AMORES PERROS shakes up Mexico City (w/ Gael García Bernal)

Superstar Gael García Bernal (THE MOTORCYCLE DIARIES) and legendary set designer Eugenio Caballero (PAN’S LABYRINTH) help take host Rico Gagliano on a tour of Mexico City’s streets and its cinema — from the golden era of “ranchera” musicals to the making of Alejandro Inarittu’s tectonic breakthrough AMORES PERROS.

Part travelogue, part deep-dive storytelling, the latest season sees host Rico Gagliano jet off to Ireland, Amsterdam, Mexico City, Los Angeles and Istanbul, to learn about their cultures through the lens of cinema. Season 8’s guests include actors Gael García Bernal (AMORES PERROS) and Fiona Shaw (HOT MILK), writer/directors Rich Peppiatt (KNEECAP), Evan Goldberg (THE STUDIO) and Halina Reijn (BABYGIRL), producer Ed Guiney (POOR THINGS), production designer Eugenio Caballero (ROMA) and a host of other filmmakers, programmers, academics, cinema owners, critics, tour guides, and festival directors.

The 4K restoration of AMORES PERROS is coming to cinemas in LATAM later this year and coming to MUBI (almost) globally in 2026. 

To stream some of the films we've covered on the podcast, check out the collection Featured on the MUBI Podcast. Availability of films varies depending on your country.

MUBI is a global streaming service, production company and film distributor dedicated to elevating great cinema. MUBI makes, acquires, curates, and champions extraordinary films, connecting them to audiences all over the world. A place to discover ambitious new films and singular voices, from iconic directors to emerging auteurs. Each carefully chosen by MUBI’s curators.

Transcript

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Heads up, this episode includes adult language and spoilers. In Alfonso Cuaron's masterpiece <i>Roma</i>, there's a scene about a family in crisis. The patriarch has been having an affair. His wife's having a breakdown, so their kids start acting out, fighting with each other in their living room. One boy lobs an egg shaped stone at his brother. And puts a hole through the frosted glass front door. Doesn't seem like a scene that would inspire international travel, but it sort of has. Well, we are actually in Tepeji Street. This is the street in which Alfonso Cuaron used to live, and in which we shot the exterior scenes of <i>Roma</i>. On a balmy night last March in Mexico City, I got a tour of Tepeji Street from Alfonso Cuaron's legendary set designer Eugenio Caballero. He points at house number 22. Which is where we shot the film. This is the the actual exterior. Sure enough, there's the front door from the movie, with a little spider web of white masking tape covering the cracks in the glass, proudly preserved by whoever owns the place. Now, they kept the door and actually, they kept the way it's broken. That's part of the film. They liked the experience of having us here. And obviously it brought a lot of attention to them. My understanding is that this has become a little bit of a pilgrimage site, like people come here, right? Yeah. People come. I mean, especially used to come when the film was, you know, released. But still there were a lot of people that come here. And I remember that the owner, she was very proud, you know, so she would open and speak the stories of us modifying the facade. And she would, like, come out and talk to the pilgrims and be like,- "Oh, I'll tell you all about it."- Yes, yes. You know? Eugenia looks at the doorway, smiling.<i>Roma</i> was an important movie for him. He was born in Mexico City, but he'd spent years living and working abroad until he came back to work on this movie and never left. Because I was, you know, I was homesick in a certain way. And, you know, also, it was very interesting what was happening also in films in here, you don't want to be... you don't want to miss it. Not that long ago, this would have all seemed crazy. Film fans traveling to pay homage to a Mexican art house movie. Mexican filmmakers coming back to stay. But more and more, it's true what's happening in Mexico City. People don't want to miss it. I'm Rico Gagliano, welcome back to the MUBI Podcast. MUBI's the streaming service, the champions great cinema. On this show we tell you the stories behind great cinema. We're in the middle of season eight. We're calling it 'Traveling Shots' Every episode I'm taking you along on a tour through the film culture in a different international city to meet its best filmmakers, learn about the cool, sometimes crazy ways people there make and watch movies and try to understand why they do it that way. This week it is Mexico City, the fifth biggest metropolis on the planet, just a two hour flight from Hollywood that had its own booming movie industry for decades until for a while, it didn't. There was a sense that the cinema that Mexico had done, the cinema in Spanish, had completely disappeared in a way. That is superstar actor and producer Gael Garcia Bernal. He has starred in shows and films, from <i>The Motorcycle Diaries</i> to <i>Mozart in the Jungle</i>, but he launched his career in the Mexican movie that turned everything around. It is a film that when you're growing up in Latin America, but I think everywhere in the world right now, it became a necessary pathway into adulthood to watch it. Coming up, you're going to hear from Gael, Mexican indie star Lazaro Gabino Rodriguez and many more about how one of the world's most influential film cultures almost literally rose out of rubble. So buckle up, we're taking a ride through the sprawling history of Mexico City cinema, past and present. There are a couple things no one can really prepare you for about Mexico City, its hugeness and its altitude, 7300ft above sea level. My first day in town last March, I'd walk like one super long block and then have to lean against something for a second, gasping for air. But that afternoon, I got my breath taken away for totally different reasons. That is a 50 piece orchestra making incredible music in a sleek mid-century production hall at Studio Churubusco. Established in 1945, it's one of the iconic backlots of Mexican cinema. Here in the music room we have rehearsals for orchestras that are going to play live with the projection of a movie, like we had the rehearsal for<i>Whiplash</i>, for <i>La La Land</i>, and for <i>Coco</i>. That's my guide, Madison Valencia. She also manages the studio's social media. She told me this orchestra was rehearsing to play along with the screening of the anime <i>Knights of the Zodiac</i>, which I'll admit I'd never heard of. But there are plenty of movies that shot here which are average cinephile probably has. Madison walks me into Churubusco cavernous, seven story tall studio four. It's empty, except for some guys in a corner, building a set for a commercial. But 63 years ago, it was full of genius. Okay, we're in, where? We are in the studio four, where <i>The Exterminating Angel</i> was shot.<i>The Exterminating Angel</i>, Luis Bunuel's surreal classic about a bunch of bourgeois socialites at a fancy house party who find they can't leave. So this is where... somewhere in here Luis Bunuel was, like, prowling around. Yes, of course. Yeah, yeah... Mario Argumedo chimes in. He's a longtime movie technician who practically grew up on this lot. He knows all the lore. Okay, so when they were shooting<i>The Exterminating Angel</i> one day, just Marilyn Monroe came to visit. Yeah. Marilyn Monroe. That was 1962, when the movie stars were huge. And Churubusco, which is pretty big even today, was huger. We had a jungle set, we had a midwest town set, a desert one, an artificial lake. It was the last heady days of a Mexican filmmaking era with an appropriate name. What we call the Golden Era of Mexican film. That's Eugenio Caballero again. He says the Golden Age kicked off in the 1930s and then really got turbocharged

by a not so golden event: 7:07

World War Two. Mexico and Latin America were American film consumers since film existed, you know. But then in the war, the United States stopped making films. Or at least stopped sending as many to Mexico thanks to wartime shortages of celluloid and restrictions on exports. And there was a market to feed. And Mexico basically filled up that market by creating films that actually permeate the whole Latin America. So many years, Mexican films, Mexican industry was very healthy. Yeah, with fewer Hollywood movies in the mix, Mexicans were watching mainly Mexican movies. And Caballero says, ironically, that movie boom helped him get over their own war, the Mexican Revolution that had ended in 1921. Arturo Ripstein, which is one of the directors that I admire the most, was saying that after the revolution and then some years of chaos, there was a need of creating an image of ourselves as a nation. Not as brutal as those images that you have seen on the war. You know, after a war, there's a lot of damage for society, you know, like a civil war. So part of creating a modern Mexico was through films. Wow, it's like, we think of ourselves as these people that are constantly at war. We're going to show ourselves as people that have a lot more going on. And there was a lot more going on. And we believe that tale. And we Mexican culture somehow treated the scars of war through art. Like you had the iconic 1936 flick<i>Allá en el Rancho Grande</i> Out on the Big Ranch, a melodrama about two pals who fall for the same woman out on a, yeah, big ranch, and who also break into song every few minutes. It created a whole genre of ranchera movies, in which the Mexican countryside is full of music and romance and gorgeous landscape instead of warfare. All the images of the bucolic Mexico, you know, all these beautiful black and white images of the agaves and the haciendas and all of that as kind of a very attractive and powerful world was created back in those days. The music from these movies and their stars, like Pedro Infante, were huge all over Latin America. And then you also had filmmakers like Bunuel righteously taking on philosophical or social issues while the rest of the world was making a lot of war propaganda, Mexico was making great movies about everything. Until the war ended, Hollywood movies started trickling back in, and Mexico's Golden Age slowly turned kind of bronze. You know, the market shifted. We started to compete again with American films, and there was some corruption in terms of the unions. It was a very difficult thing to enter into unions and blah, blah, blah. So it went into a vortex that actually destroyed the industry during 20 years. Right around then, the 1970s, Mexico's government stepped in and started state funded production companies, which actually gave directors okay budgets and a lot of freedom. Great films got made, but not many. And after a while, funding shrank. There were even fewer and they got blander. By the time the 80s rolled around, there was good news and bad news. The thing is that there were a lot of cinemas that were state owned, so it was very cheap, the ticket. Ladies and gentlemen, Gael Garcia Bernal. And huge, you know, they were like remnants from old cinemas, you know, from back in the day, you know. But most of the films that were seen in cinemas when I was growing up were mainly the the big foreign films from Hollywood, you know, films like <i>Jaws</i>, films like<i>Karate Kid</i>, you know, and all of those. And those were the ones that were seen. And there was a sense that the cinema that Mexico had done, the cinema in Spanish, had completely disappeared in a way. You know, these glorious days of Pedro Infante, of Cantinflas, you know, of Maria Félix and all of those actors and actresses, it was gone. But not at at least one place. In the middle of the generally super bustling Santa Cruz Atoyac neighborhood, there's a broad green oasis, a park. On one end of which it looks like cool aliens landed two big modernist spaceships connected by a towering white canopy to make a shady courtyard between them. That is the state funded Cineteca Nazionale, and it's a living example of just how much movies are a part of Mexico City life.

So it's 15: 12:05

30 on a Friday. It's like kids running around, lots of couples lounging on fields all around me, or under the shade of this copse of trees over here. There are like, people making out. This does not seem like, you know, your typical cinema museum. It's more like a public square. And it's not just 'cause it's a nice place to hang on a sunny day. Once they're here, there's a free video library as sleek as a dimly lit Apple store with desk stations where you can watch 9000 digitized movies. And there are ten screening rooms showing like, a dozen different movies a day. For which, when I went mid-afternoon, remember a giant crowd was already queuing up. That's apparently par for the course. On a regular weekend, let's say on a Saturday we have about 6000 people. Marina Stavenhagen is the head of the Cineteca. She says on one hand, it's easy to explain why the place is popular. It's an open public space where you don't have to buy anything to be part of a film, let's say, conversation. And if you want to see a screening, it's probably the cheapest date night in town.$2 and without discount. So if you have a discount, it's less than that. But also it's the movies they show'cause A) they'll totally screen the latest Hollywood blockbusters. But B) compared to commercial cinemas in town... The venue where Mexican films work better is here. We have an audience for Mexican films, we have been building that audience and we keep the films for long runs. They don't. They expect films to, you know, be a blockbuster in just one weekend, and afterwards they just leave it. So there is little room for, let's say, Mexican film. And I don't know, European films or Latin American never, or we all know that. So if you want diversity, if you want different storytelling, you come here. And that was definitely the case in the 80s when in the middle of Mexico's movie making slump, young film fanatics like Eugenio Caballero came to the Cineteca and got an education. Starting with Golden Age Mexican movies. And then later there was an amazing event happening yearly La Muestra in the Cinematheque. So it was two weeks of bringing films from all around the world the most, let's say top notch contemporary films, blah blah blah, that actually a lot of filmmakers of my generation, we learn cinema there. So we were basically after school, we were there to the Cinematheque and we saw 3 or 4 films each day, you know, in a row. So you breathe cinema, you eat cinema, you basically know people, get a girlfriend or whatever through cinema. It was a very interesting thing as a spectator. You never saw the sun for whatever month that was. Yes! No, not the sunset. And in general, Eugenio remembers his youth as a pretty fantastic time in Mexico City, definitely in his part of town called Roma. It was full of sound. It was a very lively neighborhood. It was full of smells, perfumes of the street vendors with the foods, people that were making music, you know, it was fun. It was fun. We played in the streets, you know, there was not so many cars. And then September 19th, 1985... everything shifted. That's the anchor of a live morning news show that day in Mexico City. I can feel a small tremor, she's saying. She's shaking a little bit. It was one of the worst earthquakes of the century. In a few minutes, whole neighborhoods were leveled. Somewhere between 10 and 30,000 people died. It was just, you know, for me, there's a line, a clear line, which is the earthquake of 1985. Before that, it was kind of a or at least in my mind, was more joyful. I came to help, in the ruins, like all the citizens, you know, back then, younger or older, everybody was in the streets trying to help to basically running against time. And kind of cleaning up the place? Cleaning up the place, helping with food, helping, taking away. You know, I came to the neighborhood because I was worried about my grandparents, actually, the building next door, my grandparents house collapsed. You know, so it was kind of, you know, it was that scary. And then during many years, which are the years my adult, my first adult years, I grew up in a city full of scars. But just like in the Golden Age, a new guard of filmmakers were going to try to use movies to heal up. That story in just a minute. Stay with us. All right, everybody, MUBI is the global film company that champions great cinema, bringing it to you wherever you are in as many ways as we possibly can. We stream movies, we produce them. We release them in theaters, movies from any country, from legendary auteurs or brilliant first timers. We've always got something new for you to discover. And hey, since we were talking about Mexican cinema today, I want to prepare you for something that we'll be bringing to you soon. A new 4K restoration of one of Mexico's greatest films ever, director Alejandro Inarritu's breakthrough movie<i>Amores Perros</i> came out back in 2000, and I'm not going to give away too much of the plot now, because guess what? In the next act of this episode, we're going to tell you all about the movie and how it totally changed Mexican cinema, not to mention launching the career of its star, Gael Garcia Bernal. You will hear him tell you all about that in a minute. Suffice to say, it is a gripping thriller. It's an iconic look at Mexico City in all its complexity, and this new 4K restoration is going to be in cinemas around Latin America in August. Then in 2026, it'll be showing on MUBI almost globally, so you can get ahead of the curve by subscribing to MUBI at mubi.com And I got one more thing to tell you about, if you are a Spanish speaker and you love this podcast, guess what? We've got another podcast for you to love. It's our Spanish language series MUBI Podcast Encuentros. Every episode pairs two great Latin American or Spanish filmmakers. They talk with each other about their films, their careers, how they work, and just movies in general. Recent guests include movie star Alice Braga and Óliver Laxe, whose movie Sirāt won this year's Jury Prize at Cannes. Again, it is called MUBI Podcast Encuentros and you should go give it a follow wherever pods are cast. As usual, you will find more info about all this stuff and all the links you need in the show notes of this episode. Speaking of which, let's get back to the episode. So it was 1985, that earthquake had left Mexico City in ruins. And for a lot of locals, the government response... wasn't great. It was pretty clear there had been no real plan for a big disaster. Citizens had to form rescue crews on their own. Meanwhile, the president, Miguel de la Madrid, wanted to keep up an image of a strong, independent Mexico. So he downplayed the damage and for a while wouldn't even accept international aid.<i>Food, clothing and bedding were also flown into the disaster area.</i><i>Other emergency airlifts are scheduled, despite the Mexican government's</i><i>announcements that such supplies are not needed.</i> And Gael Garcia Bernal remembers people were pissed. The earthquake was definitely culturally something that, you know, it had huge political manifestations because it was the end of a facade, you know, the end of an architecture of power and corruption that had completely taken over the modern civil society kind of erupted. And a lot of political movements kind of consolidated after the earthquake. He says people pushed back against Mexico's long ruling political party, the PRI. And just in general against the way society had been for decades, including when it came to movies. Suddenly there was a demand for Mexican ones talking about modern Mexico. In the 90s... there were these films that started to come out that were seen in cinemas and were actually quite successful in cinemas. Films like <i>Sólo con tu pareja</i> of Alfonso Cuaron.<i>Dos Crímenes</i> of Roberto Sneider. Before this, films weren't seen, they weren't showed in cinemas. They were shown in the Cinematheque, you know, or in kind of, you know, cultural centers, but not in commercial cinemas. In a way, it was like we wanted to feel how it felt to see films and to hear films in our language, within our context. You would see the streets that you grew up in or whatever. So it was a kind of a cultural need for getting your voice heard, for feeling that, that a personal voice counts as well. And one voice in particular ended up standing out. It belonged to a guy named Alejandro González Iñárritu. Yeah, Iñárritu. Actually, he has, like, a kind of an unconventional career path because he was a radio DJ and a host for Mexico City's most influential rock stations. That's Sandra Gomez. She was a Mexico City movie producer for years. Nowadays she's MUBI's own senior director in Latin America. He was really well known, and there were a few DJs in this station that were the young, cool, trendy guys of the moment, and he was very well known among youngsters and people that was engaged in pop and rock and new wave. Eventually, instead of just spinning music, Iñárritu started composing it for Mexican movies. And then he got behind the camera directing commercials, including one for his own radio station, starring an up and coming actor. We did a commercial together when I was 17 and basically was me crying in a room, you know? That was the clip. And what he says is that when we were doing it, he told Rodrigo Prieto, who was the photographer of this commercial. He told him, when I do a film, I want this guy to be in the film. There's something there. Sure enough, in 1998, Iñárritu sent Gael the script for his feature debut, written by novelist Guillermo Arriaga. It was called <i>Amores Perros</i>. It's a movie that starts with attention already cranked to 11. Two guys in a speeding car. Octavio, played by Gael and his pal Jorge. They're hysterical, getting chased through Mexico City traffic by someone in a truck. While in the back seat lies a bloody, dying dog. Finally, it seems like they've lost their pursuers. But then, as they tear through an intersection. The rest of the movie unfolds in flash-backs and flash-forwards telling three different stories about three people before and after the crash. Octavio, who turns out to be a poor kid trying to earn cash from dog fighting. The woman he smashes into a rich TV star, and a hitman who sees it happen. It was fractured. Epic. Violent. Not your standard Mexican movie. Didn't even look like one. It had a... an interesting way that it was shot as well, you know, with this, very risky, silver retain mechanism that is, was very risky because you could lose the negative. It had a lot of an ambition that was very pure and very honest and very visceral. Even so, it didn't seem to Gael like a movie that was going to launch him on a three decade film career, because back then, in Mexico, realistically, no film could. In the year of <i>Amores Perros</i>, which was 1999, there were only six films made that year. I never thought when I was looking at seeing cinema or going to the cinemas, I never thought I was going to be doing cinema because it was impossible to do cinema back then. But that was about to change for him.<i>Amores Perros</i> debuted at the Cannes Film Festival May 2000, not in the main competition, but in the more arthouse Semaine de la Critique: Critics Week. It was at 1 or 2 pm on a Thursday or Wednesday we arrive and there's like 70% of the people in the cinema. You know, there's still places. And I remember Alejandro and Martha Sosa and a few of the producers were actually worried. Because there weren't that many people there. Yeah, there weren't that many people. But I saw the film and my first realization, because it was the first time I saw it, was, okay, we finished the movie. It's done. People are gonna see it. And so we come out of the cinema and we're all excited, crying, you know, very emotional. And immediately we started to get a lot of attention. And a lot of people are starting to talk about us and and wondering who we are. There's an agent that tells me, we would love to represent you. And I'm like, what? You know, like an agent from from a big US agency. You know. This is all happening at Cannes, like within days? Not within days, within hours. And when the movie hit Mexico City cinemas a month later, Sandra Gomez says word spread just as fast. I came here to Mexico City to study in the university. The film was releasing and it was like a huge, huge success. Everyone was talking about this film. This film was playing everywhere. Iñárritu was like a big star, but also Gael. Gael was like the love crush of everyone that was around at that time, and it became part of the culture. Why did it hit so hard? Sandra says it touched a bunch of nerves, starting with its soundtrack, which is as cool as you'd expect from a DJ turned director. The use of Mexican rap and hip hop, and all the blending of the different music styles from, I don't know, ballads from Celia Cruz to the most trendy rock and hip hop Mexican musicians. It was like a very, very iconic soundtrack for years and years. But what might have grabbed folks the most was its portrayal of a modern Mexico City, where people from all walks of life have to grapple with something cataclysmic. I mean, I have lived just from one earthquake, and yes, it's kind of the crash of <i>Amores Perros</i>, like in a moment of tragedy everyone is there, like all social classes, all different people from everywhere. But everyone is also trying to overcome the situation. And it's testament also of the resilience of this megalopolis and how, yeah, people overcome the most horrific tragedies. Yeah, I'm not going to tell you the stories in <i>Amores Perros</i> end happily, like at all, but they do end with most of the characters somehow surviving in spite of everything. Gael says it's a message that resonated way beyond Mexico's borders, especially with a certain demo. It is a film that when you're growing up in Latin America, but I think everywhere in the world right now, it became a necessary pathway into adulthood to watch it the same way that for me, it was <i>Clockwork Orange</i>. It is a film that leaves you with a kind of feeling of where is humanity going? What's going to happen now? Where is this going? For the Mexican film industry, at least now there was an answer for that. It was going up. Now, understand, by the time <i>Amores Perros</i> came out, Hollywood was already poaching the new wave of filmmakers coming out of Mexico. Especially a couple of them, who, along with Iñárritu, would eventually be called the Three Amigos of Mexican Cinema.<i>Three years ago, a team of brilliant scientists</i><i>found a way to stop a deadly disease.</i> A Guadalajara named Guillermo del Toro had made his ill fated horror movie <i>Mimic</i> for Miramax.<i>We changed its DNA.</i> While way on the other end of the spectrum, Alfonso Cuaron had earned a couple of technical Oscar nominations for his coming of age fantasy drama<i>A Little Princess</i> for Warner Brothers.<i>I am a Princess.</i><i>All girls are. Didn't your father ever tell you that?</i> But <i>Amores</i> was a Mexican movie that was a hit at home and abroad, earning back ten times its budget. The next year, Cuaron's steamy Spanish language<i>Y tu mamá también</i> was an even bigger hit. Suddenly, New Mexican cinema was all the rage. Private companies were funding Mexican indies the state stepped up its game, offering more programmes and tax incentives to make Mexican films. And by 2018, when Netflix decided it was going to spend 20 million bucks to distribute a prestige Oscar contender, it's maybe no surprise... They picked Cuaron's autobiographical Spanish language movie about growing up in mid-century Mexico City.<i>Amores</i> had sparked another Golden Age, and in some ways, it feels like it's still happening for better and worse. That's Mexico's president Claudia Sheinbaum at a press conference last March introducing Netflix CEO Ted Sarandos.<i>Good morning.</i> Who had an announcement to make.<i>Today I'm happy to announce that Netflix will be investing 1 billion USD</i><i>to produce series and films in Mexico over the next four years.</i> Now, I first heard about this from the Cineteca Nacionale's Marina Stavenhagen. I was surprised by the news. She wasn't. It's already happening, you know? I mean, it was just made public, but it's happening. They are producing along with Mexican production companies. Oh, it's been happening for a while now. Do we worry about this, though? Like, I know that there are those who would say that the film exhibition world has been hurt by-- I think it's been good because the industry is working. People have jobs and content are being made. I mean, on the other side, of course, there are some concerns, you know, like labor, of course they come to Mexico because labor is cheap here. And, you know, they change the dynamics of the industry in Mexico. Those things that happen. And meanwhile, Sandra Gomez says Mexico has become like a lot of countries lately tax breaks and incentives for the big leagues, but increasingly less for the rest. For the last six years of the last president, there were in the austerity era. They cut a lot of funding for culture. Lot, lot, lot of funding for culture. So they do have the tax incentive fund. This is for films of a medium to high budget. But the art house fund was a fund that disappeared. We don't have that fund anymore. So those bearing the films are are not supported and probably won't get made many of them. So for Mexican indies, times are maybe not so golden. But I know one guy in town who says all is not lost. On my last day in Mexico City, I met up with actor and director Lazaro Gabino Rodriguez at his girlfriend's pad. She nicely brought me some tea. Lazaro has been in everything from Cary Fukunaga's breakthrough drama <i>Sin Hombre</i> to a bunch of micro-budget movies from arthouse darling Nicolas Pereda. And you can tell, indies are where his heart is. I am very optimistic of the moment we are living because I think we are there's a really clear split in why people are making films. So there's people that use film that it's like a profession. Yeah? And there's another trend of the film that I feel very attached to it, that it's sounds horrible, but it's like a spiritual way of of dealing with reality or something like that. You made a film because you want to make a film. So I'm very optimistic because there's an arising of filmmakers and of films and of projects that just needs to be done somehow. He is full of local examples thereof. Not all of them even movies, like a scrappy cinema club in Mexico City's San Rafael neighborhood called La Cueva that boasts hilariously extremist rules once the house lights dim. They have this idea that if you check your phone, they are allowed to throw you coins.- So then it's...- To what? To throw your coins because it's very forbidden to check the cell phone. So they like throw coins at you? Yeah. Against people that check cell phones. So it's a very, very different attention for the people. So, seriously, if you like, get out your phone. Somebody sees the glow of your cell phone. They're totally allowed to turn around and just start throwing pesos at your head. Totally totally totally totally. And then there's the story of Mexico City based director Clemente Castor. Lazaro's in his new film called<i>Cold Metal</i>, with a budget made possible by luck and upholstering. Clemente Castor, I think he won a prize of film material I don't know how to call it in English.- Celluloid?- Celluloid. Yeah, exactly. And then he made furniture. He take old furniture and he rebuilt it, and then he sell it, and then he... He, like, restored furniture to make money to make his film? Exactly, exactly, exactly. Yeah. So for me, it's beautiful because someone learned how to do something, and then he made money, and then we made a film. And I think we need to regain this idea of friends that came together and then carry on an idea, because the world is so in a moment that it's so, so fragile. Creating something from scratch with friends. That you can all help hold together in a world that's ready to fall apart. It occurs to me that must feel especially necessary when you live in a city built on very shaky ground. With that in mind, I'm going to wrap up this tour back on Tepeji Street in front of the house from <i>Roma</i>, and it's taped up window with Eugenio Caballero. He says in a way, you can still see the aftermath from the '85 earthquake of his youth in a lot of his set design. You know, my films <i>Pan's Labyrinth</i> and <i>The Impossible</i>, you know, all of the films that I do or a lot of films that I do, they have a little bit of chaos and destruction, you know. And I think that comes from, from that time, you know. You're right, as I'm thinking about them, they all have as as much as they are beautiful and can be polished there's also a little bit of the ruin to all of the look of all these films. Yeah, yeah, that's part of it. You know, I have a tendency to go there in my mind. And that's because that's what, it's what was familiar. But there's at least one exception in his filmography. A shot from <i>Roma</i>. He points west down the street at a row of modern buildings. There was a huge block of flats there designed by Pani, a Mexican architect, and they collapsed during the earthquake. So to match the movie's 1970s setting, Eugenio had Pani's block of flats recreated. Digitally and actually touched a lot, of like, my father was when he saw it he was very moved by the fact of seeing, you know, in the screen, those buildings that had so many connections and memories of him and his childhood. Gazing down to Tepeji Street at those buildings, I can practically see the whole history of the city's cinema. Filmmakers taking a scar and making it beautiful. And that's the MUBI Podcast for this week. Follow us to hear more of my travels through the world's film scenes next week, though, we're taking a break for a bonus interview episode. By popular demand from folks who heard our episode about Irish cinema a few weeks back. It is my whole interview with Rich Peppiatt, director of the indie phenomenon <i>Kneecap</i>. Among other things, you'll hear him talk about wrangling his party animal provocateur stars. For example, when we first set out on the film, it was like, right, there's all these fake drugs that the art department's made. And they were like, no, no, we'll just do real drugs. Follow us so you don't miss it. Meanwhile, if you dig us, leave a five star review wherever you listen. Tell them we're not your standard movie chat show. Also, if you got questions, comments or instructions on how not to butcher words in your language, send them to us. The address is podcast@mubi.com And now let's roll credits. This show is written, hosted and edited by me Rico Gagliano. Ciara McEniff is our Producer. Michelle Lanzs is our Story Editor. Jackson Musker is our Booking Producer. We got Assistant Producer Kat Kowalczyk. Steven Colon mastered this episode. Martin Austwick composed our original music, except the song 'Hot Smoke' by the band People with Bbodies. Thanks this week to MUBI's team in Mexico City, especially Laura Samuels, everyone at the Cineteca and Studio Churubusco and as always, Carina Lesser. The show is executive produced by me along with Efe Çakarel, Daniel Kasman and Mike Tacca. And finally, to watch the best in cinema, subscribe to MUBI at mubi.com Thanks for listening. Go watch some movies and travel tip for Mexico from Lazaro Rodriguez. Don't reach for the mild salsa for God's sake. Now in Mexico this fad that it's been quite popular makes salsa spicy again because now we have so many people from the States and abroad that salsa in the taquerias is not even spicy anymore. And it's just like, what? Really? We've, like, dumbed down your salsa even. I'm sorry. Exactly, yeah...