Review: Casa de mi padre (2012)

Cast: Will Ferrell, Diego Luna, Pedro Armendáriz Jr., Genesis Rodriguez
Director: Matt Piedmont
Country: USA
Genre: Comedy
Official Trailer: Here

Editor’s Notes: Casa de mi padre opens in select cities starting March 16th.

With Christina Aguilera belting out the film’s theme song of the same title during the fiery, colourful, and Pop Art-esque opening credits, which hint at the audiovisual cornucopia that is to come, you know that you have entered the territory of the pastiche and kitsch. One also enters the murky territory of Mexican exploitation films, such as border cinema, or cine fronterizo; telenovela, or Spanish-language soap opera; or perhaps more specifically, what has been termed narco novela, Mexican soap operas that deal specifically with drug cartels in Mexico and the U.S. One also enters the world of American actor Will Ferrell, who constitutes a genre unto himself with its own distinct set of preoccupations.

…you have entered the territory of the pastiche and kitsch. One also enters the murky territory of Mexican exploitation films, such as border cinema, or cine fronterizo; telenovela, or Spanish-language soap opera; or perhaps more specifically, what has been termed narco novela, Mexican soap operas that deal specifically with drug cartels in Mexico and the U.S.

The coming together of these disparate worlds certainly sounds more like a collision than anything else. With a storyline authored by a pair of Saturday Night Live writers about a family that gets involved with the head of a drug cartel posed as a comedy, entirely in Spanish, Casa de mi padre (“my father’s house”) unabashedly locates itself within contemporary, popular, ‘low,’ and generally denigrated (because stereotypical) audiovisual forms found in Mexico and the U.S. Yes, the result of this experiment is amusing; but more than that, it is downright strange in a very interesting way, precisely in the context of exploitation cinema and, in particular, the triangle of cine fronterizo, narco novela, and Will Ferrell-as-genre. All the more interesting is that, in the process, it audaciously takes on Mexico-U.S. relations and stereotypes, the drug war that violently unites the two countries, and the ludicrous machismo in which these audiovisual forms and discourses often take place.

The dramatic arc of Armando Alvarez (Will Ferrell) and his narco brother Raúl (Diego Luna) battling against the big-time drug dealer la Onza (Gael García Bernal) to protect their family’s ranch and save Raúl’s fiancée Sonia (Genesis Rodríguez) from her uncle la Onza’s clutches presents itself clearly, develops itself, and reaches a bloody conclusion. That goes without saying. Add the jealousy angle between the brothers, the pleasing-the-father angle predicated on surface ideals of manhood, the romance angle between Armando and Sonia, and the backstory of the murder of Armando’s mother that resonates near the film’s end, and one has a story chock-full of passionate situations and emotions. As such, Casa de mi padre’s narrative does not differ from those of a number of cine fronterizo films or narco novelas made and disseminated in Mexico and the U.S. The film flaunts its telenoval trappings in this regard, wholeheartedly and flagrantly; it does not claim to be anything else beyond the perverse hybrid of cine fronterizo/narco novela comedy. But the narrative is merely the skin of the film; one must contend with the flesh of the film, too.

…Casa de mi padre’s narrative does not differ from those of a number of cine fronterizo films or narco novelas made and disseminated in Mexico and the U.S. The film flaunts its telenoval trappings in this regard, wholeheartedly and flagrantly; it does not claim to be anything else beyond the perverse hybrid of cine fronterizo/narco novela comedy.

Ferrell in a Spanish-speaking role in a Spanish-speaking film constitutes the first moment of fleshy strangeness that confronts the spectator. An oddball decision by Ferrell, yet an informed one at the same time in this day and age of transnational, multilingual, crossover-aspiring, globalised cinema—even in the case of exploitation films. (Arguably, Ferrell takes further what Jack Black initiated in the film Nacho Libre [2006, Jared Hess], which nods to Mexican wrestling and Mexploitation wrestling movies of the 1960s and 1970s.) The friction that results between Ferrell’s man-child persona and a telenevola landscape will offend some, titillate others, and provoke some laughs in the rest. Whatever the case may be, Ferrell takes on the role and film with the mellifluent earnestness and elasticity of his body and voice that he brings to all of his roles. In this way he holds his own against the Mexican powerhouse duo of Luna and García Bernal.

The pairing of these two actors with Ferrell is an audiovisual coup, for they highlight even more how Ferrell’s body, face, and voice (even when speaking Spanish) are alien to the environment. Something is seriously off, but that is the point. Moreover, because Ferrell, Luna, and García Bernal each have quite a history of films behind them, their characters are just that and at the same time parodies. This point is self-evident in Ferrell’s case because of the Spanish language component. But the same goes for Luna and García Bernal, whose terrific performances teeter between playing the characters straight and playing Luna/García Bernal playing these characters. The results are Ferrell’s naïve and righteous ranchero bumpkin, Luna’s Raúl with a permanent scowl and sunglasses, and García Bernal’s pompous, Canadian Slims-chain-smoking la Onza. The same goes for the even more seasoned veteran Mexican actor, the late Pedro Armendáriz, Jr., who plays Armando and Raúl’s father with great ease in his last film role. These male actors and their performances are characters as well as metafilmic citations, referencing both the offensive glamourisation of drug-traffickers and over-the-top acting in narco novelas and cine fronterizo productions and SNL’s sketch comedy, where performance is always already steeped in self-conscious parody and satire. Rodríguez as the object of romance and jealousy among the male characters may be a newcomer to film, but she delivers a solid, caricatural performance in her own right.

On this note, as in the world of narco novelas, Rodríguez’ body is definitely accentuated—but surprisingly in a way very tame compared to actual narco novelas. Instead, Ferrell’s body occupies more the fetishised position of being-looked-at-ness normally given to women, down to his hairy derriere during a satirical love-making scene. As a result, Ferrell’s alien presence in the film is all the more highlighted, a preoccupation that largely dictates the film’s uneven rhythm and crazy comedy.

Some folks will be put off by the film functioning more like a series of sketches, through its kaleidoscopic use of rear projections, cardboard backdrops for outdoor scenes, mannequins in action and love-making scenes, and musical interludes, such that the décor becomes the story and the story décor. The film’s navigation between serious and exaggerated, fake and real, two-dimensional and three-dimensional, constantly throws into relief the surface of the image and the story. But herein lies the blatant pleasure of fragments and the stitching together of them.

And while Casa de mi padre may ruffle feathers about its kitschy representation of drug trafficking/traffickers, to paraphrase film scholar Catherine L. Benamou, who is to say that it should not be considered as intrinsically ‘political’ as, say, Miss Bala (2011, Gerardo Naranjo)?

Rowena Santos Aquino

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Senior Film Critic. Recently obtained my doctoral degree in Cinema and Media studies at UCLA. Linguaphile and cinephile, and therefore multingual in my cinephilia. Asian cinemas, Spanish language filmmaking, Middle Eastern cinemas, and documentary film.