"Chicuarotes" - welcome to hell on earth.

A couple of days ago, I gave "Güeros" a chance for the first time, a 2014 film that left me eager to delve a little deeper into Mexican cinema.

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That's how I ended up stumbling upon "Chicuarotes," a film directed by Gael García Bernal, who, arguably, is one of the greatest exponents of the land of eternal spring.

And, while it delivers on what it promises (being a stark portrayal of a considerable portion of Mexican reality), I find it a little ironic that it seems to reflect one of the flaws that Güeros acknowledged in one of the most iconic lines of the entire work: "Fucking Mexican cinema! They get some fucking beggars and shoot in black and white and say they're already making art films. And the damn directors, not content with the humiliation of the Conquest, still go to the Old Continent and tell French critics that our country is nothing more than a nest of swine, broken, diabetic, squatters, thugs, fraudulent, treacherous, sleazy, whoring, self-conscious, and precocious.

Chicuarotes, of course, isn't in black and white, but it seems surgically constructed to generate a reaction that blurs the lines between morbidity and pity, something that on several specific occasions ends up working, but at other times feels extremely exaggerated and manipulative.

Throughout the film, we follow two young people from a place called San Gregorio Atlapulco who, desperately trying to earn money for a better life, gradually delve into a world of crime to get ahead.

Along the way, obviously, everything that can go wrong will go wrong, and the cost of success will become increasingly high.

Chicuarotes could be defined as a collection of interesting ideas that weren't properly curated. It exists as a spectacle of misery closer to an episode of "La Rosa de Guadalupe" than to arthouse cinema, which is regrettable considering the decent quality of its direction and the performances of all the young protagonists.

It's interesting, yes, but it's so determined to make its characters suffer that it sacrifices our ability to empathize with them in the process. It's predictable because from the start, its framing makes it clear that Everything Will Go Wrong, and the surprises we encounter along the way are almost cartoonish.

With this, I don't mean that I don't think it's a decent film. I feel there's a powerful message amidst all the disaster, and beyond the morbidity, I have no doubt it seeks to make its viewers reflect.

However, I'm left with those Mexican works that have a more optimistic approach, not because the reality of this country is perfect, but because it's always possible to find a silver lining at the end of the tunnel.

Score taken from my Letterboxd account.