Writer/ director Julián Hernández’s highly impressive, emotional and moving 2006 Mexican romantic drama film Broken Sky [El cielo dividido] tells the story of a love triangle between three young gay men, but really it’s the story of a powerful, overwhelming first love almost inexplicably turning sour. Julián Hernández seeks to explain it, in depth and explicitly.
The story is that it is love at first sight for students Gerardo (Miguel Ángel Hoppe) and Jonás (Fernando Arroyo), who are so wrapped up in the joy of their relationship, as well as themselves, that they are unafraid to enjoy it fully, lustily, and also show their love and passion in public or in their school hallways. How could it go wrong? They are made for each other, but…
Gerardo is a nice, passionate, maybe overly sensitive young man who is hopelessly in love with the perhaps more unpredictable and inconsistent Jonás. Consequently, Gerardo is devastated when Jonás chats up a random guy in a nightclub. After quarrelling, the sulky stubborn Jonás pushes the increasingly desperate Gerardo away, but still continues to be with him, expecting what exactly? Gerardo persists but eventually succumbs to seeking solace in the arms of the rather dark and dangerous looking Sérgio (Alejandro Rojo), who has been following the couple after seeing them snogging in the school library. Gerardo seems totally lost, and to be holding on to both Jonás and Sergio, caught between a rock and a, er, hard place.
Well ‘story’ is hardly the word. Virtually nothing happens in an epic running time of 140 minutes, almost all dialogue free, as cinematographer Alejandro Cantú’s cameras track relentlessly and mesmerisingly round the scene. There’s a lot of sex and nudity, and it might be a bit of an eye-opener, but it’s an art film with gay sex not a gay porn film disguised as art. It stays just this side of tasteful, mainly because its painful young love theme is very romantic and is sensitively, even subtly handled, with the characters’ swift changes of mood and viewpoint clearly defined and explored. Background music is sparingly used, but when it comes, Arturo Villela’s score adds a lot to the mood of the film.
The performers are brave and free spirited, totally credible and sympathetic, moving the audience into their characters’ story. Unencumbered by dialogue, they go to it as if they are nuanced stars of a silent movie. But it’s subtle, minimalist acting, not silent movie acting. It helps that both guys have the look of love.
Julián Hernández’s confidence and skill show everywhere. Is some of it too showy? The long tracking shots? The endless, restless panning? That incredible distance shot with the two boys on the stairway, dwarfed by the landscape. Different actors moving in and out of the same scene? No, not really. It’s all very clever, not clever-clever. Above all, as writer, Hernández does explore his characters in depth, does follow the course of a love too strong to survive, and does build to a final surging emotional impact.
The part-coloured black and white still photos over the closing credits are works of art in themselves.
The cast are Miguel Ángel Hoppe as Gerardo, Fernando Arroyo as Jonás, Alejandro Rojo as Sérgio, Ignacio Pereda as Bruno, Klaudia Aragon as Emilia, and Clarissa Rendón as María.
Julián Hernández (born 1972 in Mexico City) twice won the Teddy Award for Best LGBT Feature Film at the Berlin Film Festival with A Thousand Clouds of Peace (2003), and Raging Sun, Raging Sky (2009). He also more recently made The Trace of Your Lips (2023).
© Derek Winnert 2024 – Classic Movie Review 12,989
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