Mexican Movies

In Mexico City's El Patio nightclub last fortnight, the Oles! rang loud; the band played the bullfighters' cheer song--Diana; even Chucho Solorzano, reigning matador of the season, rose to pay his respects to the honored guest. The hullabaloo was not for Henry Wallace, visiting U. S. ambassador of good will, but dark-eyed, pale-faced Hollywood Starlet Linda Darnell. Linda, cooing contentedly in a seat between Mexican Movie Favorite Fernando Soler and portly Singer Alfonso

Ortiz Tirado, was the centre of attention at a long table containing top Mexican stars, movie executives, tycoons, socialites. The adolescent Mexican movie industry had put on one of its first party dresses for a minor emissary of its big sister to the north.

Mexicans like their movies, but not until the last three years have they been able to make what they like for themselves. In the silent days, audiences crowded into tent theatres, sat ankle-deep in dust watching the leaps of Douglas Fairbanks, the tears of Barbara La Marr. They took it all very seriously, bombarding the villain on the screen with fruit and dirt. Occasionally an old. leathery Villista Dorado (Pancho Villa bodyguard) would come down from the mountains for a show, angrily pepper the screen with his six-shooter to save the heroine from the buzz saw. But the arrival of sound was tough on Mexicans, who had to follow the dialogue either with badly written Spanish titles superimposed on the picture or with Spanish voices clumsily dubbed on to the sound track.

In 1934, some fly-by-night operators decided homemade talkies might clear some easy pesos. They came out with a nice profit and racy roadsters, but gave Mexican cinema such a bad name it is still trying to recover.

Now on a respectable basis, Mexico's movie industry counts a dozen legitimate producers in place of the 38 operating during the bonanza days. Leading the list is Grovas-Oro Films, bossed by Jesus Grovas, a veteran with 25 years' experience in the Paramount and M. G. M. distributing offices in Mexico City. Modest, unassuming Grovas is an expert on foreign distribution. His production specialist is a young lawyer, Juan Bustillo Oro, noted for his knack of sensing the current appetite of Latin-American cinemaudiences. Grovas-Oro's En Tiempos de Don Porfirio (In the Times of Diaz) broke all box-office records for Mexican films in its first three weeks.

Any Hollywood quickie expert would envy the average Mexican budget of $25,000 to $30,000 for a feature. Favorites such as the three Soler brothers (Fernando, Domingo and Julian), Joaquin Pardave, "Caninflas" (Mario Moreno) consider themselves well-paid at $2,000 a picture. When a producer is ready to shoot he can hire a complete crew from the CTM union on a contract calling for 50% of the minimum union salaries to be paid during production, the remainder after distribution. In addition, the crew gets 33% of the net profits. The films almost bank themselves.

Producers grouse a bit about union control, the price of union labor, the red tape in union operations, but the 500 sporadically employed workers claim they aren't rich yet and union participation has eliminated much employer-employe friction. The 35 films a year now coming out of Mexico are just earning their way in the nation's 600 movie houses, and if Jesus Grovas sells his industry to South America there will be time enough to decide who will get the gravy.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.