the miracle: a film of the dead—and living
by Douglas Messerli
René Pereyra (screenwriter and director) El Angel Azul night club (The Blue Angel) / 2024 [35 minutes]
Mexican director René Pereyra’s 2025 short cinema The
Blue Angel calls up many previous works of cinema: according to the
director himself, the work was influenced, in part, by Peter Bogdanovich’s The
Last Picture Show (1971); in the work’s setting in a gay bar frequented by macho
homophobes attracted by its transgender singer/dancer, it calls up another
Mexican-made film, Arturo Ripstein’s A Place without Limits (1978, based
on the memorable fiction by Chilean writer José Donoso, Hell Has No Limits);
and in its sudden appearance of an all-leather motorcycle gang that totally
transforms the experiences of the bar’s owner and beloved dancer friend it vaguely
reminds one of Marlon’s Brando’s effects on a café owner and its denizens in
another dying town, Wrightsville, California, in The Wild Ones (1953). This
movie also vaguely hints at yet another Mexican located masterwork, Malcom Lowry’s
Under the Volcano, made into a film by John Huston in 1984—although in
this case, there is no “bar crawl” since this “night club” appears to be the
only remaining entertainment spot in the dying town of Torres Mochas in which it
exists, unless you count the prostitutes hanging out nearby on the street.
And, of
course, I’ve not even mentioned its titular flash of the 1930 Josef von
Sternberg classic starring Marlene Dietrich.
It almost
comes as a surprise, accordingly, when we finally realize near film’s end that
this is actually a statement not only about the gradual devolution of social
and cultural experiences by a homophobic, macho culture headed up by a corrupt
and hypocritical Commissar, but, in fact, is a film about a miracle with regard
to AIDS.
That this
work achieves all of this in about a half hour is something near to astounding.
In part, it is able become a kind of echo chamber simply because of its lack of
complex plot and its preference of deeply rich cinematic images over dialogue.
Out of the past comes a native of the village
who has been gone so long that even the local doctor doesn’t remember him. Porfirio
(Roberto Soto) has come home to his mother to look after her while he himself, HIV
infected, faces his own death. He begs the doctor (Juan Menchaca) not to tell
anyone of his condition.
And that
seems almost to be the end of that story as our hero opens up the new bar El
Angel Azul, featuring his dear transgender friend Lola Lola (Maurici Abad). The
place, like the town, seems almost uninhabited except for two young macho
cowboys who make fun of Lola’s quite frankly terrible performance, calling her
a faggot and sissy. The new owner has no choice but to immediately toss them out
in a fury, they, in turn, insisting that he will regret his behavior and that
they will see to the closing of the bar.
One could
almost describe that as the entire “plot,” except for a few other matters,
including the closure of the only other place for communal pleasure, the town’s
movie house Cinelandia, now being closed down by Virginia (Ruth Rosas) after
years of existence because no one any longer attends the movies. All the men
are moving to the States, she comments, leaving the town open to violence. The
prostitute Isabel (Diana Salgado) argues that the movie house was the most
interesting place in the town.
But this and all the following events
might almost be described as “incidents” instead of plot, embellishments which shift
the perspective of this film from being a movie simply about a small dying town
by presenting it as a world of the ghostly lives past and present.
Meanwhile, two other prostitutes pay the town’s Commissar (Jorge De los
Reyes) a visit to complain about the “sissy bar.” Obviously sent by their two
cowboy clients, the girls suggest that their guys were afraid the faggots might
rape them.
The
Commissar listens to them with patience, but also with what appears to be
almost comic cynicism. Although they want him to close down the bar, he argues
that it will be difficult since the bar represents “progress,” suggesting that
such a place is a benefit for the town, as he basically shoves them out the
door.
He
himself is on his way to The Blue Angel. He appears to be friendly with the bar’s
owner, reporting what the women have filed as a complaint. Porfirio explains
that the only event they have had in the bar was when two cowboys offended Lola
and he sent them packing. But the commissioner, nonetheless, explains that in
this small town they are simply not used to “weird” goings on.
“What
weird events, Commissar?” he demands to know.
The
commissioner leans forward and whispers, “the sissines.”
“I think
they have informed you wrong,” Porfirio asserts. “Here we are very decent
people, artists.
He
suddenly declares that he has some errands to attend to, but begs the
commissioner to stay, calling out Lola to perform for him.
Delighted
by Lola’s performance, the town leader whispers in his ear that he should send
the other three customers away, which Lola does, permitting the Commissar to
invite his little “Lolita” onto his lap for a kiss and clearly other private
entertainment.
In the very next frame, we witness a gang
of leather-clad motorcyclists moving toward the village, which, we fear,
represents is further vengeance from the cowboys and the town’s other
homophobes.
Meanwhile, in what almost might be described as a terrible sad
interlude, we see a handsome young cowboy (Milano Velarde) standing against a
wall on the street, obviously a different kind of town prostitute. Isabel walks
directly up to him, announcing that she has been told that he has been hanging
out in this location every night.
The boy
answers that she’s glad she now knows it, her answer being not only surprising
but a bit shocking: “Mothers always know everything.”
She
believes that the closing of Cinelandia has led him to seek out company at this
spot, a fact which the obviously gay son does not deny. But she is frightened
for him, that he will end up just like her, picking up drunkards from the
street.
For his
part, he claims he had a very good teacher; that he has known for a long while
that his mother was a whore.
Slapping
his face, she explains that she had no other choices, having been raped when
she was young and becoming pregnant with him. How else was she to survive and raise
him up? You have me, she argues. You can make other choices, look for a job,
study, and most of all respect yourself.
“I don’t want you to be a slut. Find someone who is
worth it and be happy. Accept yourself and be happy who you are…don’t make this
dirty,” she implores. “I don’t care if it’s a man you’re with.” There is no
answer, but at least he promises her he will think about what she has said.
This
little melodramatic intervention gives us, perhaps, a view of what the most
understanding and respectable citizens of this town are all about. Torres
Mochas* is not only a hell-hole but is something very close to actually being
hell.
We now
return to Porfirio, dressed this evening in drag with a cigarette at the end of
a ridiculously long quellazaire. The head of the motorcycle gang drives up, “she”
asking him for a light. The gang leader (Marcus Ornellas) explains that the
name of the place caught his attention, particularly since his name is Ángel.
Our
friend invites him to see the place, to which the traveler immediately takes a
liking, recognizing the bar photos of James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, and in
particular Marlon Brando. When he asks why the barkeeper is dressed up like a
woman, Porfirio explains that it is in homage to his mother, who recently died.
She very much liked the movie, La Mujer del Puerto (the last movie
showing at Cinelandia), and she would dress up like Andrea Palma, and act like
her, pointing to the dress he’s wearing, “this was her dress.”**
When Ángel asks who as Andrea Palma, Porfirio laughs,
explaining that she was a very famous Mexican movie star, but first she was the
personal assistant to Marlene Dietrich. So does that 1930 movie now circle back
to the name of the bar, resonating with its friendly new guest’s name as well.
Our friend
turns the tables somewhat, asking what brings Ángel
to his door in Torre Mochas; this town has nothing to offer; it is dead he
explains. “Like me,” answers Ángel, reaching over for a moment to hold the barkeeper’s
hand. Our hero shakes his head a bit in wonderment: “I feel like we’ve known
each other for a long time.” He feels so free to speak, so confident of the
newcomer that for the first time Porfirio tells him that he is HIV-positive and
that the medications are not working.
Finally,
he offers Ángel a drink. They toast.
In short,
we have now discovered what we have perceived as a threat to be a friendly
force. Ángel’s gang are not among the enemies but have shown themselves as
friends.
Immediately after, however, we are privy to further ancillary events of
hate and revenge. A woman has obviously been forced to leave her home, walking
the streets with her heavy suitcase. The Commissar and two of his men wait in a
SUV to beat up Lola as he returns home.
We observe
gangs of individuals hurling rocks at El Angel Azul, finally someone putting a
tape across the door so that no one can enter.
Porfirio
attempts to talk to the Commissar who no longer recognizes even his own signed
documents, proclaiming that the bar’s owner took advantage of the agreement by
bringing to town all that “faggot” stuff which is not permissible in his Torre
Mochas, he shouts.
Citing
the fact that Lola was beaten, Porfirio argues that the events have all been
acts of homophobia. But the commissioner will not be moved. All Porfirio can do
is beg to be allowed to enter the bar just to gather their possessions. As they
leave the room, Lola turns and calls the Commissar a faggot.
The
camera pans the empty streets of Torre Mochas as Ángel and his gang come riding
into town, parking their bikes outside the former Angel Azul. Ángel explains that
he and his partners have come to town just to say goodbye.
Porfirio
is happy to see him and saddened that he won’t be able to maintain their
friendship. But Ángel suggests perhaps destiny will bring to together again.
Porfirio reminds him that he is ill and that he will soon die, yet oddly Ángel
tells him that he is not at all sick, that he is cured.
Porfirio
tells Lola to go home and pack while he goes to the clinic to get his medicines
and check up on his condition. There is discovers that a miracle has indeed
occurred, there is no longer any sign of the virus in his body. He has been
cured.
The
bartender rushes to Lola with the news and suddenly in a celebratory chorus the
film presents us with a short visual necrology of famed figures who died of
AIDS, a rush of numerous sad images that stand in counterpoint to Porfirio’s miracle.
Here we truly do see the ghosts of the past which the movie has been hinting as
if suddenly it were a reckoning like the “day of the dead,” the “Día de los Muertos” observed in Mexico when the souls of their deceased
relatives return for a brief reunion that includes food, drink and joyful
celebration.
In the last frames of the film, we watch
as the two, Porfirio and Lola throw their last packed boxes in the truck of
their pickup. They get in and begin to drive off down the street on their way
to an unknown future, but suddenly, in a scene that is the complete reverse of
Thelma and Louise’s final expression of goodbye as they drive over the edge the
Grand Canyon in the 1991 film, the truck backs up, returning to the very spot
where it began.
The two
get out of the vehicle, Porfirio declaring, “We’ll stay here.”
Hate and
intimidation have failed.
This
is a truly remarkable short film just for all the cinema, literary, and
cultural touchpoints it brings together in what adds up to be a statement of redemption
for all those who died of the AIDS, so very many of them queer.
Before
the credits role, the film announces, what I have done several times before in
the close my essays, the current sad statistics concerning the AIDS epidemic: “AIDS
has killed more than 40 million people since 1981. In that first decade, the
disease mean a social stigma and a death sentence. Currently 39 million people
live with HIV; and 6,300 people are infected daily. 40% are young people between
15 and 24 years old.”
*Torre Mochas
translates literally into Mocha Tower, almost as if the village where a city of
coffee. But the word “mocha,” the source of the famous Arabian coffee blend
comes from Hebrew meaning “crushed” or “squeezed,” which quite readily explains
the condition of this town’s citizens.
**That film, now a classic of Mexican cinema, has
the following plot: “Rosario, a young peasant girl, gives herself to her
boyfriend out of love, unaware that he's cheating on her with another woman.
Disappointment and grief over her father's death force the young woman to flee
to Veracruz and become a prostitute. One night, Rosario meets Alberto, a sailor
with whom she falls in love. After spending a night of love together, fate
reveals a cruel surprise.”
The
surprise is that Alberto, she discovers, is her brother. When she discovers
that fact, she leaves the cabaret where she works and visits the wharf. Alberto
goes looking for her, only to discover her shawl floating in the water,
suggesting that she has dived in and has drowned. The plot was based on a story
by French author Guy de Maupassant, but the director, Arcady Boytler, was born
in Russia, and claimed that Eisenstein’s visit to Mexico a few years earlier had made him want to take on subjects previously not dealt with in Mexican film
with the goal of creating a higher and more modern art form.
Los Angeles, October 1, 2025
Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (October
2025).
