NARCO CULTURA is a documentary which was beautifully shot, but deals with an intense, many times gruesome subject matter. The story line follows a Narco Corrido singer. Since he is sure to get tons of exposure ima skip him in this piece. Instead ima briefly describe the heavy grief of family members that pepper the documentary.For example, in the very beginning three youths sitting by each others side, after the midst of a blood bath, are just there. Calm. Saddened. One of the children is the nephew of the murdered victim. The kid bravely holds back tears, and explains in his little man type of way that his uncle choked on his own blood. This hit me hard since they looked strikingly similar to the three boys I helped raised. One cousin & two brothers. I realized how those three junior high school aged kids could have been my little ones. Connected by motherland blood, but disconnected by border lines.
One of the first people I called after viewing Narco Cultura was my dad. We rambled about how the USA engineered this a long time ago (he was sure he sat in between CIA agents in his classes). You see, if Mexico was corruption free and used to their fullest capacity their superior math skills (I've seen Campesinos do elaborate math equations better than some high school students. Something about carrying the gene of the makers of the near perfect calendar that happens to double as a sun dial), and didn't have to deal with the diabetic epidemic (thanks Dick Chenney!) which has assaulted most of the Mexican nation, then Mexico would be a direct competitor to the U S of A. Instead we have to endure the polka, played by doughy, tacky garment wearing ignoramuses who need to invest in treadmills (as do I).
One of the most fiercest scenes that is sure to force tears, is the one of the wailing mother in some government office. She is pleading with imaginary officials, describing how her son was decapitated alive. Her massive pain a testament to her ripped apart soul. Or the beautiful woman at a microphone who gives an amazing speech asking the nation to stand up and to bear conscious. Or the scene of someone sweeping away a sea of blood in front of an establishment during navidad. Or how about Juarez' SEMEFO, a government department who just collects "evidence" that never indicts no one. Or how about when a narco traficante cemetery (apparently the drug cartels have their own cemetery) handler/manager is telling us how some narcs get buried in their SUVs!! When I told my mom this latter piece of information she was appalled and wondered how the Mexican government allows this. I don't think aluminum rust seeping into Cualican's dirt is one of their problems.
And So, Hopefully a little Bob Marley or a young Che Guevara or a Cesar Chavez in the making will watch Narco Cultura and feel compelled to be a thorn in D.C.'s & el D.F.'s side. Until than I don't see Obama sending any of his kids to vacation to Ciudad Juarez any time soon.
Overall, Schwarz is all over the place, but in a good way. He is a photo journalist by trade, but his transcendence to the moving image is impressive. Him covering diaspora, hellish landscapes and bleeding hearts has penetrated his psyche. This is apparent. Now he is taking that anguish and handing it over to me. You. Us. Just as long the story gets told, I say. My anger and sense of helplessness smacked me in the aura. What do I do? For starters, ima take a couple of young dudes who think they are grown, to see this doc, because every time I look at them, all I see are those cute chubbsters - like the ones in the beginning of Narco Cultura.
