Film Review: "Casa De Mi Padre" A Mexican film that happens to have Will Farrell in it.

When I saw an early trailer to "Casa De Mi Padre," about three months ago, I thought it was a Will Ferrell film where he will make fun of contemporary rachero/banda/narco culture. I was expecting a lot of racism and laughs at Mexican culture. I was expecting the worse. On my FB feed, a prominent scholar I look up to, posted about the film being racist based on their viewing of the trailer. They posted a scholarly article about how Hollywood makes fun of the Other's speech and builds films around that one joke. Other followers of this scholar's feed chimed in with their own thoughtful responses that also recognize this pattern in Hollywood of degrading cultures for laughs. After I saw "Casa De Mi Padre" I can say this film is not any of that. "Casa De Mi Padre" is a very Mexican film that happens to have Will Ferrel in it speaking Spanish as good as many (and better than some) Chicano/as.

The mainstream reviews mostly dissed or gave it luke warm like at best. I read one review that said it was a big inside joke that they didn't get. Well in a way it is a big inside joke.

To really understand the nuances and enjoy "Casa De Mi Padre" you need to have grown up having seen some 1970's Vicente Fernandez films and know the acting style and typical story lines of Mexican novelas. In other words, if you grew up with telenovelas and Mexican films playing in the background at your parents or anyone in your family homes then, this film will be chingon!

You will remember/recognize: the hats, fancy suits and boots, cheesy sets with fake rocks, mustaches, thick sideburns, slow but loyal side kicks, rasquache especial effects, bad editing, stiff or over the top acting, beautiful women and of course the cold machos and the sensitive machos. And if you enjoy Mexican retro disco chic, ala Mas Exitos , then you will love the soundtrack. Check this, there is a cameo by El Puma, for chrissakes!!! El Puma guey!


Let's get this out of the way, Will Ferrell's Spanish is almost as good as Erik Estrada's when he was on "Dos Caminos, Una Mujer."



Mexican legend Pedro Armendariz, new starlet Genesis Rodriguez (El Puma's real life daughter), and Mexi-Mega international film stars Gael Garcia Bernal and Diego Luna lead the Mexican majority cast. Everyone plays it straight, so it is part homage, part satire. One witty scene gets socio-poli-critical and calls out America's drug addiction and reliance on Mexican suppliers. The seriousness of the massacres and violence of the Mexican drug wars needs to be addressed and comedy seems to be one way that hasn't gotten anyone killed.

"Casa de Mi Padre" is a pretty funny film in general. When I first saw it I immediately thought of "Austin Powers" and how that spoofed 70's spy films. If you did not grow up watching those films you may not have gotten ALL the jokes, but it was still funny.

I also thought of other films that I have recently viewed that have come out of Mexico that are taking on current issues and putting comedic twists. "Saving Private Perez." is a spoof of gangster films, in a Mexican narco context -where the money and power allows for a mission to Iraq to find a kidnapped brother. This is a funny film as well, but with the reality of violence and death in Mexico due to drug wars, cheering for a narco as a hero was a little weird.


Might be a trend?

I've always imagined writing a Western with strong Mexican or Chicano male characters in the vein of The Wild Bunch, or any of Clint Eastwood's westerns. A majority of Westerns are informed by the years surrounding the Civil War. There are also many stories that need to be told surrounding the Mexican-American War or Manifest Destiny on the West Coast. How did Mexicans, Natives, Mestizos, Mulattos, Blacks and Asians cope with the transition from being part of Mexico to being part of the US, the Gold Rush, violence and racism? What were those encounters like? The trickle of Hollywood films with Latino majority casts and relevant story lines has not improved much. Films such as the above serve a purpose. Think about the impact that Chalino Sanchez had on Chicano youth in South Central Los Angeles.

Sam Quinones wrote in his book "True Tales From Another Mexico" an essay on how Chalino Sanchez gave Chicano youth a strong role model that was street (and rancho) tough, carried a gun, had a distinct fashion, attitude and street power. Up until Chalino, Chicanos in South Central LA had black rappers as the only male figure they see daily on their streets and in the media. Many Chicanos in South Central adopted Black South Central LA hip hop culture to the point that they were known in the vernacular as Blackxicans. When Chalino offered another male figure with street power Chicanos flocked to him to reclaim their Mexican-ness and now have a male figure, for better or for worse, that they can see on their streets and in the media.

"Casa de Mi Padre" with its SNL and Mexican lineage has hit a mark that I hope will continue to provide relevant stories with talented Mexican/Chicano actors in the lead roles who offer something more than the typical, yet familiar to many. Mexicans in media are usually portrayed as immigrants from ranchos, what media ignores is the generations of Chicanos living in the US and the many Mexicans that migrated from Mexico's large urban cities. There are big differences between the Rancheros and the Mexican urbanites. Maybe that could be another film. For now go see "Casa de Mi Padre."

Gracias Papi, 3/9/2012

When I wrote about my mom crossing over in Aug of 2009 circumstances were very different. I was in a holding pattern. I had left Power Tools to have more time with my mom as she had chosen no more treatments for her cancer and just wanted to stay home and await death. Today life has been hitting from angles. A new baby on the way. Death struck here at home in December as Great Grandma Keta crossed over on December 26, 2011. Work has been hectic as the economic strains wear on everyone and people are on edge. The end of 2011 and 2012 have been kicking my ass.

My father began his final battle with cancer in September. We had been through it before, but this time we were going to do it solitos. I went with him to most of his appointments, especially the chemo ones. He had been living out his life, going out with friends, dancing and hanging out with the neighbors. I imagined he was happy and ready to beat this round with cancer again. The chemo didn't effect him much. He would get severe hiccups and not much else. We would go out to eat every week and to special events. For his birthday in October I took him to a work party, a party on a roof top where I DJed and to dinner.

Come Thanksgiving I noticed he started to slow down a little. He got very quiet. He was always quiet, but now even more. I figured it was just with me because I still saw him on the phone chatting away with friends and relatives. In December he said the doctors said all was good but wondered why they wanted two more chemos when all was supposed to be ok. By late January he needed pain medicine but he would say it was only once in great while when the pain would come. By the time we got to February he was declining fast. Not eating and tired he made a lot of excuses. When my aunt spoke to me she told me that he had said he was done, tired and ready to die.

He entered the hospital on the 24th of February. I was in Arizona with 60 students on a bus. I had arranged for my aunt to come be with him since I was leaving town for the weekend. When I got back Sunday night he was in West LA hooked up to an IV that was keeping his blood pressure up for him, keeping him alive. He was alert and chatting. All week the doctors spoke of a gall bladder infection, never anything about the cancer. Western medicine in its linear mode of thinking is so wack. Either way, when my aunt and my dad's best friend both told me that he told them he was ready to go, I knew he wouldn't be leaving that bed.

A parade of people came through telling him to fight, and how he will win, and how they will go out again, and toss some back, and dance, and hang out. I wanted to tell them to say good bye because he made up his mind.

I was angry on one level and sad on another. I was angry for him not being honest with me and telling me how he was feeling and thinking. I was sad because, like with my mom, I was power less they made up their mind to leave. The social worker spoke to me about long term care, maybe it is routine, but I knew he wasn't leaving the hospital.

My favorite uncles Chelo and Manuel, aunts Elsa -the nun, Olvia and Elva, sat with me in the hospital watching my dad, their big brother, fade away. The last three nights I slept over in the hospital, when someone would arrive I would go home to shower and come back. I learned so much from them in those two weeks. In a way I learned more about my family and father than I did my whole life. I promised my daughter that would not be the case with me and her. I want her to know me, all of me, not from others, from me.

The last three days he couldn't communicate. He could hear some but could not respond. He left quietly in peace. Chelo and I were in the basement cafeteria when it happened, I will never forget his face as he put his coffee down after answering his phone.

I haven't been able to go back to work. I barely speak to anyone about it much. I have so much to say but no one to say it to so here I am trying to keep it interesting in text.

There was relief of course. Sadness and pain of course.

One day I went to go pick up my dad's wallet at his house. When I walked in it felt like that dream I wrote about in my blog about my mom passing. Like my parents had moved away and forgot to tell me. I was all alone. My dad said when my mom passed, ahora estamos solitos, as I stood there in the house where I grew up I really felt solito. I hadn't been back there more than five times since my mom passed. I would pick up my father outside or he would come to my place when we would go out. There I was looking at the mirror that watched me grow, the corner in the kitchen where I would bump my head when I ran in the house, the doors I would slam and hide behind, everything about my past looking so distant and close for the last time. I am so afraid of having to go and clean out the place.

My dad was the eldest of 11. He was beat if he was caught with a ball, because as his father told him, he was here to work not play. His grand mother raised him for the most part. He had tenuous relationships with some of his siblings that didn't buy into the elder brother attitude he threw around. He loved going back to his tiny little town every year, despite my and my mom's dismay. He did work his whole life. At 17 he came as a bracero and would go back and forth until he decided to stay in the late 60's. He was a welder, shipyard worker, construction,...physical labor. He would come home with a gash, a bruise, limping, covered in dirt or dust, but he was always ready to play with me. I would jump on his shoulders as he came in the door. He would shower, eat and come and play more. Some days I would beg him not to leave to work or to Mexico by holding on to his leg. He always had to go. He would tell me to study so that I didn't have to use my body for work, so I could use just my mind. He taught me we are all connected to everything on this planet. We all breathe the same air and need water. Everything. From the smallest to the largest. He taught me about 'all my relations.'

We all lose here. We will lose everything and everyone, eventually. Knowing this does not make it easier.

Changes

The world is going through major shifts politically and economically.
People are questioning power structures and challenging them.
There are so many layers to the problems that simple solutions can not apply.
It is an exciting time to be alive.

Haven't been writing here much for a variety of reasons including feeling like there are so many new things happening each and everyday, and people are so connected to their own social media, how could my words matter or even register? I also feel blogging is kind of over. I saw the film "Contagion" and in it a character said, "Blogging is like graffiti with punctuation."

With that said, here I am sorting through my thoughts after CicLAvia, Occupy LA, my dad's 71st bday, DJing with old friends, connecting with colleagues outside of CSUN, witnessing so much bad ass Chicano/a art (via Pacific Standard Time) including the amazing ASCO show at LACMA, the deaths of two raiders: Al Davis and Steve Jobs, and wondering what else I can bring to my classes to help my students to love to learn.

some good things don't change



oh yeah and happy colonizer day

Food: Guisados

Guisados is one of the latest food joints in BH. Sitting on the corner of Chavez and St. Louis it is in a primo location. Passing by it for the last few months I noticed the tacos were $2.50, and a drink $3, kind of high for this area. Thus, I never saw too many locals sitting in there eating. I usually saw peeps that don't look like BH residents running from their cars into Guisados and back.
Finally I decided to try it out.

The taco sample plate at $6.50 offers 6 mini tacos and is the best deal. All the tacos are very different and you can taste the care that went into finding the perfect blend of spices with the meats, down to the black beans and fresh made corn tortillas.

The owner of Guisados is related to the carniceria next door, so they get fresh corn masa, grounded and mixed, fresh every 30 min.

I also tried a tamale de mole. The mole sat on top of the tamale but was very tasty. Reminded me of how my mom made hers.
Overall it is very tasty and homemade-ish. Give it a try.

I don't know if they will survive on just outsiders and the occasional local that wants to spend that much on a taco, but we'll see.

June 3, 1943

Sixty eight years ago today, the Sailor Riots began. Another race based riot started by whites fueled by the LA Times, the police and ignorance. The US had locked up the Japanese in concentration camps, but not people of German lineage, so they needed someone else to hate on and as usual Mexicans were targeted.

None of the sailors or members of the white mobs that joined were arrested. Mexicans and blacks were beaten, striped in the streets, arrested and women were raped.
(at 2:30 a scene about the riots begins)

This is a very clear example of how the white population would often attack communities of color based on misinformation from media, fear, lies and racism. All race riots up until the 1965 Watts riots were led by white people and targeted barrios, ghettos and other areas where people of color lived. In some cases entire towns were burned to the ground.
For more information go here.

Finals

Another semester in the can. It was a good one. Six classes altogether making me drive from the 405 to the 605. Lots to read still and grade, but the hardest part is over.
My culture classes had final projects. I gave extra points if they did videos and posted them on Youtube. So here are some of the best so far. I have another batch coming in this week.
I had them view lots of videos from Hennessy Youngman, ASCO, Harry Gamboa Jr., Guillermo Gomez Pe~a and former students videos from other semesters. This semester yielded the most video so far.


- funny



- funnier and great camera work



- a star is born



- most creative


I hope they leave them up for awhile. I am very proud of them.

Fight Back

This is how to take over a school board meeting