Review: Pedro Páramo (2024)
This adaptation strays from what was so daring and fresh about the original novel, sticking closer to the mold of other prestige adaptations of literary classics.
It is often said that the book is always better than the movie. It is a wrong idea (that ignores, among other things, the many film classics that have been made from mediocre or merely decent books) but that persists thanks to the many times it happens to be true. This usually happens with particularly acclaimed, important or classic books. This very status presents a problem. The work of adaptation intimidates and paralyzes. The goal becomes, not only to translate and transform the elements of a book to another medium but to “do justice” to it and to please, not only the viewers of the resulting movie, but also the original readers, a practically impossible task.
There is no doubt that, in the world of Mexican literature, Pedro Páramo is one of such classics. Written by Juan Rulfo and published in 1955, the novel is now a permanent part of the national imagination. Phrases such as “Vine a Comala porque me dijeron que aquí vivía mi padre…” or the idea that we are all children of Pedro Páramo are etched in the minds of many as part of our collective experience as Mexicans. Beyond its story, which weaves the saga of a village before and after the Revolution (from 1910 to 1920), the book stands out because of its style and structure; a porous relationship between past and present that becomes a living and phantasmagorical atmosphere (that years later would be celebrated as a precursor to the magical realism of Colombian author Gabriel García Márquez).
The problem with many film adaptations is not that they dare to touch “unfilmable” books. Rather that the pressure to adapt ties them to what is on the page rather than free them up to the possibilities of the new medium. What makes a novel a novel? It may narrate events to us, but it is the form of the narration what shapes how we perceive and experience these events. In order to make a great adaptation, one that preserves the “essence” of a book, it is not enough to recreate what happens in them. One needs to find, in the medium of cinema, forms that inspire and move us as we were while reading the book.
I am afraid that Pedro Páramo, Rodrigo Prieto’s movie, is not one of these adaptations. As a production it is impressive and technically well made, but that is part of the problem. It strays from what was so daring and fresh about the original novel, sticking closer to the mold of other prestige adaptations of literary classics. It is a blockbuster where every dollar (or peso, in this case) spent must be reflected on the screen. Like Alejandro G. Iñárritu’s Bardo, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths (2022), it is a large, lumbering monument to Mexicanity.
The tale is just about the same, and screenwriter Mateo Gil has at least preserved the constant skipping between past and present that made it so easy, but so pleasurable, to get lost in the world of the novel. After the death of his mother, Juan Preciado (Tenoch Huerta Mejía), travels to the village of Comala with the intention to reunite with his father, Pedro Páramo, whom he has never met. Juan finds Comala a ghost town in more than one way. Houses lie abandoned and the few residents who greet him, Abundio (Noé Hernández) and Eduviges (Dolores Heredia), do not appear to be fully there.
Parallel to Juan Preciado’s exploration of Comala, the movie shows us, in fragmentary and disorganized fashion, the life of Pedro Páramo (Manuel García Rulfo), the owner of the Media Luna hacienda. His attempts to settle the family debts with the help of his administrator Fulgor Sedano (Hector Kotsifakis), his clashes with Father Rentería (Roberto Sosa), and his obsession with Susana San Juan (Ilse salas), paint the picture of a corrupt, ruthless and calculating man.
Pedro Paramo’s life lends itself to a wide range of human emotions and vices. Yet the film remains reverent, solemn and cold. It seems to operate under the impression that any vulgar emotion, any true passion, risks tarnishing the legacy of a classic. The dialogue tries to preserve the wording of the original text and doesn’t feel fully natural coming out of its actors. Grief, regret, nostalgia and sadness dominate but are reduced to their most trite expressions: stern and crying faces, dry and deserted landscapes. There’s nudity, but no carnal passion. Humor is just about non-existent. The novel’s comic moments, like one where revolutionaries with no idea of what they are fighting for threaten Pedro Páramo, land with a thud because they are treated with the heaviness that weighs over other scenes.
In the rest of its execution, the film makes conventional choices. The production design, by Carlos Y. Jacques and Eugenio Caballero, and costumes, by Anna Terrazas, are detailed and impressive, but feel distant from Rulfo’s language, plain and concise but rich in images (the novel is quite short, even accompanied by the story collection El llano en llamas it makes for a slim volume). They recreate the period but don’t allow our imagination to fill the gaps. The mystery is lost.
Since the film aims towards a more conventional and literal adaptation, the novel’s virtues turn into problems. Its many isolated passages, that speak of a collective memory and weave a rich history of Comala, become abandoned subplots. The movie lacks a coherent throughline, it remains a collection of loosely connected events. Characters are vague because they are not defined by their actions. The relationship between Pedro Páramo and Susana San Juan is reduced to a pure and true love rooted in childhood innocence, but the movie makes no effort to convince us of the power of these feelings.
Prieto has taken his role as steward of the novel very seriously, to the point of refusing to contribute anything truly his own. Pedro Páramo is his first film as director, but it gives us little idea of a unique and personal vision. He remains a talented cinematographer–photography of the film is handled by him and Nico Aguilar. Though his attempt to serve his actors translate to some flat compositions, it often leads to astute effects. The scene where Juan Preciado, lit by the blue light of a ghostly Comala, shows up at a party lit by warm amber lights and fireworks, has a subtle but meaningful power. Past and present, dream and reality, fuse seamlessly, like in Rulfo’s novel. The movie needed more of this. But like Pedro Paramo over Juan Preciado, the novel looms too large over this adaptation.
Directed by: Rodrigo Prieto
Screenplay: Mateo Gil, based on Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo
Cinematography: Rodrigo Prieto, Nico Aguilar
Music: Gustavo Santaolalla
Editing: Soledad Salfate
Starring: Manuel García Rulfo, Tenoch Huerta Mejía, Ilse Salas, Mayra Batalla, Héctor Kotsifakis, Roberto Sosa, Dolores Heredia, Giovanna Zacarías, Noé Hernández, Yoshira Escárrega
Production Companies: Netflix, Redrum Production, Woo Films