In
the biopic Frida, Salma Hayek plays renowned Mexican artist
Frida Kahlo, first as a little girl running through town in her
parochial school uniform; then as a feisty and unruly child who
wears men's suits for the family portraits. A girl who fucks her
childhood boyfriend in the family home closet while her mother and
sister do the traditional thing of chopping vegetables and cooking
tamales in the kitchen courtyard. She is a girl who hides in between
the seats of an empty auditorium to watch Diego Rivera seduce one
of his naked woman models. A girl who manages to let her feelings
of revile for the fat, old pervert -- hold hands with her feelings
of admiration and envy for the male artist who embodies the life
she hopes to lead as an adult woman.
Frida
Kahlo was known as much for her rich and gory self-portraits as
she was for the early childhood scrape with death through an accident
that landed her in a steel brace cage her entire life. This same
accident and the subsequent physical turmoil became an emotional
inspiration for much of her self-portraits and masterpieces. She
was known as much for her inflamed love affair with husband, lover
and sometimes enemy Diego Rivera, as she was for her occasional
bisexuality and her affair with Russian exile Leon Trotsky.
Salma
Hayek was mocked by critics prior to the movie's release as being
far too pretty for the part of the homely artist whose beauty stemmed
largely from the ornamentation of her flaws. But after seeing the
movie one realizes that Selma, who let her own eyebrows grow and
her celebrity stature slink behind a hardened jaw and a limp, is
the ONLY person who could have played Frida. Selma's determination
to play the role has been widely noted in the press. Largely stereotyped
by Hollywood measures as the beautiful and sexy starlet, Selma managed
to get past that pigeonhole much like Frida herself bypassed the
pigeonhole of being handicapped by turning her physical shortcomings
into magnificent expressions on canvas.
Throughout
the film, we see much of the way that Frida's paintings were a direct
link from her heart, her head, her spine, and her vagina to the
world. We see how her paintings became the mouthpiece for her experience
from behind and within a shattered set of bones. We are touched
by this at many times in the film when Julie Taymor makes magical-realistic
jumps from images of Frida's paintings that suddenly become alive
to release the artist from within their confines.
Alfred
Molina plays a robust Diego Rivera and finesses the nuance between
a lecherous pig and seductive artist perfectly. And Geoffrey Rush,
Ashley Judd, Edward Norton, and Antonio Banderas fill in supporting
roles that perfectly complement the piece and atmosphere of Mexico
in a time when workers were banding together with artists and writers
to explore socialism.
Amid
all of this chaos, Frida and Diego fall in love; a love they navigate
on their own terms. Frida answers Diego's infidelities with rage
and her own affairs with women. The same hearts that bitterly battle
each other are the very hearts that inevitably link them together
with an understanding and respect for each other's autonomy. It
becomes a love/hate relationship that is sustained until Frida's
death. Honest about his cruel nature, and honest about her inner
pain, Diego and Frida become the quintessential lovers and at one
point in the film Diego draws a portrait of them: Frida as a dove
sitting on the head of Diego the frog.
Refusing
to fall beneath Diego's shadow, and determined to stake her own
claim from an inner world roiling with social, physical, mental
and political turmoil, Frida embraces a life much like Diego's where
pain and passion dance side by side, often joining to produce phenomenal
art.
As
hungry as the poverty-ridden and corrupt Mexican political and geographical
landscape, Frida turns the barren nature of her wounded spirit and
soul into a vast trough in which to collect life in all of its illustrious
nature.
During
one early scene, Frida drinks with Diego, grabbing shot after shot
of tequila, and belts out a traditional Mexican song with the old
wrinkled men in a bar. Clunky glass goblets on the verge of breaking
and spilling wine, a country consistently on the edge of political
corruption, worms in the bottle of tequila, bright skirts and tops
hiding a broken body, loud music from the lips of drunks, celebration
amid the dirt. Frida and her art are as much a part of Mexico as
Mexico is a part of her heart. Later in the film, as her artistic
success draws her to travel, her imagery, politics, and persona
continue to connect and call her back toward her home.
When
one walks from such a wounded place, such a shattered foundation,
it¹s vital that they cultivate the strength necessary to compensate
for the fragility. Embracing both her weakness and strength, Frida
catalyzed an expression that touched everything around her.
Frida's
art renown extended out of Mexico, throughout the United States
and Europe, and onto the cover of Vogue, read by women starving
for her colorful zest, her royal décor, her rebelliousness, her
sexiness. But the movie manages to probe deep into the psyche of
Frida Kahlo leaving the fashionable behind. This is not a movie
about the glamorous, neurotic and free-spirited life of the uninhibited
artist. It is a carefully constructed look, directed aptly by a
female, Julie Taymor, at an unconventional woman who managed to
walk through her wounds to establish a personal integration of truth
and experience. And because of this, she emerged a legend.
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Copyright Web del Sol, 2003
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