The following review will be published in the upcoming print issue of Four Magazine. Release date, TBD.
Romántico is a story about a man, Mexican immigrant Carmelo Muñiz Sánchez. He is a musician who serenades passers-by with his melodies that alternate between bright and melancholy. He is in a “trio” of two men, a keen marketing device for him and his partner, Arturo, who can pick up $50 to $100 per night, probably based on the texture of their character and charm alone.
Carmelo sends his profits home to Mexico where his family, a wife and two daughters subsist on his illegal income. In this strained, and practically estranged, familial structure, Carmelo redefines what it means to be a breadwinner.
In a cramped closet of an apartment that looks more like a garage with painted walls, Carmelo emerges from his sleeping quarters—itself a structure of found items, a kiddie fort of comfort and privacy canopied in bed sheets. This is his home in San Francisco’s Mission District. By day he guards his space from thieving neighbors who steal the milk from his fridge—the door of which is ajar, roaches skittering in and about, and calls home on a corner pay phone, listening to the daily workings of a family that he raises, but cannot see.
In Salvatierra, Mexico, “858” are the numbers of his address on an unidentified street. Here, upon his return from the States, he has a designated place of ownership. Now he is in his family’s presence, but his pride as a father shrinks with his income. $6 a day, or a handful of pesos from the sale of handmade nieves, or snow cones, is scarcely enough to cover the cost of his family’s food, school, and healthcare.
Carmelo sings one lyric, volver, which in translation means “to return.” He is a father and a man in search of a home that strikes a joyful balance among family, work, and community, but seems eternally separated from the spaces he inhabits. Reflections in windows and the traffic against a static background are the things that cross his path constantly, almost imperceptibly; they are fragile symbols that pull him out of space and transient between worlds, always in search of home.
No comments:
Post a Comment