Perhaps it is fortunate that I saw "Como agua para chocolat" before I read the novel on which it was based; too often I hear criticism of the film not living up to the book, and feel badly for the viewers who were so busy comparing the two in their minds that they were unable to enjoy what was, for me, one of the best cinematic experiences of my life.
I learned from "Como agua para chocolat" that American movies are constrained by their existence in a single genre. This film is a drama, an achingly tragic romance, a lighthearted comedy, and a fairy tale. It gives equal screen time to each element, without gravity during the "realistic" scenes nor too much levity during the "fantasy" sequences. It tells the story of Tita, the youngest daughter of a wealthy landowning Mexican family, whose fate according to tradition is to care for her mother and live a spinster's life. It is Tita's misfortune to fall in love with - and be loved by - a man she cannot have; he chooses to marry her eldest sister in order to be able to remain in the house with her. The film follows Tita through this pain, her mental breakdown, her return to sanity and her displaced love for her American doctor, who she later marries. It threatens to climax with a happy ending we know we don't deserve, and even when it turns dark, we're left with a sense all the main characters got exactly what they wanted in the end. In an American movie, these actions would either have consequences (and therefore be a drama), or they'd be farcical (and it would be a romantic comedy). Alfonso Arau gives us a history lesson, told with Laura Esquivel's wry wit and deep emotion.
The cinematography and direction are also outstanding; sweeping Mexican landscapes ground the film in both time and place while reverence is paid to the traditions that form the basis of the story. An achingly beautiful sequence details the dressing of the marriage bed for Tita's sister and her new husband. Later, Tita's madness is gently revealed when she is shown staying awake nights knitting a blanket, and is later carted away to a sanitarium wrapped in that same blanket, which trails behind her horse-drawn carriage well beyond the edge of the frame.
Some of the cinematography is lost when reading the subtitles with the film, but I strongly recommend watching this DVD with English subtitles (rather than the English dub) if you do not speak Spanish. There is a richness of delivery in the Spanish dialogue that does not translate in the dub.
I read Laura Equivel's novel several years after I first saw this film, and cooking plays a much greater part in the novel than the film. However, I believe the film wisely centers on the human emotion of its human protagonists, and I am glad the adaptation was in the original author's hands. She knew what she was up to all along.
I learned from "Como agua para chocolat" that American movies are constrained by their existence in a single genre. This film is a drama, an achingly tragic romance, a lighthearted comedy, and a fairy tale. It gives equal screen time to each element, without gravity during the "realistic" scenes nor too much levity during the "fantasy" sequences. It tells the story of Tita, the youngest daughter of a wealthy landowning Mexican family, whose fate according to tradition is to care for her mother and live a spinster's life. It is Tita's misfortune to fall in love with - and be loved by - a man she cannot have; he chooses to marry her eldest sister in order to be able to remain in the house with her. The film follows Tita through this pain, her mental breakdown, her return to sanity and her displaced love for her American doctor, who she later marries. It threatens to climax with a happy ending we know we don't deserve, and even when it turns dark, we're left with a sense all the main characters got exactly what they wanted in the end. In an American movie, these actions would either have consequences (and therefore be a drama), or they'd be farcical (and it would be a romantic comedy). Alfonso Arau gives us a history lesson, told with Laura Esquivel's wry wit and deep emotion.
The cinematography and direction are also outstanding; sweeping Mexican landscapes ground the film in both time and place while reverence is paid to the traditions that form the basis of the story. An achingly beautiful sequence details the dressing of the marriage bed for Tita's sister and her new husband. Later, Tita's madness is gently revealed when she is shown staying awake nights knitting a blanket, and is later carted away to a sanitarium wrapped in that same blanket, which trails behind her horse-drawn carriage well beyond the edge of the frame.
Some of the cinematography is lost when reading the subtitles with the film, but I strongly recommend watching this DVD with English subtitles (rather than the English dub) if you do not speak Spanish. There is a richness of delivery in the Spanish dialogue that does not translate in the dub.
I read Laura Equivel's novel several years after I first saw this film, and cooking plays a much greater part in the novel than the film. However, I believe the film wisely centers on the human emotion of its human protagonists, and I am glad the adaptation was in the original author's hands. She knew what she was up to all along.