I see the old Mexican films the presence of a soul that inhabits a shadow or a ghost indefinable. I can not explain it, but sorry. When in any latest movie so I find myself realize that ghosts do not die, they live inside us, we are the memory of our ancestors. Each of the segments that make up Mexico Barbarian leads coined iron taste to it. I do not need to understand anything, just to see, hear, feel, shake. His characters are not dead but are no longer here, are trapped in the limbo of an apparent space, sliding down the imaginary walls of our mind. Gothic horror and gore manifest as living penalties. What is our identity? It is not defined but stands in mountains of death, carnal lust, blood sacrifice, the virginal naivety assault, slavery, disappearances, revenge and betrayal. Each of the films is falling on the table as tarot cards.
"Mexico Barbaro" has this great mysterious power that solves nothing, keeps us from understanding. However presents, through a huge skull radiography, a work of art that outlines the entire beautiful and sinister face of what we are: a nation built on the garden of a cemetery.
"Mexico Barbaro" has this great mysterious power that solves nothing, keeps us from understanding. However presents, through a huge skull radiography, a work of art that outlines the entire beautiful and sinister face of what we are: a nation built on the garden of a cemetery.