The constant flow of immigrants across the border from Latin America to the US in search of a better life is hardly a new subject for a film. But Spanish-born now US resident Antonio Méndez Esparza manages to give this subject a fresh spin by reversing the passage and turning a small village in Mexico into a kind of dreamland for Pedro, the protagonist of his superbly confident debut feature, Aquí y allá (literally, Here and Over There).

After two long periods in the US working, saving up and sending money home, thirtysomething Pedro has decided to return to his native village in Guerrero, Mexico, to his wife and two daughters, and to pursue his true passion, music. Using some of the money he's managed to save up in the US, he acquires the necessary musical instruments and convinces a group of locals to rehearse after work in a band called Copa Kings. But inevitably day-to-day realities soon put his illusions and dreams in perspective, as does Pedro's relationship to what was once his own environment - the long time spe ... [sigue leyendo]

The constant flow of immigrants across the border from Latin America to the US in search of a better life is hardly a new subject for a film. But Spanish-born now US resident Antonio Méndez Esparza manages to give this subject a fresh spin by reversing the passage and turning a small village in Mexico into a kind of dreamland for Pedro, the protagonist of his superbly confident debut feature, Aquí y allá (literally, Here and Over There).

After two long periods in the US working, saving up and sending money home, thirtysomething Pedro has decided to return to his native village in Guerrero, Mexico, to his wife and two daughters, and to pursue his true passion, music. Using some of the money he's managed to save up in the US, he acquires the necessary musical instruments and convinces a group of locals to rehearse after work in a band called Copa Kings. But inevitably day-to-day realities soon put his illusions and dreams in perspective, as does Pedro's relationship to what was once his own environment - the long time spent away has turned him into something of a stranger. His two daughters, Heidi, the youngest, and Lorena, a teenager easily distracted at school, have grown and seem distant. With patience, hope and some small adjustments, Pedro will try to gain control of his life once more, but the ghost of the 'North' lurks insistently over the village.

Aquí y allá occupies a similar territory between documentary and fiction as Pedro Costa's celebrated Fontainas trilogy (1997-2006), although it is perhaps closer in pace and tone to fellow Spaniard José Luis Guerín's groundbreaking En Construcción (2001). Like both these directors, Méndez Esparza fully immersed himself in the everyday life of his subjects, in this case a small Mexican community. In fact he'd got to know Pedro, the protagonist, five years previously when he made him the subject of his short documentary Una y otra vez (Again and Again), while Pedro was working in a market in New York.

For this new film, Méndez Esparza followed Pedro south of the border, constructing a feature based largely on improvisations and re-enactments of the real experiences of those involved. Notably, Méndez Esparza always provides ample space and time for carefully observed, minute details to reveal themselves naturally, adapting to the close-knit community's own gentle rhythms, and refraining from imposing overt directorial style or vision.

The film's impact rests heavily on its characterisation and the candid, natural performances of everyone involved. The narrative, such as it is, merely serves as the thread that unites a series of tableaux viewed through the eyes of a former insider rediscovering his old milieu, allowing Méndez Esparza to show this community's customs and habits without ever exoticising them.

Barbu Balasoiu's attentive, immersive camerawork tends to focus on the protagonists, but occasionally permits the natural surroundings to take over, at times almost engulfing them, as when Pedro disappears among the giant leaves of the corn lands where he works; at other times the characters simply blend into the natural world on the village's periphery. This appreciative gaze on the characters and their environment confers a sense of dignity and intimacy that never feels invasive or exploitative, but instead warm and inviting.

This is reflected not only in the tangible affection displayed in the couple's private moments (Teresa is Pedro's actual wife), but more surprisingly - since in real life, the daughters are not part of the family, nor related to each other - in the relationship between the sisters. By way of tiny, almost imperceptible gestures, the camera captures how, for instance, Heidi looks up to her older sister Lorena – even if it soon transpires that it is in fact Heidi who is looking after Lorena.

Thankfully, Aquí y allá avoids being gratuitously cute or sentimental, albeit veering dangerously close in the slightly over-long second section. Ultimately, it is the protagonists' unassuming naturalism mixed with a contagious sense of humour and positive attitude that wins the viewer over.

In one of the most touching scenes, Pedro sings along with his guitar to his wife and daughters, who tease him by placing a small basket at his feet for money to be thrown in, depending on how he performs. In the end, their nervous giggling is silenced not by Pedro's average vocals, but by the sheer conviction he puts into his performance.

Sound is always natural - albeit not necessarily recorded live - and so is the lighting; the latter tends to pick out strongly the contrast between light and shadow - the flickering, yellowish glare of electric bulbs set against the darkness of the night, and the shaded interiors against the bright, sunny exteriors during the day. This creates a sense of familiarity in the indoor scenes, imparting a feeling of warmth and refuge. Another noteworthy feature of Aquí y allá is the decision not to edit out those takes in which the characters (mainly the daughters) look playfully into the camera. It is in these moments that the line between documentary and fiction becomes even more blurred, but instead of simply forcing us to question what we are watching, this gesture not only brings us closer to the fictional world, but by extension to these people's reality.

No doubt Méndez Esparza's own status as an emigrant of sorts - one who divides his time between Spain and the US – informs the film's evocation of being a stranger in both lands; dreaming of the memory of a past left behind, and having to adjust to find a foothold and sense of belonging in the present.

Most intriguing of all, perhaps, is the currency of the film's portrayal of this money-driven transit between North and South. When immigrant communities all over the world are heading back to their homelands owing to the crisis in so-called developed countries, the interchangeable meanings in the resonant title 'here and there' give Méndez Esparza's film an added poignancy and depth. [disminuir]