost in their shadows. Although polished, it is not quite Hollywood, not quite indie - not quite a gangster film and not quite a love story. Still, for fans of the movement, it is definitely worth watching, and for those who haven’t yet experienced more acclaimed titles, it will prove an engaging and enjoyable watch. RS
Film: Sin Nombre
Release date: 1st February 2010
Certificate: 15
Running time: 101 mins
Director: Cary Fukunaga
Starring: Edgar Flores, Paulina Gaitan, Jesus Lira, Emir Meza, Kristyan Ferrer
Genre: Drama/Thriller/Action
Studio: Revolver
Format: DVD
Country: Mexico
For countries like the UK, immigration is always high on the political agenda, with the public fearful of ‘undesirables’ making their way across the border, and setting up nearby residence and interfering with their comfortable, ignorant lifestyles – with little thought or care for who they are (hence the title, which translates to “Without A Name”) or what atrocities has brought them to their doorsteps. Using firsthand experience, writer/director Cary Fukunaga offers a scarily realistic insight into what may motivate a person to make such a precarious journey to a foreign country, where only public vitriol and struggle for acceptance awaits.
El Casper “Willy” (Edgar Flores) is a member of a fearsome gang, keen to recruit child El Smiley (whose initiation consists of a group beating from muscle-bound adults) into his way of life, and with the capability to murder a rival gang member without a second thought. However, he lives a second life, meeting up with his attractive girlfriend Martha, who dreams of something better for them both, unbeknown that Casper would never be allowed to break away from his ‘brothers’.
Aware of his fellow gang members’ capabilities, Casper keeps this relationship under wraps, but when one of his rendezvous’ impinges on his obligations to the gang, he is dealt a brutal punishment – but none crueler than the death of his partner, who perishes when trying to escape the evil clutches of would be rapist, gang leader Lil' Mago.
At the same time, Honduran teenager Sayra (Paulina Gaitan) has been reunited with her father, who is taking her across Mexico on the promise of a better life, and a new family in New Jersey.
When El Casper, new recruit El Smiley and the gang’s leader board the same train as Sayra, a now crestfallen Casper will take the opportunity to exact revenge on his lover’s killer – a decision that will save Sayra all manner of pain and suffering, but one that will make an already difficult and testing journey to the USA all the more dangerous…
Although filmmaker Cary delivers a decent cat-and-mouse thriller, as his once apprentice El Smiley sets out to deliver El Casper’s punishment and gain acceptance into the gang, what really stays with you after the credits have rolled is everything that surrounds the main story – the bigger picture.
In many ways, the thriller aspect is almost inconsequential – instead the picture provokes a number of questions about humanity - how can we allow fellow human beings to find themselves in such dire circumstances in the first place, and then how can we have the audacity to vilify them for joining gangs which offer them support and security unavailable elsewhere, or wanting to escape to another country where rape and pillage isn’t the norm?
Having spent years researching the film, including spending time with gang members (inside and outside of jail), immigrants (including youngsters who had lost limbs) and riding freight trains, Cary has been able to capture enough, if of course not all of what it must be like for these people – the desperation, uncertainty, fear and most of all sadness is palpable on every character’s face, including those who make up the enemy contingent here (who are unquestionably scary).
Without a big budget, there’s no real opportunity for flash or exaggeration, so we are left with an almost documentary-style attitude to filmmaking (augmented by the use of untrained actors with real experience of this way of life) – taking in the beautiful scenery, and bleak slums, that pass by; the uncomfortably realistic assaults; the huddled groups of anxious, poverty-stricken passengers who have to contend with the elements, undesirables, disgruntled passersby and border patrols; and the sheer humiliation – taken into custody and strip searched when you don’t have the right documentation.
Yet for all the despondency, the betrayal of a ‘friend’ to Casper as he tries to plot a safe journey to America, and all the heartbreak that the story does deliver before the end, you also gain an insight into the camaraderie and community support that see these people through – and the hope. Early on we see Casper hold a gun with El Smiley and shoot an already badly beaten rival gang member, yet by the end he is willing to sacrifice his own life to save that of a girl he’s only recently befriended. With more subtlety, we see children running by the side of the train and throwing up fruit (although, with a neat comic touch to lighten the mood later on, these turn to stones and cries of “f**king immigrants!”), people sharing what are obviously limited supplies, and communities welcoming and supportive.
The film doesn’t offer a solution, so you take in the events and are left to surmise for yourself, but it’s an eloquent rant that highlights why it’s so important foreign-language cinema gets a bigger platform and better exposure in countries such as the UK and America, where Hollywood dominates with nothing of consequence left to say, and any reaction from viewers attributed to the bizarre results of the lead’s latest facelift.
The film’s only failing is in that in opening up and revealing such a big, heartrending issue, the main story, although delivered at a good pace, doesn’t quite have the muscle to rack up the required tension in the lead up to a fairly predictable and unoriginal ending.
With such commendable motives, you can forgive Cary for any failings in the story’s execution, bringing to light a subject so often distorted by middle England’s stranglehold on the media and politics in this country, with all his care and passion resonating clearly on the screen. DH
Cary is considered one of the most exciting new voices in International Film. His work as a writer, director, and cinematographer has taken him around the world – from the Arctic Circle to Haiti and West Africa.
Mr. Fukunaga wrote and directed the short film Victoria para Chino, which screened at the 2005 Sundance Film Festival. It was honoured with over twenty-four International Awards, including a Student Academy Award and an honourable mention from BAFTA’s Los Angeles chapter.
An MFA candidate from New York University’s Graduate Film Program, Mr. Fukunaga marks his feature film writing and directing debut with Sin Nombre – a film set on the lower Mexican border where fearsome gangs are the only option for reaching a more prosperous land. The stories of Sayra, a teenager living in Honduras and hungry for a brighter future, and teen gang members Smiley and Casper, for whom the ungovernable Mara Salvatrucha is their entire universe, become interlaced on a train to reach Mexico. It is a journey that will determine the future of their lives…
How did this project take shape for you, as a first-time feature director?
It came about through my short film, Victoria Para Chino, which was about a truckload of immigrants who were abandoned and suffocated in Victoria, Texas. In doing research for that, and filming in Mexico, I learned about the Central American side of immigration. When we think of immigration, we usually think Mexico-to-the-United States but there are Hondurans, Guatelmalans, and Nicaraguans who are travelling north to get into Mexico and then go Mexico-to-the-United States. I knew this was a story I wanted to tell in a feature film.
It struck me personally. I wanted to have audiences experience this from a human perspective, one which has nothing to do with politics or agendas about what immigration “means” or what it “should” be. The web, newspapers and books have information, but, for me, it is hard to get a sense of things unless I go in person to see what somewhere is like.
When the short film played at the 2005 Sundance Film Festival I was asked to submit a script for the Sundance Lab. I had spent all my time finishing the short, so I had just two weeks to draft the feature script. I drew on the research I had done for the short, but I knew I needed to find out even more about the things that I didn’t know about and write more drafts. I wanted authenticity.
What with the larger scale, were you considering presenting the script for a director to consider?
No, it was always going to be a project I would direct, and I always planned on filming in Mexico, because that’s where the story takes place.
There was no way I could have written Sin Nombre without seeing what I was writing about. So, in the summer of 2005, I went down to Chiapas and Tapachula, Mexico with a couple of friends who had worked on the short, to do firsthand research. We spoke to police. We went to jails to meet with gang members who were part of the immigrant smuggling trade. We went to the borders, and saw rafters on the Suchiate River between Guatemala and Mexico. We visited immigrants at train stations, yards and also at shelters, including one that is designated for immigrants who have been injured on trains - 16-year-olds who lost their legs, for example. These are people who were headed north to try for a better life for themselves and their families, and now they had gotten hurt and never made it north.
After seeing them, my friends decided they didn’t want to ride the train, so I ended up doing that by myself. One night, at 2am in the Tapachula yards, I jumped on a freight train with two Hondurans that I’d met the night before. I had invited them to stay with me at a hotel rather than wait all night at the station, which was dangerous. We all jumped on and travelled across Chiapas; a lot of what happened on that 27-hour trip – within the first couple of hours – formed the basis for what happens on top of the train in Sin Nombre. The bandit attack that happened not far from us, and the camaraderie with the immigrants, enriched my perspective.
Was there a lot of chaos on the trip?
Well, if you see drama or crazy stuff, it happens instantly and then it’s gone as soon as it came. What surprised me is how mundane a lot of the journey is – like ordinary life. Here’s the way I learned to look at it from the immigrants’ perspective; whether bad things or good things happen, it’s just another day and everything and everyone is in God’s hands. If they’re on top of the train and completely dehydrated, they’ll say, “It will rain and we will collect water.” If bandits attack the trains, they’ll say, “We’ll run and then come back to the train when the bandits go away.” Whatever happens, they will roll with it. They don’t dramatise what’s happening in their lives.
That was your purview. So what did you learn from them that motivated your storytelling?
The immigrants that I met knew that the journey and the life they were going towards were going to be hard. I didn’t meet any who thought that the streets were going to be paved with gold in the USA. That’s not the perspective people have any more. The journey is now one of survival, necessity, and basic economics; at home, they make 45 lempiras a day, and milk costs 15. You have people who can’t make enough money to meet the cost of living or feed their families in their country, where the economy is falling apart. We would be stopped for several hours, and they would be looking in irrigation ditches for water, along the way. At that point, there is nothing else to do but talk, and I would get asked, “What are you doing here?” I would answer, “I’m writing a story.” I’d write in my journal, and some people would say “Good for you,” and others would say “Please tell our story.” By the end of the trips, I had learned so much and lived some of it myself. So I felt even more responsibility to tell the story.
What does the title mean?
The title Sin Nombre translates as “Without A Name,” or, “Nameless” in English.
What drives the main characters?
This movie is about people in our day, in our time, at this very moment. They are living their lives, and they have made the decision to try to look for something better. Smiley is looking to be part of a community. Having been raised by his grandmother, he had no male images of role models. Casper, as a member of the Mara, is his example. There may be standard stories of why kids join gangs, yet every case is an individual one. Casper and Sayra are both looking to reconstruct families they have never had; that theme is set against the worlds of immigration and gangs. When they meet, a trust builds up between them bit by bit. They become linked to each other, yet at the end of the story are in very different places.
Was it just that one trip, Cary, that got you all you needed to write the script and prep the movie?
Oh no. I made more trips back to Mexico. The last train I rode was in the summer of 2006, across Veracruz. A year and a couple of months later, we were filming scenes where I had travelled.
So you filmed in the fall of 2007?
Right, and right where I had been before. We were creating a fiction in spots where the real thing is still happening. The actors would be on camera, and a few feet away there would be real immigrants who had just travelled for days.
Where did you shoot the movie?
On Mexico City locations that were so diverse; we were able to find so many in a 200-mile radius. For example, Orizaba is gorgeous with its colours and light. The Tegucigalpa, Honduras scenes were filmed in Naucalpan. You see how they built those concrete houses on the edge of a valley…
How did you work out the visual approach for the film?
Well, since we were mostly using real locations, Pache (the production designer) and I talked a lot about colours and textures. We went for a saturated, yet not overt, palette; there are these natural decaying backgrounds mixed with hot spots of colour.
In terms of the cinematography, Adriano and I talked from the beginning about doing less inflected camerawork, no messing with the negative. We wanted the camerawork to be natural and let what happens be the drama.
How did the key actors come together, and how did you work closely with them?
That was also in terms of it being authentic; we had it written into the contract to make the movie that we would be casting Central Americans. For the principal roles, I wanted people who caught the spirit of their parts. So, through (casting director) Carla Hool, we cast people with a lot of experience, like Paulina Gaitan, and people with practically none, like Edgar Flores; she could give me four variations on a scene, while he was in a lot of ways just being him. So it was a good mix for me, and it meant that I couldn’t over-plan a scene – which I don’t like to do in the first place, since I like spontaneity. Yet I can also control the dramatic flow of a scene towards authenticity.
Tenoch (who plays Mara leader Lil’ Mago) is a natural leader and charismatic, so in the gang scenes I would say to him, “You control your guys and you decide how things are going to happen.” That strengthened the dynamic on-screen. During the writing, I found that character starting to take over scenes; despite all the bad things he does, you still want to like him. That was true of certain gang members I met, too – and with Luis Fernando Peña in playing Sol. We cast people off the streets, because I had always hoped to cast as real as possible. RE
