By Jeffrey Sipe and Nina Rodriguez
In 1974, hurricane Dolores tore through Mexico, flooding one Oaxacan village, Charco Redondo, completely out of existence, forcing its inhabitants to construct San Marquitos, their new home, on the Pacific Coast. Director Jose Antonio Hernandez Martinez’s fourth documentary feature, “Nos Hicieron Noche” (They Made Us Night), paints a picture of the new town’s Afro-Mexican population, their culture, and celebrations that, in fact, reflect the reality of many small, isolated, Mexican communities unknown beyond their own borders.
San Marquitos is not only isolated, but it has yet to be recognized by the Mexican government and, nearly 50 years following its founding, does not appear on maps. That prevents it from receiving government assistance as other nearby towns do. But this same seclusion also reenforces the intense cohesiveness underpinned by the traditional dance, music, singing, medicine, and sheep herding that are integral to San Marquitos’ daily life.
The film initially follows an aged Dona Romualda who was 15 at the time of the hurricane and now struggles to raise her grandson, Adonis, a naturally rebellious adolescent who eschews village traditions as he seeks to define himself for a world beyond San Marquitos, where cellphones and iPads rule. Romualda, on the other hand, is the town’s prayer-giver, a traditional role that allows her to survive on donations from fellow villagers who request her services.
“Nos Hicieron Noche” at times displays ethnographic tendencies as do all documentaries that focus on life in Mexican villages. That’s what draws us in. From the preparation of food, to the dances performed during celebrations, to traditional musical performances by the villagers, much is unique to San Marquitos. What is not unique, however, is the village’s transition to the modern world. As Romualda recounts, “Life was better before the hurricane of 1974.” When they needed, water, she explains, they did not buy it; they went to the river. When they had a craving for chicken soup, they slaughtered one of their own chickens. When they needed fruits or vegetables, they went out and picked them from their own fields. Those days are long gone.
“Nos Hicieron Noche” is absorbing and moving throughout, but it also raises questions—unintentionally, perhaps—about the nature of documentary filmmaking and the underlying need to infuse the amorphous nature of life with a narrative that engages audiences. Although staged scenes have been a part of documentaries since Robert Flaherty fooled us all with “Nanook of the North,” films dubbed “documentaries” today are frequently full of staged scenes.
Although staged scenes make documentaries more palatable to some audiences, they also tend to break the narrative spell. Perfectly framed transitional shots that fit right into the narrative immediately draw attention to themselves. A change of camera angle within a scene is jarring. Most audiences will spot it as an artifact of fictional filmmaking, a far cry from Jean Rouch’s once revolutionary jump-cuts designed to draw attention to the artificiality of filmmaking.
Minor bumps in the road? Depends on your perspective and what you consider cinematic truth. That said, Martinez has filmed a reality whose years may be numbered, and “Nos Hicieron Noche” may well outlive Nanook.
After an impressive festival run, the documentary is finally reaching Mexican theaters and screening at Compartimento Cinematografico in San Miguel de Allende starting November 17.
