The San Diego Union-Tribune
Small-letter movie worthy big accolades
August 24, 1995
by Arthur Salm
The lower-case title at first seems appropriate: This adaptation of Tomas Rivera's celebrated novel about migrant Mexican-American farm workers appears be the story of small, insignificant people. They make no money to speak of, create few waves and have little overt impact on the greater society around them.
It is the early 1950s. Twelve year old Marcos Gonzales (]ose Alcala) crouches beneath the parch of a rustic house, memories of his troubled, disjointed life flitting through his mind.
We travel with him as he recalls telling episodes: his family's annual departure from their small Texas town to harvest crops in the Midwest; the harsh, primitive conditions in which they are forced to live; misunderstandings with gringos; Marcos' disastrous time in Minnesota, where his parents left him behind so that he might actually spend an entire semester in one school.
Told episodically, these straight-forward, unaffected tales slowly gain power and beauty. Then, retold each year in song by traveling minstrel Bartolo the Poet (Danny Valdez), they acquire the stature of legend.
A young couple's tentative relationship, for example, starts out as little more than foiled puppy love, and ends in foolish tragedy; when transformed by Bartolo, it seems almost Shakespearean.
Heart songs
The most extraordinary of these series of episodes is the continuing mystery of Marcos' older brother, Julian. Early in the film, he is reported missing in action in Korea. His mother's (Rose Portillo) terror and escalating, soul-wrenching grief is mitigated by the appearance of a peddler (Castulo Guerra), who offers, for the astronomical price of $30, to have Julian's photograph - the family's only picture of their missing son - made into a handcarved wooden portrait.
The tacky, swap meet-quality sample he shows them breaks your heart; it's obvious these uneducated, unsophisticated people are being scammed. Yet they take such comfort in the thought of this memorial that your aesthetic sense is severely shaken: Yes, it would be quite wonderful to have; yes, they should spend their desperately hard-earned money on this work of ... art.
The audience has come to see as they see, think as they think. Empathy is complete. Remarkable.
The film, shot on a frayed shoe- string (largely through a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities), works so wonderfully - never faltering, never slipping into self-righteous polemic - because of director and screenwriter Severo Perez's profound respect for the original material. Tomas Rivera was an extraordinarily gifted storyteller; Perez had the good sense to trust him.
Uppercase title
The mostly low-key performances are fitting enough, with Marco Rodriguez, as Marcos' father, standing out by standing back - shy and withdrawn, yet proud, strong and unshakable.
Alcala, given little to do but watch, watches credibly. Only Lupe Ontiveros and Sam Viahos, as a scheming pair of unctuous murderers, seem out of place; they'd be a lot of fun in some movie, but not this one. Danny Valdez's Bartolo errs only in not being on screen long enough.
Produced by KPBS' Paul Espinosa, "...and the earth did not swallow him" will look odd on the marquee on your way out of the theater. All caps, you'll say to yourself. Should've been all caps.