The movie has a suitably Gabriel García Márquez esque narrative, taking a family and showing us the broad sweep of their collective story - with underlying societal and political developments merely providing the backdrop to this domestic drama. Cuarón dedicates the film to 'Libo' the real life maid of his comfortably middle class family growing up, and the director himself is portrayed as the young boy 'Paco' on screen.
The sense of place in the film is stunning - no doubt in part due to the face that Cuarón insisted on shooting on location in Mexico City. Indeed, the director has revealed that part of the reason behind the recurring motif of planes flying overhead was simply because they did so every five minutes during the shoot. The attention to detail is impeccable, with everything from Mexico '70 World Cup posters in the kid's bedroom to period a appropriate Ford Galaxy ensuring we are fully immersed in our environment.
This effect is compounded by the phenomenal lensing of the film, made all the more impressive when you learn that Cuarón's Director of Photography left during the shoot, and the director himself stepped up to fufill the role (consequently becoming the first person to be Oscar nominated in both the Best Director and Best Cinematography categories). From slow lingering shots the aforementioned aircraft trailing across the sky, and the ever present dog poo being washed off the family's courtyard, to epic tracking shots through the battleground of student protests in downtown Mexico City, this is a film which is always visually arresting to an extent that one can understand those who lamented Netflix's acquisition of the movie, as it deprived many of a chance to see it on the big screen.
In one pivotal scene set in a gorgeous period cinema in the city, it is hard to understand how Cuarón has managed to allow the viewer's focus to be drawn to the central couple, whilst simultaneously being able to watch the movie being screened, and pick out the actions of various other cinema goers in the frame. At times, these shots almost resemble individual artworks, with a firefighting scene in the countryside, and the incident on the beach which provides the iconic poster art for the film proving particularly awe inducing set pieces.
This is also a film with real emotional heft, though crucially this is found through small everyday moments, as well as more significant narrative developments. It is also a deeply feminist film, telling women's stories during a period where this was relatively unheard of. For many, this film will have sat on an ever expanding Netflix watchlist since it's release, without the impetus of a nationwide release schedule to motivate even the most enthusiastic arthouse buff. Find the biggest screen you can and get it off that list immediately - this is essential viewing for any cinema fan, and undoubtedly one of the films of the decade, which will stay with you long after you switch off the TV.
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