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‘Danzon’
By Hal Hinson
Washington Post Staff Writer
November 06, 1992
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In Mexican director Maria Novaro's lovely new film "Danzon," dance isn't merely a metaphor for romance; it is the formalization of love's language and rituals, the choreography of dreams. The central dreamer is a fortyish Mexico City telephone operator named Julia (Maria Rojo), who lives for the nights when she can toss away her daily worries and, with others like her, dance a stylized ballroom box step called the danzon.The moves of the danzon have the same peacock eroticism of the tango; the partners must follow strict rules of deportment and technique. And Julia is a stickler for the rules. The hands must be in just the right position, the eyes unfocused and roving, only occasionally making contact with those of your partner. Most dancers are not as disciplined or expert as Julia, whose whole emotional life seems to begin and end with the danzon. For six years she has danced with one partner, Carmelo (Daniel Rergis), a tall, silent man with gentle eyes, and together they have won a number of competitions. But she and Carmelo have spoken barely a word to each other off the dance floor. They're silent partners, each living lives that the other knows nothing about. Then one Wednesday night, Carmelo fails to show up; he's vanished, and suddenly, Julia realizes just how important he's become in her life. Determined to find her friend, she sets off for Vera Cruz, where he is supposedly a cook. She never finds him (at least not in Vera Cruz), but she does find herself. Novaro's direction is as romantic and restrained as the danzon itself. Julia's journey of self-discovery -- she makes new friends and has a brief affair with a very young, very handsome sailor -- is filtered through Novaro's distinctly feminine sensibility. The emphasis is on the emotional core of every scene, and the subtle give and take -- the emotional partnering -- of her characters. Love is the crux of "Danzon." At the docks where Julia searches for Carmelo, the ships have been given wistful, melancholy names like "You See Me and Suffer" or "Pure Illusions." Walking among them, searching, Julia becomes a woman for all ages, a nearly classical heroine, looking out over the seas for the man of her dreams. Rojo is perfect for her role; she's old enough to have earned the world-weary lines around her eyes, yet still young and sexy enough to turn men's heads. (She brings to mind Carmen Maura, the great star of Pedro Almodovar's early films.) When she returns home, leaving her young lover behind, she seems to have passed a turning point: With or without Carmelo, she has decided to live, not merely to exist.
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