Clever title, "Tropical Snow," a kind of oxymoronic pun. The "tropic" is Colombia in the 80s when "snow," cocaine, was all the rage in the civilized world and the cartels were eager to provide it.
Tavo (Corri) and Marina (Stowe) are two impoverished lovers in Colombia who are swept up into smuggling drugs in their bellies to New York, principally by the smooth agency of David Carradine.
Corri is a handsome, sympathetic lad. Stowe is young and delicately beautiful with her asymmetric lips and skewed black irises. God, she's pretty. In fact, as this movie demonstrates, she's pretty pretty all over.
Alas, though, the movie is a tragedy in which no one gets what he or she wants. It's not a drama. There is no monumental conflict between personalities or concepts. It belongs to the genre of suspense, the question being, after these two desperate youngsters have swallowed 100 bags of cocaine, will they make it through the Caribbean island and on through customs in New York City.
The director is Ciro Duran. He has a nice scene of Corri waiting at JFK luggage roundabout for Stowe to descend from customs. At first, there is a great deal of hubbub as people crowd each other to pick up their suitcase and Corri bites his nails anxiously. Then, a cut. The roundabout has stopped. Only two pieces of luggage are left -- Corri's and Stowe's and she still hasn't shown up.
Other than that, some of the direction and editing are straightforward and unimaginative when they're not downright clumsy. Some of the extras are allowed to smile self consciously when passing before the camera. The simple act of opening a panel door on an airplane is botched. And when Stowe is lying, half knocked-out, on the table waiting for an X ray of her tasty little tummy, her face is turned sideways towards the camera, a cliché which is beginning to give me indigestion.
Yet, a viewer is likely to be caught up in the plight of this couple, and the writer and director shows us the kinds of work available to the Colombian poor even if they are trying only to make ends meet. Stowe is a waitress in a louche night club where the girls are encouraged to sit with the grubby customers and prompt them to buy more drinks. (Tea instead of champagne is served to the girls, if it works in Colombia the same as it does in the sleazy bars I've known in similar countries.) The scene in that bar isn't badly done either.
A similar, far more polished movie appeared in 2004 -- "Maria Full of Grace", which must have had a better budget and overall is a little less hokey, though it has no stars to speak of. I don't know whether the later film was an example of imitation or independent invention, but it's quite involving.
Tavo (Corri) and Marina (Stowe) are two impoverished lovers in Colombia who are swept up into smuggling drugs in their bellies to New York, principally by the smooth agency of David Carradine.
Corri is a handsome, sympathetic lad. Stowe is young and delicately beautiful with her asymmetric lips and skewed black irises. God, she's pretty. In fact, as this movie demonstrates, she's pretty pretty all over.
Alas, though, the movie is a tragedy in which no one gets what he or she wants. It's not a drama. There is no monumental conflict between personalities or concepts. It belongs to the genre of suspense, the question being, after these two desperate youngsters have swallowed 100 bags of cocaine, will they make it through the Caribbean island and on through customs in New York City.
The director is Ciro Duran. He has a nice scene of Corri waiting at JFK luggage roundabout for Stowe to descend from customs. At first, there is a great deal of hubbub as people crowd each other to pick up their suitcase and Corri bites his nails anxiously. Then, a cut. The roundabout has stopped. Only two pieces of luggage are left -- Corri's and Stowe's and she still hasn't shown up.
Other than that, some of the direction and editing are straightforward and unimaginative when they're not downright clumsy. Some of the extras are allowed to smile self consciously when passing before the camera. The simple act of opening a panel door on an airplane is botched. And when Stowe is lying, half knocked-out, on the table waiting for an X ray of her tasty little tummy, her face is turned sideways towards the camera, a cliché which is beginning to give me indigestion.
Yet, a viewer is likely to be caught up in the plight of this couple, and the writer and director shows us the kinds of work available to the Colombian poor even if they are trying only to make ends meet. Stowe is a waitress in a louche night club where the girls are encouraged to sit with the grubby customers and prompt them to buy more drinks. (Tea instead of champagne is served to the girls, if it works in Colombia the same as it does in the sleazy bars I've known in similar countries.) The scene in that bar isn't badly done either.
A similar, far more polished movie appeared in 2004 -- "Maria Full of Grace", which must have had a better budget and overall is a little less hokey, though it has no stars to speak of. I don't know whether the later film was an example of imitation or independent invention, but it's quite involving.
