Society for Latin American Studies (SLAS)

At Boiling Point: "Like Water for Chocolate" and the Boundaries of Mexican IdentityAuthor(s): N. FinneganReviewed work(s):Source: Bulletin of Latin American Research, Vol. 18, No. 3 (Jul., 1999), pp. 311-326Published by: Blackwell Publishing on behalf of Society for Latin American Studies (SLAS)Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/3339168 .Accessed: 06/05/2012 13:45

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Bull. Latin Am. Res., Vol. 18, No. 3, pp. 311-326, 1999 ? 1999 Society for Latin American Studies. Published by Elsevier Science Ltd

PergamOIl All rights reserved. Printed in Great Britain 0261-3050/99 $20.00 + 0.00

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At Boiling Point: Like Water for Chocolate and the

Boundaries of Mexican Identity

N. FINNEGAN

Department of Languages and Cultural Studies, University ofLimerick, Limerick, Republic oflreland

Abstract ? This article explores the mechanisms of Mexican identity as they are constructed in Alfonso Arau's film Como agua para chocolate (1991) (Like Water for Chocolate). In

re-designing the characters of Laura Esquivel's novel, Arau produces a range of filmic

stereotypes drawn from both the Hollywood and the Mexican traditions of film-making. Through the careful manipulation of filmic devices such as editing, framing and close-ups, many of the features of Mexican otherness perpetuated by Hollywood throughout the twentieth century are inscribed. I apply the metaphor of boiling, derived from the film's title, to examine certain key concepts of cinematic 'mexicanness' including the tropes of 'revol? ution', 'border', 'race' and 'sex'. Crucial to this argument is a consideration of the contempor? ary political climate in which Like Water for Chocolate was both produced and released. In Mexico, it was released halfway through the sexenio (six-year period of rule) of President Carlos Salinas de Gortari's rule and is clearly one of the most succesful cultural products (and exports) of his government's now infamous rule. In the United States, the climate of anti-immigrant attitudes in 1992 and 1993 and the corresponding political tension provokes new readings of certain stereotypical images of Mexicans and mexicanness. It is the tension that is produced by the collision between these two contexts ? cultural, political and ethnic ? that forms the principal focus of discussion in this article. ? 1999 Society for Latin American Studies. Published by Elsevier Science Ltd. All rights reserved

Key words ? mexican cinema, twentieth century, like water for chocolate identity, politics and film, Arau, Alfonso, US-Mexico relations, Esquivel, Laura, border

'And now here is a movie where everyone seems at the boil... '(Ebert, 1993).

In this review of Como agua para chocolate, Roger Ebert refers to the explosive mixture of

cinematic ingredients in director Alfonso Arau's most commercially successful film.

Adapted from Laura Esquivel's best-selling novel, Like Water for Chocolate was released in

the United States in 1993 taking nearly $20 million dollars to become the country's biggest

selling foreign film that year. I would like to apply the metaphor of boiling, derived from the

film's title, to examine certain key concepts of cinematic 'mexicanness' as they are construc?

ted in this film.1 Various cinematic elements from both Mexican and Hollywood discourses

are fused to produce a movie that illustrates the complex inter-relationship of both film traditions. The filmic treatment of the tropes of 'revolution', 'border', 'race' and 'sex', in

particular, employs certain formulae. Drawing on a range of studies of ethnicity in cinema, it can be argued that Arau re-designs the characters of Esquivel's novel to construct filmic

stereotypes familiar over decades with cinema-going audiences. On one level, the presence of certain filmic types; the greaser/revolutionary, the Latin lover, and the beautiful senorita

312 N. Finnegan

locates Like Water for Chocolate in a long tradition of Hollywood cinematic representation of the Mexican 'other'. Furthermore, the use of certain techniques such as the

female voice-over,2 borrowed from a tradition of women's pictures, also links the

film to Hollywood. On another level, the film is also drawn from a Mexican cinematic

tradition combining the two staples of Mexican cinema; the revolution and the ranch, with

all the elements of magical realism by now synonymous with Latin American exportable culture. It is the tension that is produced by the collision between these two contexts ? cultural, political and ethnic ? that will form the principal focus of discussion in this

study. Crucial to this argument is a consideration ofthe contemporary political climate in which

Like Water for Chocolate was both produced and released. The film was released in Mexico

in 1991, halfway through the sexenio or six-year period of President Carlos Salinas de

Gortari's rule. Salinas' time in government is associated (now only ironically), with his

intense 'modernization' programme, fostering Mexico's links with the international market

place and masterminding Mexico's signing of the North American Free Trade Agreement

(NAFTA).3 Nissa Torrents points out that 1991 was, in the early 1990s, generally con?

sidered to be Mexican cinema's high point amid generally positive feelings about the future

ofthe country (Torrents, 1993). In this context, Like Water for Chocolate is one ofthe most

successful cultural products of Salinas' infamous rule. Interest in the film project was

immense and it attracted sponsorship from certain key institutions including significantly, the Mexican Ministry for Tourism, both state and regional government funds and one of

the country's airlines, Aviacsa. Like Water for Chocolate was released, thus, in an atmo-

sphere of optimism, presenting an image of Mexico complete with sex, soft focus, and some

quintessential Hollywood and Mexican film 'staples' thereby more than vindicating the

Ministry of Tourism's decision to fund it.

The context in which Like Water for Chocolate was received in the United States,

however, was less than optimistic. The film was viewed by a public which was itself 'at

boiling point' over the politically sensitive issue of Mexican immigration. The uneasy start

to economic integration heralded by the North American Free Trade Agreement (and

opposed by many US citizens), contributed to the tension. Indeed immigration was

becoming the 'most salient political issue' ofthe day as the effects ofthe 1986 'restrictionist'

Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) became apparent (Eisenstadt and Thorup, 1994: 8). The Family Unity provision of this act entitled seasonal agricultural workers to

legally bring family members into the United States. The corresponding perception that

social sevices were going to be drained by the large influx of women and children prompted

public hysteria and the United States was engulfed by a 'new wave of anti-immigrant attitudes' (Eisenstadt and Thorup: vii).4 The new ideology of immigration as 'something

being done to us', along with the relatively recent use of terms like 'invaders' to describe

Mexican immigrants,5 enhanced the conviction that the US was no longer in control of its

borders, and prompted unprecedented levels of prejudice and antagonism against immi?

grants, reflected and sustained by high levels of media racism.6 The following passage, taken

from a study of community responses to immigration in California in the early 1990s

eloquently captures the mood of the time:

National and local debates over immigration reached a fever pitch in the United States

during the Summer of 1993. Politicians representing a very broad ideological gamut seemed single-minded in their determination to outdo one another in proposing

At boiling points and boundaries of Mexico 313

measures that would ensure a 'toughening' of US immigration policy. (Eisenstadt and

Thorup: vii)

This context is vital to any examination of 'mexicanness' in Like Water for Chocolate.

Robert Starn and Ella Shohat discuss the 'historical instability of the stereotype' and

caution against a 'static analysis' that would ignore the dynamic of changing political and

economic contexts (Starn and Shohat, 1994: 199). In the light of the highly charged socio-cultural context, new readings of certain stereotypes emerge. In particular, given the

tension of the political situation, the film's reworking of the cinematic trope of the border

(central in much Hollywood cinema about Mexico), prompts other, less sympathetic,

readings of 'mexicanness'. Furthermore, the racial politics involved in casting decisions in

Like Water for Chocolate will be discussed, examining both Hollywood traditions of such

casting and the particular cross-cultural cinematic background of director, Alfonso Arau.7

The 'americanised' concepts of mexicanness in Like Water for Chocolate form part of

a long and tumultuous relationship between Mexican film-makers and mainstream Holly? wood. The Mexican film establishment has always oscillated between resistance to and

dependence on Hollywood definitions of Mexican identity. On the one hand, Mexican

cinema continually struggled against the perpetuation of demeaning myths about Mexi?

cans, Mexican-Americans and the Mexican Revolution in Hollywood movies. Certain

characteristics always assigned to Mexican protagonists, such as laziness and stupidity, and

the continual caricature of sadistic, violent, revolutionaries were considered evidence of this

stereotyping. At times this has provoked quite drastic government measures, including the

threat to block distribution of production companies making films with offensive/

stereotypical portraits of Mexicans.8 It is also true, however, that Mexican cinema has

a long tradition of imitation of Hollywood models. Carlos Monsivais writes, 'In Mexico, as

everywhere else, the Hollywood model was inescapable... the Hollywood formulas were

carefully adhered to: entertainment for its own sake, the cultivation of genres, the repetitions that become habit-forming' (Monsivais, 1993: 141). Thus, many Mexican film-makers

construct narratives informed by tropes from the dominant cinematic discourses, including

Hollywood markers of race and ethnicity. The exploitation of certain existing and fixed notions of ethnic identity in the colonizer's

discourse by Mexican film-makers is clearly problematic. Judith Mayne in her article, 'White Spectatorship and Genre Mixing', offers a useful approach to this exploration of

racial stereotyping. She states that 'while I am concerned with structural and textual details,

my concern is not so much to demonstrate that the films [she refers to Ghost and Field of

Dreams] are racist, but rather to show the dynamics of white spectatorship' (Mayne, 1993:

45). Likewise, the objective of this discussion is not to expose Alfonso Arau as somehow

'guilty' of racial stereotyping in his film-making nor to try and 'prove' that Like Water for Chocolate is racist. Rather, the article is concerned with the mechanisms of representation of

Mexican identity in Arau's most successful film to date and, in particular, the possible

implications of this representation in the political climate in which it was released.

Like Water for Chocolate follows the story ofthe De Garza family over three generations,

focusing particularly on the second generation of daughters; Tita, Rosaura and Gertrudis.

Tita is in love with Pedro Musquiz but, as the youngest daughter of the family, is forbidden

to marry and must look after Mama Elena, her mother, until death. Pedro, desperate to be

near Tita, marries Rosaura and there follows a period of frustration, jealousy and anxiety on all sides. Tita becomes increasingly brutalised by the sadistic behaviour of her mother

314 N. Finnegan

and after a nervous breakdown, is taken by family friend, Dr. John Brown, to be treated in

Texas. She gradually recovers and agrees to marry him, resolving never to return to the

ranch. However, after her mother's death, Tita does return and, realising that she can never

love John in the same way as Pedro, breaks off the engagement. She stays on the ranch with

Pedro, Rosaura and their daughter Esperanza and after Rosaura's death, Tita is fully united

with Pedro and raises Esperanza. The story ends as Esperanza marries John Brown's son,

Alex, and moves with him to the United States where he is studying for a PhD at Harvard

University. The sequence of events broadly follows the plot of Esquivel's hugely successful novel

which has generated a critical debate over the questionable nature of its feminism(s).9

Interestingly, the film bypasses many ofthe feminist sub-plots ofthe novel with its evocation

of a female community transgressing barriers of race, class and generation. This narrative

thread is effaced in the film by changes to the portrayal of the indigenous characters and is

most notable in the case of Chencha, the indigenous maid, whose rape at the hands of the

bandits will be analysed in detail. Arau's version of the novel, therefore, avoids certain

crucial elements of the womens' relationship erasing some of its key sequences and

transforming its narrative base.10

THE GREASERS' REVOLUTION

The film takes place against the background of the revolution and is similar to many other

'Mexican Revolution' movies made by Hollywood. Margarita de Orellana's incisive study of North American cinema during the revolutionary period of 1910-1917 isolates two ever

present features of these movies: first, the all important presence of Pancho Villa, and

second, the careful evasion of any exploration ofthe revolutionary cause.1 * Orellana argues that an ambiguous stance towards the revolution was a political necessity in the United

States given their oscillating political stance and ambiguous support for some of the

revolution's leaders. The US, for example, tacitly supported Madero, and campaigned for

the overthrow of General Huerta after Madero's assassination. As a result of this underlying

support and in spite of a clear prohibition of arms export, there was a definite tolerance of

gun smuggling, an issue explored lightheartedly in films like The Gun Smuggler (1912). It

must be remembered that the revolution was extensively reported in the US media and that

it formed part of a wider debate about the United States' role in Mexico, and in particular, whether US intervention was either desirable or justifiable. This discourse of expansionism was also evident in film-making at the time, in films like The Mexican Spy (1913), and The

American Insurrecto (1911). The Mexican revolution, therefore, was 'de-politicised' in the

interest of wider US foreign policy so that it might be neatly categorised as meaningless chaos and thus deserving of US intervention, a question explored in many subsequent films

such as The Mexican Snipefs Revenge (1914). Orellana also argues that through careful maintenance of the revolutionary cause as an

abstract notion, Hollywood filmmakers could successfully blur the distinctions between

revolutionaries and the stock greaser characters of films like The Greaser's Revenge (1911),

Tony the Greaser (1911) and Bronco Billy and the Greaser (1914). She notes that violence was

the characteristic common to all these 'greaser' characters:

Innate violence is the Mexican characteristic most often emphasised by North Ameri?

cans ... From the beginning the North American cinema has portrayed the Mexican as

At boiling points and boundaries of Mexico 315

irresponsible, treacherous, vengeful and prey to an uncontrolled sexuality. He is also

represented physically in a specific way: his poncho and wide sombrero become a kind of

uniform added to his dark skin and wide moustache. (Orellana, 1993: 10)

Orellana's description of the greasers that populated Hollywood movies of this period is

drawn from films like The Mexican's Faith (1910), in which a labourer attempts to rape the

rancher's wife, and other films that feature assaults by both the federales (troops loyal to the

government) and the revolutionaries.

The representation ofthe revolution in Like Water for Chocolate is clearly located within

this Hollywood discourse. Pancho Villa, although not represented directly, is the only historical figure associated with the revolution in the film, and the revolutionary troops that

appear are referred to as 'Villistas'. Villa's legendary violence is exaggerated to the full by Chencha, the maid, who, on describing the hanging of a man in the town square, states that

Villa is reputed to tear out his enemies' hearts and consume them. Like Water for Chocolate

also sustains an ambiguity regarding the revolution and is careful to sidestep any of its

political issues. Mama Elena dismisses the danger implied by the fighting, and the 'cause'

itself is only referred to once when it is ironically treated and flippantly dismissed. This

episode features Juan approaching the ranch with his troops to ask Mama Elena for

provisions. He requests her co-operation 'for the cause' and she retorts, saying that the

provisions inside her house are for her 'own particular cause' ? thereby belittling the

supposed nobility ofthe revolution.12

Finally, Orellana's description of the greaser characters from Hollywood is interesting, first because it could easily be applied to the revolutionaries that appear in Like Water for Chocolate and second, because of the uneasy alliance established between violence and

uncontrolled sexuality. The first appearance of the troops, led by Juan, is a telling example of the portrayal of the film's greasers. In their first scene, Chencha and Gertrudis hurry

through the town and the music changes to the jerky, staccato tones of the melody thereafter only associated with Juan and Gerturdis. There is a close-up of Juan's face, a cut

away to a long shot of Juan's back, and then a cut back to another close-up of his face. The

camera then alternates between close-ups of Juan and Gertrudis' transfixed faces as they stare longingly at each other. Chencha alludes to the power ofthe revolutionaries' sexuality,

warning her that 'one look at them and you're pregnant', an ironic aside, given the length of

the look already enjoyed by Gertrudis. There are other examples ofthe greasers' insatiable

sexuality. Sergeant Trevino is shown pinching, kissing and playing with different women, and the Mexican servant, through whom Tita communicates with Gertrudis, laughs

knowingly when told of her whereabouts, a subtle reminder to the audience that all

Mexican male film characters frequent brothels.

Furthermore, the legendary violence ofthe revolutionary/greaser character is juxtaposed with their supposedly 'primitive' sexuality. Thus, Juan has just killed one man and is on the

point of killing another when he is distracted by the overpowering odour of Gertrudis'

passion. There are caricatures of drunken revolutionaries at the goodbye party when Juan

and Pedro stagger about wailing a ranchera love song. Three identical revolutionaries raise bottles of Tequila, a pose frequently adopted by Trevifio whose language is also caricatured

through his regional accent and use of colloquialisms. In another scene, he cannot read out a recipe to Gertrudis and stutters his way through the word for 'caramel'. Stupidity, violence and drunkenness combine, to comic effect, as the defining characteristics of Gertrudis'

right-hand man, a revolutionary/greaser character in early 1920s Hollywood style.

316 N. Finnegan

THE FICKLE FRONTIER: BORDER OR BARRIER?

Another central trope of filmic narrative about the revolution emerges in Like Water For Chocolate. Orellana isolates the frontier as a crucial element in film-making of the period and notes that the Mexican side denotes chaos, evil and disorder while the US side

inevitably denoted order and good. Tim Girven also points to the border dichotomy of'law' and 'lawlessness' in his article on the role of Tijuana in the early Hollywood star system.13 Arau opts to preserves this 'law'/'lawlessness' dichotomy, present in much cinema about

Mexico, in Like Water for Chocolate. Opposite sides of the border thus function as

important signifiers of cultural difference. In the context of the film's representation of the

border, it is interesting to note that much of Arau's film repertoire includes exploration of

cross-cultural locations. His film Mojado Power from 1979 is probably the most notable

example in this respect. Indeed, Arau's film career itself, as both an actor in many

Hollywood films and as director and producer in both countries, exemplifies the complexity of cross-cultural relationships between Mexico and the United States.

The most significant border sequence in Like Water for Chocolate (which charts John

Brown's proposal of marriage to Tita amid a dance and barbecue, followed by the brutal

rape of Chencha on the ranch in Mexico) clearly posits the familiar 'good'-'bad' dichotomy. It opens with a close-up of pretty North American flowers, barbecued spare ribs, children

running, birds singing, and Tita and John sitting in elegant chairs. The camera then cuts

immediately to Chencha's vicious rape, framed with images of wickedly smiling faces. It

then returns to Texas where the mouth organ plays sweetly in the background and the

people are having a jolly as opposed to a primitively good time. The camera has moved

from stability and happiness in the United States to chaos and rape in Mexico, back to

order and serenity in the United States. The North American side ofthe border offers refuge from archaic, primitive practices and harbours victims of Mexican barbarity.

In the context of the border function as cultural divider, however, it must be remembered

that the symbolic associations of the 2000 mile border between Mexico and the United

States have a long history. As Maria Elena de Valdes points out:

the way of life along the Mexican-US border from the 1850s to the narrative time of

1895-1934 was a period of constant border-crossing and thousands of continuing intimate ties, not only within families whose members had been arbitrarily separated by the border, but also between Mexicans and Anglo newcomers. (Valdes, 1995: 82)

She adds that 'it is only in the post-world War II era that the border has become a barrier'

and it is certainly the case, as has already been mentioned, that by 1993, the border between

Mexico and the US had acquired an unparalleled political significance. Like Water for Chocolate, therefore, in which the border functions to regulate the distinction between

Mexican lawlessness and US order, when released as public opinion was literally about to boil over, becomes infused with an ominous power.

In the light ofthe tense political context regarding immigration, many new readings ofthe border motif in Like Water for Chocolate become possible. The cross-border movement of

characters, for example, on one level, accurately reflects the reality of the historical period when citizens of both Mexico and the United States moved easily between the two

countries. Viewed in 1993, however, this movement may be read as confirmation of the

urgent need for border militarisation and as proof of the US loss of control of its

immigration 'problem'. There was widespread support for the notion of a fully militarised

At boiling points and boundaries of Mexico 317

border at this time, not just in California, the state most affected by immigration, but also at

national level.14 Many public opinion polls confirmed the view that increased usage ofthe

National Guard at the border was one solution to the 'problem.'15 Another striking parallel

emerged between contemporary public attitudes to Mexican immigrants and the film's

insistence on the US as the place of superior health-care facilities. Indeed Pedro and

Rosaura's temporary move to Texas to ensure better medical attention for their son,

prefigures a notorious scandal in 1993 about middle- and upper-class Mexicans' alleged abuse of free medical care in the US. The scandal centred around Fernando Blancarte Jr., an

eleven year old leukemia patient, who had availed of free health-care by establishing

temporary residence in California. He was a citizen of Mexico and had wealthy parents. There was huge public outcry blaming immigrant workers for all the abuse of the health

system and universal calls for health care reforms. Irate letters published in the papers like the San Diego Union Tribune underline the extent of the backlash against Mexican

immigrants at the time.16

Certain important political and economic factors therefore, have crucial implications for

what Starn and Shohat call 'stereotype reception.' They argue that the cultural significance of certain stereotypes may undergo a metamorphosis and also emphasise the historical

instability of stereotypes. This argument has particular relevance with regard to the screen

portrayal of Pedro which may be interpreted as an example of shifting patterns of

stereotype reception. Pedro has no profession and is never portrayed actively engaged in

work, in stark contrast ? not only to John ? but also to the active women who surround him on the ranch. This screen characteristic of laziness forms part of a long demeaning tradition of representation of the Mexican 'other'. Interestingly, Robert Starn points out that it is difficult to reconcile the 'lazy Mexican' in the 'greaser' films with the image of the

present-day 'illegal alien' overly eager to work long hours at half-pay (Starn and Shohat:

199). However, opinion polls show that the notion that 'all Mexicans are on welfare', is still

widely held. Given the context of the film's release, when cultural paranoia about the number of legal' immigrants on welfare was at its highest, the implications of a stereotypi- cally 'lazy' character, particularly when used as a filmic foil to a North American doctor, should not be under-estimated. The old cinematic construct of the lazy Mexican is thus imbued with even more cultural weight in the political context of 1993 and forms part ofthe wider construct of the 'magnet' myth, which holds that lazy Mexicans move to the United States solely to take advantage of free social services. Thus, the character of Pedro

exemplifies the historical instability of stereotypes and their varying effects in different

political contexts.

'RACE'

I would like to argue that this function of the border as the dividing line between good and

evil, black and white, Mexican and North American points to what can aptly be described as a racial 'register' in the film. This concept is analysed by Karen Jennings and Kevin Brown in their studies of the representation of aboriginality in Australian feature films. Brown argues that a racist ideology may inhere in 'a racial register' which works to construct 'race' as an over-determined ideological notion, cementing ideas of essential difference defined in terms of'Blood, Place, Culture and Spirituality' (Jennings, 1993: 21). The series of oppositions set up in Like Water for Chocolate, between spirituality and

rationality, culture and nature, are mediated and regulated by this figure of the border.

318 N. Finnegan

Nowhere is this racial 'register' more apparent, however, than in the figure of Gertrudis.

Linked to both a Hollywood tradition of Mexican representation, and filmic discourse

within Mexico, Gertrudis emerges as the most complex and contradictory character

in the film. She is a mulatta, a revolutionary general, a confused prostitute in possession of an exhaustive libido, and a devoted sister, wife and mother. Films about tough

revolutionary women generals were common-place in Mexico, for example, La bandida

(1962), La Valentina (1965), Juana Gallo (1960), La generala (1970). So too were the

popular cabaretera, cabaret or brothel films, in which the glamorous prostitute played out

her often tragic life story against a background of treachery, deceit and doomed love. Ana

M. Lopez points out that the myth of the prostitute was first cultivated by the

singer-composer Agustin Lara whose songs simultaneously idealised and romanticised this

figure and 'embodied a fatalistic worship ofthe 'fallen woman' as the only possible source of

pleasure for modern man' (Lopez, 1993: 159). She writes, 'By the late 40s the cinema had

completely assumed Lara's vision of the prostitute as an object of self-serving worship, and

his songs were the central dramatic impulse propelling the action of many cabaretera films'

(Lopez: 159). The characterisation of Gertrudis as whore, and her racial marking as mulatta,

clearly illustrate Arau's continued use of Hollywood models in his screen adaptations. Indeed it is in Gertrudis' representation as the mulatta whore, that the racial 'register' of Like Water for Chocolate becomes most apparent. Donald Bogle has isolated the

'tragic mulatto' as a discernible type in his study of racial typecasting in Hollywood cinema. He refers to her as the 'exotic sex object, half woman half child. She was the

black woman out of control of her emotions, split in two by her loyalties and her own

vulnerabilities... The white half of her represented the spiritual, the black half, the

animalistic' (Bogle, 1989: 33). Gertrudis embodies the essential components of this

exotic creature being totally overpowered by Tita's aphrodisiac recipe and escaping naked on horseback with Juan. Her uncontrolled sexuality is unleashed by Tita's cooking and she must 'work' constantly in a brothel in order to quench the insatiable fires of lust

within her.

Her animalistic side is confirmed when she gives birth to a mulatto child, her bodily interior proving conclusively the existence of this inner blackness. This is further underlined

by her ability to dance with so-called 'black' rhythm thus essentialising her in, possibly, the

most cliched example of the racial 'register' in the film. Indeed there is a rather overdeter-

mined emphasis on Gertrudis' 'natural' rythms. Most early shots of her feature her in

movement, banging the table in time to her cooking, rocking in a chair, swaying in

excitement and running to the shower. Gertrudis' 'black' blood, referred to in the film as her

'black' past, explains her primitive inner being that can dance and engender new 'black' life.

Interestingly, too, she is also the embodiment of the half-child, described by Bogle, and

exemplified by her scene with Tita, after her return to the ranch, when Tita confides in her

about her pregnancy. Gertrudis, like a child, while offering advice to her sister, is far more

concerned with the preparation of her cream fritters than Tita's distress. In the last scenes at

Esperanza's wedding, it is Gertrudis who is first overcome by the aphrodisiac in the cake, and who rushes away with her husband in a final crass denotative image of her 'black', and

therefore insatiable, sexuality. During the joyous celebration of Gertrudis' return to the

ranch, Tita refers to her ancestry not only as the source of her rhythm but also of 'other

things'. The portrayal of Gertrudis, thus, seems to anchor her difference very firmly in her

'black blood'.

At boiling points and boundaries of Mexico 319

Chencha is another example of the animalistic other which perpetuates offensive myths about 'black' or indigenous sexuality. Here I take issue with critics Shaw and Rollet's

analysis of Chencha, and particularly their interpretation of her rape:

The suggestion of Chencha's rape in the film (confirmed in the novel) is nothing more than a passing reference, a narrative device which allows for Mama Elena's downfall and death. The potential of the theme of the rape of an indigenous woman by revolutionary forces is entirely wasted as it is obviously of no concern to Esquivel or Arau. (Shaw and

Rollet, 1994: 86)

First, it is not clear in this passage whether they refer to Esquivel as the author of the novel or as the writer ofthe screen play and the difference between both projects is crucial in so far as the totally gratuitous rape (which is far more than just a suggestion) is one ofthe episodes that differs substantially from its telling in the novel.

In the novel, Esquivel avoids any description of the act itself and instead meticulously records the agony of the event and its effect on Chencha. The painstaking recuperation of Chencha from her brutal attack and the very real anxiety she suffers as a result of her status as rape victim in the village is recounted in detail. No such recovery is observed in the film. Chencha is brutally gang raped; all suggestion of a process of recuperation is cut, and she

appears in the next scene as her usual self, laughing and excitable. This tasteless treatment of the rape detracts from Chencha's suffering, so central in the novel, and establishes her

definitively as the Indian whore. Another episode later in the film further underlines this essentialisation of Chencha. As the revolutionaries take their leave, Chencha kisses Treviiio

good-bye and stands beside Tita to wave them off. Her remark that now, at least, she will be able to get some rest is deliberately ambiguous, suggesting an image of Chencha's insatiable sexual appetite.17 In the novel, this ambiguity is absent as the narrative emphasises Chencha's exhaustion from all the extra domestic drudgery entailed for her by the revol? utionaries' stay. Thus Arau's racial marking of Chencha's sexuality as different from Tita's, underlines the racial registration of each of the characters.

CASTING POLITICS

Perhaps this overdetermination on the film's part to bombard the spectator with every possible myth associated with 'blackness' is necessary to overcome the fact that the actress

playing Gertrudis is, in fact, white. Gertrudis is an extremely interesting example of the 'racial politics of casting', discussed by Robert Starn in his study of stereotype analysis. He states that, 'within Hollywood Cinema, Euro-Americans have historically enjoyed the unilateral prerogative of acting in 'blackface', 'redface', 'brownface' and 'yellowface' while the reverse has rarely been the case' (Starn and Shohat, 1994:189). He also points to the fact that white actresses were often east in the part of the 'tragic mulatta'. The casting of the

'pale', red-haired, Claudette Maille, in the part of Gertrudis therefore, clearly follows a well- established Hollywood pattern. It is also clear that white skin is privileged over indigenous skin in much Mexican cultural discourse, a further motive for maintaining the 'whiteness' of

Gertrudis, reserving the indigenous skin tones for the servants, Nacha and Chencha. Bogle's study of the mulatto in Hollywood cinema also identifies a technique employed largely in the 1980s and 90s whereby the black skin of the mulatto character was considerably lightened.18 He calls this trend 'the tan 'Other' and the casting of Maille, would seem to

prove this point.

320 N. Finnegan

As in the case of Gertrudis, the casting of Tita provides further evidence of Brown's racial

'register' at work. Orellana offers a perceptive analysis ofthe racial colouring of Hollywood senoritas:

The representative of Mexican women is the beautiful serlorita, a figure as picturesque as

the greaser but not as deprecated. The model ofthe beautiful serlorita is not the mestiza or

the Indian but the white criolla or Spanish woman. Thus, the Mexican woman appears

superior to her male counterparts because she is Spanish. Nonetheless, she is an exotic

figure; the point is to make her attractive, and while she is more acceptable than the

Mexican man represented on screen because she belongs to a higher social class, she

remains culturally and racially inferior to the North American. (Orellana: 13)

The principal actresses of Like Water for Chocolate conform to this racial marking

exactly. Tita is 'pale' in complexion with gentle brown hair, physically marking her apart as

'lighter' than Chencha and Nacha the indigenous women. Mama Elena is another example of the 'light-skinned', light-haired criolla and it is only Rosaura, quite literally the 'black'

sheep ofthe family, who has the darkest hair and skin. By using these very obvious physical markers of race, Arau reinforces myths about skin colour and race common to both

cultures, but especially striking in Hollywood representations of 'mexicanness' in films like

Sealed Orders (1914) in which passion and duty clash in the psychology of the beautiful

'light-skinned' Mexican woman. This trend is further underlined in Arau's work by the

casting of Aitana Sanchez-Gijon, an acclaimed Spanish actress, as the beautiful Mexican-

American heroine of his subsequent film A Walk in the Clouds (1995). Other interesting casting decisions emerge in the choosing of Marco Leonardi for the

part of Pedro. Woll points out that the Latin lover 'remained the property of Mediterranean

civilization rather than of South America' and that 'the concept ofthe Latin lover remained

definitively separated from the Latin American' (Woll, 1980:25). It is therefore, rather ironic

to note that Arau maintains this separation between Latin lover and Latin American by

casting the Italian Marco Leonardi in the part of Pedro. Leonardi had recently been seen in

Mexico and the United States in Cinema Paradiso, a film that enjoyed huge commercial

success in Mexico and which clearly influenced a similar film entitled Pueblo de madera

(Wooden Village, 1990) paying homage to the vanishing space of the village cinema.19

SEX AND SENORITAS: THE LATIN LOVER VERSUS THE YANKEE HERO

It is interesting to note that many ofthe newspaper and magazine reviews of Like Water for

Chocolate, at the time of its release in the US, do not refer to race.20 Many of them do,

however, refer to sex. Indeed the nudity and sex scenes portrayed in the film merited an 'R'

rating in the United States, as opposed to a 15 certificate in the UK. Many of the reviews

refer to its 'repressed steaminess', 'sexual situations', 'sexual arousaF and 'the hot-chocolate

stuff' and take pains to explain the possible meanings ofthe title. This is certainly not Arau's

first directorial attempt to use sex to sell movies. Indeed, he even directed a film called

Calzoncin Inspector (Inspector Underpants) in 1973. In Like Water for Chocolate, much of

the sexual innuendo is created and articulated through the central character of Tita.

Orellana's analysis of the filmic representation of Mexican women in Hollywood isolates

'docility and sensuality' as their primary characteristics (Orellana: 13). Paranagua says that

'the Mexican woman was obedient, seductive, resigned, servile, devoted to her family, and

At boiling points and boundaries of Mexico 321

enslaved to her children' (Paranagiia, 1995: 123). Tita incarnates many of these qualities; as

the main protagonist, she is clearly supposed to be the creative, strong and passionate heroine. Her centrality to the film is underlined by the number of close-ups she is given, by the haunting music that articulates her pain and distress, and by Esperanza, Tita's niece, as the female voice over describing Tita's feelings. Nevertheless, Tita still exhibits

many of the stereotypical characteristics ascribed to her screen predecessors. She is

obedient almost always to her mother, which has resulted in her life of slavery, and she is

passive and resigned to her fate as the youngest unmarried daughter. It is on her role as

seducer that much emphasis is placed, as evidenced by the scene in which she exposes her

breasts to arouse Pedro, while ostensibly grinding flour. There are frequent poses of her

raising her skirts, normally as part of some domestic chore, either catching chickens, or

holding eggs. While Tita adheres almost totally to the conventions of the senorita figure, her one

deviation away from the norms is her refusal to succumb to the North American hero.

Orellana says: 'it is often Mexican women who most readily betray their own kind and

submit themselves unreservedly to the 'superior' race, for they invariably succumb to the

gallant and 'refined' northerners' (Orellana: 12). Allen Woll also makes the point, 'Whenever

Mexicans are placed in conflict with North Americans, the Yankee always wins, owing to

his superior moral quality and innate intelligence' (Woll: 9). In Tita's case, however, a temporary rebellion occurs, and she rejects John for Pedro, a decision that will be

analysed in a later section. The tension of the battle between these two male characters, contains many of the hallmarks of similar metaphorical struggles between the Latin

American and the Yankee in other Hollywood films such as His Mexican Sweetheart (1912), Saved by the Flag (1911), Captain Alvarez (1914) and Across the Border (1914). This battle

between John and Pedro is very much an allegorical re-working of the border motif and

becomes the struggle between the Latin lover and Yankee hero. I shall return, therefore, to

examine the filmic treatment of both characters in this light, as further evidence of the film's

border dichotomy of civilisation versus barbarity and chaos.

Every Latin has a temper Latins have no brain

And they quarrel as they walk down

Latin Lover's lane.21

Pedro exhibits all the necessary physical trademarks of the Latin lover as portrayed in

early Hollywood movies. He has a swarthy complexion, narrow lips and dark hair. As many

Hollywood narratives involved a conflict between North American heroes and Mexican

dimwits, however, the characterisation of the Latin lover was never allowed to be too

complex. Given that the beautiful, docile senorita would inevitably opt for the refined

Northerner, certain negative characteristics were always attributed to the swarthy lovers.

Woll offers some interesting insights into the narrative configuration of this character.

While acknowledging their usual physical attractiveness, he also adds:

The legend of the Latin lover has so beclouded the image of the Latin American on the

screen that it is difficult to discuss the subject without passion... The Latin lover is the

most sensual male on the screen, yet the majority of films about Latin Americans reveal

an effete, asexual comedic figure who always loses the heroine when she meets a Yankee

stranger. (Woll: 23) [my emphasis]

322 N. Finnegan

Taking these observations by Woll that the lovers were often effete, asexual and comedic,

adding to this the stereotypical features of laziness and stupidity assigned to screen

Mexicans, an uncanny resemblance to Pedro emerges. His wavy hair and earnest voice

suggest the effete, comedic nature of the Latin lover stereotype and if he is not explicitly

portrayed as stupid, he is certainly depicted as a bit foolish in a series of humorous scenes. In

his first declaration of love to Tita, he insists that he is a man of 'few but very firm words'

and this dim-wittedness is further enforced by his decision to marry Rosaura with the

supposed object of being near Tita. His acquiescence and his refusal to stand up to Mama

Elena point to a child-like quality, a feature that is also highlighted by Woll as part of the

Latin lover package of the 30s: 'Despite the mystique of the 'Latin lover' lingering from the

1920s, the Latin men of the 1930s seemed to be incapable of an adult relationship with

a woman' (Woll: 37). This child-like quality is further compounded by the filmic 'undermining' of Pedro best

exemplified by features like eyeline matches, positioning in frames, close-ups and other

devices. There is no single close-up of Pedro's face in the entire film, making him the

exception of almost all the film's characters. The love scenes in which Pedro professes

undying love for Tita always position him looking up at Tita from below. The cover ofthe

video, and also the advertising poster for the film, feature Pedro on his knees gazing up at

Tita. Various cinematic techniques are employed throughout the film to belittle and

trivialise his contribution to the dialogue. During the wedding scenes, when telling Tita that

he really loves her and has married Rosaura to be near her, his face is eclipsed by the very

large hat of one of the wedding guests. This filmic undermining of Pedro's character is a process designed to favour the

North American and is best exemplified by the frames featuring all three of them. In

John's scenes with Tita, they sit close together and there is always an eyeline match-unlike

corresponding scenes with Pedro. In the many frames featuring all three of them, John

dominates and is always positioned in the middle. During Mama Elena's funeral, Pedro hugs Tita, an action also eclipsed by the camera cutting to the neighbour's face and

then to John's face looking down on the embrace and visually dominating the frame. Even

during Pedro's second proposal of marriage to Tita, the camera cuts to John's face in

close-up. John Brown, then, represents the North American side of the border, the ultimate

signifier of order, activity and civilization. The first reference to him occurs in the form of

a close-up of his name on the invitation to Rosaura's wedding. The invitation occupies the

whole frame, the letters 'Dr' on the first line, followed by 'Don John Brown', a title of respect never even verbally extended to Pedro. The shot emphasises John's association with

learning and wisdom which is physically reinforced when he appears the first time wearing

glasses. Both intelligent and learned, he features in a long scene behind laboratory equip?

ment, explaining to Tita the history of phosphorous. He is tolerant and open to all medical

ideas including those of his grandmother, Luz de Amanecer, whose wise cure for burns is

employed when Pedro is badly burnt by Mama Elena's revenge tactics. He is both kind and

sensitive and exudes a moral superiority to Pedro that is seen most obviously in his gallant

acceptance of Tita's decision to stay with Pedro. The contrast with Pedro is starkly underlined by the Mexican's petulant outbursts and his petty swipes at John, calling him

doctorcito (the little doc). Pedro's profound statement that 'love is either felt or not', affirms

the Mexican's alliance with instinct and passion, whereas John's patient devotion unfolds

over time displaying none of the childish fits of passion so necessary to Pedro. In short the

At boiling points and boundaries of Mexico 323

dichotomy, culture versus nature is established from the beginning and sustained through? out by the opposition set up between both male characters. This opposition has the

effect of 'authorising' John Brown while simultaneously confirming Pedro's inferior

status.

The privileging of John Brown over the Mexican underlines the film's appeal for

North American audiences which is further reinforced by the use of magical realist

discourse, now proven to be successful in an international market. Much of the magical realism is derived from an imaginative treatment of the transgressive properties of

food, from which much of the film's humour arises. There are also echoes of previous

magical realist motifs: the 'never-ending blanket', knitted by Tita to keep herself warm,

appears also in Isabel Allende's best known work, La casa de los espiritus (The House

of the Spirits) ? also made into a film. It is the re-writing of the Hollywood ending,

though, that best exemplifies the ideological function of the film's magical realist discourse.

In this re-writing, the Yankee does not triumph, as Tita consumes the matches that

enable her to be united with Pedro in death. On one level, therefore, the film resists

and rejects the conventional Hollywood ending (in which the Yankee triumphs over the

Mexican) and allows the Mexican lovers to be finally united. To read the ending as

a subversive re-working of the Yankee triumph in favour of the Mexican, however, is

problematic. The slow ignition of love by the matches is a story recounted to Tita by John: she then follows his advice to become united with Pedro. In this way it is the

North American who actually writes the plot that the Mexicans enact. The film establishes

magical realism as the exclusive domain of the Latin Americans, locating them in the

land of fantasy and love that only they can inhabit. On the other hand, the world of

reason and science is inhabited by the North American who, though able to dream up the

perfect ending (which he has in turn inherited from his own indigenous roots), is never able to live it himself. John Brown, therefore, actually 'controls' the destiny of the Mexican

characters, constituting a further obstacle to any emancipatory or progressive reading ofthe

ending.

THE FINAL DREAM: MEXICAN OR AMERICAN?

Though Tita does not eventually choose John in the film, in many ways the metaphorical battle between North and South is ultimately won by the Yankee, as Tita's niece, Esper- anza, marries John's son Alex and moves very significantly to the North side of the border. In the final scenes, the spectator learns that Alex has been given a grant to study for a PhD

at Harvard University, the ultimate academic ambition for middle- or upper-class Mexi? cans. The finale features Esperanza's americanised daughter sitting in her technologically advanced kitchen reminiscing about her mother. The difference between the US kitchen and the ranch is signified in the film by the dramatic difference in lighting: the brightly lit American kitchen is a complete contrast to the softer lighting of the Mexican ranch. Alex's

surely dazzling future ahead at Harvard studying for his PhD is an ironic reminder of the then President Salinas de Gortari's similar academic background.22 Like Water for Choc?

olate, in many ways, represents one ofthe last dreams ofthe Salinas' regime which by 1994 was in tatters as the peso collapsed and the economy was plunged into crisis. The Mexican tale of love and cooking has been watered down and all hope for the future (a play on

Esperanza's name that is almost too obvious) lies precisely in this cosy fusion between the two cultures. The film's ultimate message resides in the transition between a proud and

324 N. Finnegan

glorious Mexican culinary past and a proud culinary Tex Mex future complete with

doctorates and superior technology. Like Water for Chocolate, thus, constitutes an uneasy fusion of cinematic discourses

retaining certain quintessential Mexican elements blended with stereotypical portrayals from a Hollywood tradition. Through the careful manipulation of filmic devices such as

editing, framing and close-ups, as well as interesting casting decisions, many of the features

of Mexican otherness perpetuated by Hollywood throughout the twentieth century are

inscribed. In this way, Like Water for Chocolate turns non-Mexican spectators, into what

Robert Stam and Louise Spence describe as 'armchair conquistadores, affirming our

sense of power while making the inhabitants of the Third World objects of spectacle for

the First World's voyeuristic gaze' (Stam and Spence: 4). If this is the case, then the

view that Like Water for Chocolate 'shows the greatness of Mexico' must be seriously

questioned.23 The greasers, lovers, senoritas and whores that populate the story take

their precedents from a lengthy tradition of demeaning 'otherness' against which

Mexico had struggled for decades. Arau, however, continues to draw on Mexican filmic

discourse as well as this tradition of 'otherness', as a strategy destined for commerical

.success in North America. His subsequent film A Walk in the Clouds, which also features

the hacienda along with crude Mexican stereotypes, is even more evidence of this

trend in his film-making. With United States' public opinion almost at boiling point over

the question of immigration from Mexico, and given the uneasy start to economic integra? tion initiated by NAFTA, a re-reading of Like Water for Chocolate becomes possible. Orellana concludes harshly in her study that the 'other' created by Hollywood is 'a mirror

on whose imperfect but sparkling surface the North Americans may glimpse the image of

themselves they need to see' (Orellana: 14). If this is the case, then Arau has returned to the

perfect formula of 'hot chocolate drama and his version of cinematic mexicanness will

continue to hover uneasily around these recognisable types that guarantee commerical

success.

Acknowledgements?I am indebted to Catherine Grant for this and many other helpful insights in the preparation of this article.

NOTES

The title refers to the process of making hot chocolate. The water should be at boiling point before it is added to the chocolate. A person in a state of 'como agua para chocolate', is considered to be in a state of sexual excitement. This technique employs the female voice-over to capture the intimacy of an original memoir or diary format. Fried Green Tomatoes (1990) and How to Make and American Quilt (1996) are other examples of the use of such a device. 'Modernizacion' was the great catch of phrase Salinas the government. In his opening speech to Congress he mentioned it no less than 26 times. For a detailed summary of his speech, see Cronica del Gobierno de Carlos Salinas de Gortari. By 1994, the Salinas regime was in tatters, experiencing the devaluation of the peso and the onset of a deep economic crisis. Recent debates about immigration in the United States centre around two camps: 'restrictionist, and 'admissionist'. For an overview of this debate, see The Immigration Policy Debate: Critical Analysis and Future Options' (Calavita, 1989: 162-165). Immigration and Naturalisation Service (INS) commissioner Leonard Chapman commented in an article, as early as 1976, that the twelve million [his estimate] undocumented aliens in the United States constituted a 'vast and silent invasion'. See, 'Illegal aliens: Time to Call a Halt!' Readefs Digest, October 1976: 654.

At boiling points and boundaries of Mexico 325

6. Stam and Shohat discuss the media racism of documentaries like the Tom Brokaw Report (April 1993) on the efforts of border police to catch 'illegal aliens' coming from Mexico: 'The portrayal suggests a kind of ineradicable vermin who proliferate like mice and are just as difncult to stomp out'. Stam and Shohat observe the lack of historicisation in such accounts: 'there is no historicisation, nothing about the brutality of the border police, and no explanation that this entire area was once part of Mexico, that 'illegal' Mexicans were there before 'legal' Anglos and that many Chicanos and Mexicans regard themselves as part of a transborder nation' (Stam and Shohat, 1994: 199-200).

7. Alfonso Arau, as director, producer and actor, has also a long history of collaboration/ collusion with

Hollywood. Born in Mexico City in 1932, he has worked in television, stage and cinema. His first feature was the critical comedy El dguila descalza (1969) which he followed with Calzonzin inspector in 1973. In 1976 he made Caribe, estrella y dguila, a documentary shot in Cuba, and then moved to the US to make Mojado Power in 1979. He followed this project with Chido Guan: el taco de oro (1986) before shooting Como agua para chocolate in 1991. His 1994 feature, A Walk in the Clouds, also explores the dynamics of power relations between the US and Mexico and features Keanu Reeves in the leading role. His latest film project is on the Mexican Revolution's folk hero from the South, Emiliano Zapata. All this aside, he is probably best known in the US for his role as 'El guapo' in the comedy Three amigos, starring Martin Short, Chevy Chase and Steve Martin.

8. In 1952, Mexico banned all Hollywood movies that were deemed to contain offensive portraits of Mexicans, an effective strategy that had immediate effect. For a fascinating account of the struggle between Hollywood and Mexico, see The Latin Image in American Film (Woll, 1980: 16-22).

9. The debate focuses on the problematic 'positive' depiction of female creativity in the domestic sphere alongside its fairytale format that always maintains the patriarchal institution of the family intact. See, for

example, 'Experimental Cooking in Como agua para chocolate' (Lawless, 1992); 'Como agua para chocolate: Some of the Reasons for its Success' (Shaw and Rollet, 1994).

10. According to Patricia Varas, at a speech delivered at Willamette University, Salem, Oregon to introduce the film, Arau carefully emphasised the 'different' nature of the two projects, claiming exclusive credit for the film in spite of his estranged wife Laura Esquivel's role as writer of the screen-play. Information given at International Conference, Film/Culture/History, University of Aberdeen, 26-28 August, 1996. One ofthe key plot changes involves the final phase ofthe mother-daughter relationship which is erased from the film. In the novel, Tita returns home to nurse her mother who dies accusing Tita of poisoning her. In the film, on the other hand, Mama Elena dies at the hands of the bandits who rape Chencha, thereby ignoring the final stage of the mother-daughter relationship.

11. Tim Girven also notes the presence of Villa: 'the filmic representation of Mexico became more frequent with the Revolution, not least in the wake of Pancho Villa's famed contract with the Mutual Film Corporation signed in January 1914' (Girven, 1994: 101).

12. This endorsement of the importance of her own 'private cause' by Mama Elena is in line with the feminist

project of affirmation (most notable in the original novel) of the importance of the domestic sphere and its related skills such as cooking. In this way, Mama Elena may also be interpreted as a feminist figure (albeit a problematic one) in her spirited defence of the domestic economy. I am indebted to Catherine Davies for this insight.

13. For a study of this border motif as it operates in film, see 'The Other Question ...' (Bhabha, 1983: 22-23). Bhabha also draws on Stephen Heath's analysis of A Touch of Evil which concentrates on the border

functioning as an allegory of Law and Desire. Girven argues that Tijuana functions in the Foucauldian sense as a 'heterotopia', a counter-site, or 'effectively enacted utopia[s] of the culture that has produced them'

(Girven: 103). His argument relates to a certain role played by Tijuana during the United States' laws of

prohibition. 14. Kitty Calavita notes: 'At local level, the San Diego County Supervisor Paul Eckert, in televised comments

during his election campaign, recommended using Marines on the Mexican border, explaining, T think we are

going to take a very, very strong position to close the border... to illegal aliens' (Calavita: 165). 15. See Mexican Migration to the United States: 165-166. 16. The following letter captures the unforgiving mood of 1993: 'It sickens me to know that my tax dollars are

used to pay medical bills for illegal immigrants and Medi-Cal scofnaws'. 'Letters to the Editor: Readers are Outraged over Fraud, Cheating in the Medi-Cal System', San Diego Union Tribune, 17 April 1993.

17. For an interesting examination of the problematics of the relationship between denotation and connota- tion in the study of racial imagery, see 'The Study of Racial Images: A Structural Approach' (Pines, 1977: 24-26).

326 N. Finnegan

18. Bogle cites the casting of Jennifer Beals in Flashdance as an example of this technique (Bogle, 1989: 33). 19. See 'Mexican Cinema Comes Alive' (Torrents: 227). 20. See Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun Times, 2 April 1993, Desson Howe (1993), Washington Post, 3 May and Mark

Leeper (1994). The film was released in France as 'Les epices de la passion' (The Spices of Passion). 21. 'She Could Shake the Maracas', from Too Many Girls (1939), cited in The Latin Image in American Film (Woll:

29). 22. Salinas completed his primary degree at the Universidad Autonoma de Mexico and earned his doctorate

from the University of Harvard. 23. Comment made by a Mexican contributor to a Colloquium on Mexican Cinema, Casa de los Amigos,

Mexico City, 9 October 1996.

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