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This film contains a scene with maximum meme potential: Normal People’s Paul Mescal breaks into expressionist dance, leaping through the air, soulfully twisting his body with the agony of a broken heart. It will have the Mescalmania fanbase melting into puddles. But really it’s his acting not his ballet that carries off this reimagining of Georges Bizet’s 1875 opera. Updated to modern day Mexico and the US, it’s a heartfelt, extravagant film, swirling with melodrama and music.
The story opens in Mexico, where Carmen (Melissa Barrera) flees north to the US after her flamenco dancer mother is killed by drug cartel thugs. Meanwhile, across the border in Texas, Mescal plays Aidan, an ex-marine who reluctantly takes a job with a patrol that cruises the border picking up illegals. On his first night there is a terrible incident: his colleague opens fire on a truck in which Carmen is a passenger. Aidan and Carmen go on the run.
Films with characters suddenly lurching into song and dance normally make me squirm. But dancer and choreographer turned director Benjamin Millepied keeps the singing more or less where it would be in real life: in flamenco routines or Aidan strumming on a guitar. Gone is the Bizet, mostly, and in its place a dextrous, clever score by composer of the moment, Succession’s Nicholas Britell.
It’s a striking, ambitious film, but there is something about the tone – both glossy and grittily real, stylising everything to mythic proportions – that left me a bit cold. With the exception of Mescal, that is, who brings that extraordinary intensity of his, so easy looking and natural. I have a theory about why he sends a certain type of woman into a state of deep swoon: that it might have something to do with the way he is so gracious with his female co-stars, as if he’s stepping back to let them take up space, but always ready to come running to tie their shoes. His screen presence really grounds Carmen; without him, it would probably be a bit much.
