Alfonso Cuaron's "Roma" is a movie about what it means to be alive in a certain time and place. Set in the Colonia Roma neighborhood of Mexico City in late 1970 and early 1971, "Roma" follows two women, middle-class housewife Sofia (Marina de Tavira) and her longtime housekeeper Cleo (Yalitza Aparicio, a nonprofessional actress in a stunning debut). They are separated by class but bound by gender, and both are victims of forces beyond their control. Cuaron tells their stories without any agenda, however; issues and -isms don't concern him.
Inspired by the director's own childhood and filmed as much as possible where he spent it, "Roma" begins with a portrait of domestic tranquility: Senora Sofia, her four children, dependable Cleo and at the end of each workday, Dr. Antonio (Fernando Grediaga), the family's status-conscious patriarch. We learn that Cleo has a boyfriend, Fermin (Jorge Antonio Guerrero), a serious young fellow devoted to martial arts and clean living. We see contentment in this picture, though we also see disparity; Cleo and another maid sleep in a cramped guest cottage away from the spacious main house.
In short order, the men fail in their duties. Dr. Antonio leaves Sofia for a mistress, just as Fermin leaves Cleo pregnant. Mexico is in political turmoil _ student protests end in death, young men are joining paramilitary gangs _ but that matters little to Cleo and Sofia. Suddenly, they are closer to ruin than they ever imagined.
As "Roma" unfolds, it's tempting to draw a comparison to "The Bicycle Thief," Vittorio De Sica's class-conscious slice of life from 1948. "Roma" feels more like something out of Proust, though _ a drama heightened by the vivid sense memories of youth. The movie is filled with details: old television shows, certain kinds of cars, a recording of "Jesus Christ Superstar" that becomes oddly associated with New Year's Eve.
Cuaron's films often feel attuned to a larger meaning, a larger awareness (the apocalyptic "Children of Men," even the space thriller "Gravity"). "Roma," however, is close to an out-of-body experience. The black and white cinematography (also by Cuaron) is almost incomprehensibly beautiful, silvery and idealized yet somehow razor-sharp and hyper-real. "Roma" is the kind of movie that the movies were made for.
