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    ‘Cassandro’ Review: Gael García Bernal as the Luchador Saúl Armendáriz

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    Gael García Bernal plays a flamboyant figure taking the world of Mexican professional wrestling by storm in this underdog drama directed by Roger Ross Williams.When Barton Fink, the neurotic screenwriter cooked up by the Coen brothers, scrambles to write a wrestling picture, his peers prescribe the basics. Tell us the man’s ambitions. Entangle him in a romance. You know the drill. Not even in Barton’s most delirious dreams could he have envisioned “Cassandro,” about a flamboyant, sequin-clad luchador who takes his ring name from a telenovela. But I bet Barton could have drafted the film’s outline, which uses the same squelchy gym bag of tricks as many underdog sports dramas.Based on a real star of Mexican professional wrestling, or lucha libre, Saúl Armendáriz (Gael García Bernal) is a profoundly unusual athlete wedged into a biopic that sometimes feels like passable stage fighting: elegantly executed but drained of danger.Directed by Roger Ross Williams (“Life, Animated”), the movie depicts the decisive, late-1980s period when Saúl ascended out of obscurity and into the big time, braving countless training montages and a few private miseries on his way to the top.We meet the striver in Texas in early adulthood, when he is assisting his mother, Yocasta (Perla De La Rosa), with her laundry business and wrestling at a nearby club. Using the name El Topo (The Mole), he tumbles into the ring masked and petite, a pipsqueak doomed to act as a punching bag opposite giants. “Let me guess. You’re always cast as the runt?” challenges Sabrina (Roberta Colindrez), a local lucha hotshot and trainer. She spies potential in Saúl, and offers to coach him pro bono.Colindrez, like many of the actors in this movie, is a superlative performer. Her character is granted little interiority — she serves by turns as Saúl’s fierce advocate and his shoulder to cry on — but alongside Bernal she radiates a cool glow fit for a film less shackled by the ebbs and flows of established convention. In conversations with Sabrina, Saúl toggles between English and Spanish, reserving the latter for colloquialisms or teasing, and the mixture gives their dialogue an organic rhythm. He uses the same blend of languages with his lover, Gerardo (Raúl Castillo), a married luchador with kids whom Saúl sees in secret.Saúl’s sexuality is at once a major plot point and somewhat underexplored. With gentle nudging from Sabrina, Saúl, who came out as a teen and is supported by his mother, soon reinvents his ring persona as the campy Cassandro, an “exótico,” or luchador who plays with femininity. The character initially attracts slurs and heckling, but quickly (and perhaps too effortlessly) starts winning matches and becomes a fan favorite. This is an era when H.I.V. and AIDS panic was at its shrillest, and although the real-life Cassandro was sometimes rebuffed by homophobic opponents, the movie never mentions the epidemic. (Williams wrote the screenplay with David Teague.)“Cassandro” is at its strongest when it zeros in on the relationship between Saúl and Gerardo, who share a physical intimacy that both echoes their fighting careers and acts as an escape from them. Alone, safe from onlookers, the pair tussle in bed. “Don’t you think he’s sexy?” Saúl says, referring to Cassandro as if he were a third person who might join them.Williams, an Oscar-winning documentary filmmaker, is an expert orchestrator of naturalism. The trouble is that lucha libre, built on glitz, is anything but naturalistic. The self-assured freedom Saúl channels in bed never makes its way into scenes in the ring, which tend to tire when they should dazzle.CassandroRated R for drugs and slugs. Running time: 1 hour 47 minutes. Watch on Amazon Prime Video. More

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      ‘Miguel Wants to Fight’ Review: A Rite of Passage

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      In Oz Rodriguez’s coming-of-age film, a martial arts-obsessed teenager is determined to throw his first punch.In the lives of the four protagonists of “Miguel Wants to Fight,” brawls are ubiquitous. But when a fight breaks out on a basketball court and the martial arts film aficionado of the group, Miguel (Tyler Dean Flores), doesn’t participate, it becomes clear that he has never actually thrown a punch.After his parents break the news that his family will be moving soon, Miguel becomes obsessed with picking a fight before he leaves — a misguided way to cope with his anger.Directed by Oz Rodriguez (“Vampires vs. the Bronx”), “Miguel Wants to Fight” is an endearing and offbeat take on the teenage coming-of-age film. It centers on best friends Srini (Suraj Partha), Cass (Imani Lewis), David (Christian Vunipola) and Miguel, who grew up together in Syracuse, N.Y., immersed in the boxing world. Miguel’s father Alberto (Raúl Castillo), owns a gym, and David’s father was a boxing star. Miguel spends his time making TikTok reels of fight scenes starring his friends.There are some laughs and the cast is talented, but the movie ultimately falls flat, missing an opportunity to delve into the insecurity, teen bravado and anger that leads to physical fighting in the first place.Instead, it leans too heavily into references to and re-enactments of classic films, like “The Matrix” or “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” which take up space in the film that could instead have been devoted to character development. As a result, “Miguel Wants to Fight” ends up feeling one-note, lacking the depth that might have elevated it to a must-watch movie.Miguel Wants to FightNot rated. Running time: 1 hour 23 minutes. Watch it on Hulu. More

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      ‘American (Tele)visions’ Review: Tune In, and Buckle Up, for Family Drama

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      In Victor I. Cazares’s play, Walmart is a haven for a family of undocumented Mexican immigrants, but it comes with a cost.The program for “American (Tele)visions,” which opened Thursday at the New York Theater Workshop, comes with an addendum tucked inside: a bibliography of the nearly 50 books, movies, and works of art and music that inspired the playwright, Victor I. Cazares. The wide-ranging list of titles includes works by Luis Buñuel, Haruki Murakami and the Magnetic Fields as well as Stephen Mitchell’s 2000 translation of the Bhagavad Gita.It’s a fitting way to illustrate the occasionally unwieldy yet often absorbing treasury of themes, metaphors and ’90s American cultural touchstones that is this memory play, which is set among the reflective screens of a Walmart television department.For young Erica and her family, undocumented Mexican immigrants living in a “poor but racially diverse” trailer park, Walmart is the linoleum-floored, discount-priced heaven where dreams come to life. Erica (Bianca “b” Norwood), who prefers boys’ clothes and toys, eyes racecars while her best friend, Jeremy (Ryan J. Haddad), zeros in on the pink boxes of Barbies. Erica’s father, Octavio (Raúl Castillo), stands entranced by the TVs — just like he sits for hours, in a near-catatonic state of despondency, at home. Her mother, Maria Ximena (Elia Monte-Brown), disappears to some unknown part of the store for a reason Erica knows is connected to Maria’s later abandonment of her family for a truck driver. And her brother, Alejandro, is secretly buying K-Y Jelly and condoms.But Alejandro can’t even play himself in this scrambled account of the family, because he’s already dead, Erica tells us. So Maria Ximena assigns the role to Alejandro’s best friend, Jesse (Clew), who came home with Alejandro one night and ended up staying.Though the story already has the hairpin turns of a telenovela, full of secret affairs, betrayals, familial resentments, deaths and a gasp-worthy slap, the characters — Erica in particular — are empowered to lead the narrative, changing the chronology of events, reframing and re-categorizing challenging memories. Which makes “American (Tele)visions” an acrobatic work of storytelling. It switches modes and tones so rapidly — from the living room couch to Erica and Jeremy’s imaginary detective series to Walmart’s layaway department — that the production evokes the sensation of channel-surfing.From left: Clew, Castillo, Norwood, Ryan J. Haddad and Elia Monte-Brown in the play, whose set includes four giant cubes that open to reveal micro-settings.Sara Krulwich/The New York TimesRubén Polendo’s direction is lively and clearsighted but also exaggerates the vulnerabilities in the script: the heightened language, repetitive and overstuffed with a few too many metaphors (Octavio is a television, Alejandro is a chain-link fence), and the length. Even though it runs just 100 minutes without an intermission, the show seems to stretch on and on like the channel guide for a premier cable TV package.Though Norwood, a nonbinary actor who uses the pronouns they/them, spends most of the play as Erica’s bright, imaginative childhood self, there are traces of adult Erica in their performance: a certain bluster and confidence, a kind of grown-up wisdom of someone who has come to terms with her trauma. As Erica’s parents, Monte-Brown is at her best when unleashing a mother’s roar of grief, and Castillo grounds his performance in a crushing, pervasive melancholy.While cast as the supporting actor in Erica’s life and fantasies, Haddad’s Jeremy comes across as a fully formed figure in his own right, delivering some of the play’s best quips, like when he calls a capitalist video-game-style villainess an “Ayn Rand erotic fantasy.” As a brilliant composite of Alejandro and Jesse, Clew, who also uses the pronouns they/them, is both strangely present and absent: As two characters, one living and one dead, they give a performance that feels fittingly transitory. They run in and out of scenes, switch characters from line to line; it’s almost as if they’re part ghost.The show, which is co-produced by Theater Mitu, which is known for its experimental mixed-media theater, has high-definition color and depth. Bretta Gerecke’s set design elicits the immersive feeling of living in a world of screens: The stage is a colossal box, inside which there are four towering cubes, two stacked on each side, that swing open to reveal micro-settings (a forest that’s been struck by a meteorite, a living room, the front exterior of a truck and a Walmart toy aisle). Animations, recorded videos and live camera footage are projected onto the surfaces of the cubes and the back and side walls of the set, helping to illustrate a breathless story that begins with the scourge of U.S. capitalism (“I want to not want,” Erica declares) and contends with immigration, citizenship, queerness, the intersection of commerce and gender roles.The lighting design (by Jeanette Oi-Suk Yew) is as eye-catching as you’d expect in a show about electronics, from a dreamy aquamarine to the hazy twin beams of a car’s headlights in the distance. So are the intentionally tawdry specialty costumes (designed by the “Project Runway” alum Mondo Guerra), which include a pink, frilly princess dress and a mermaid-cut white-and-black bar-code dress with fringe and headpiece.“American (Tele)visions” can be a bit repetitive at times. Yet the production still manages to surprise and entertain — so don’t touch that dial.American (Tele)visionsThrough Oct. 16 at New York Theater Workshop, Manhattan; nytw.org. Running time: 1 hour 40 minutes. More

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      ‘Mother/Android’ Review: How to Protect When You’re Expecting

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      In this sci-fi thriller, a pregnant woman and her boyfriend try to outrun hordes of vengeful robots.“Mother/Android,” written and directed by Mattson Tomlin, offers exactly what it says on the tin. The protagonist, Georgia (Chloë Grace Moretz), is a college student unsure about her relationship with her boyfriend, Sam (Algee Smith), when she discovers she is pregnant. That same night, the servant androids that occupy most well-off American homes (including Georgia’s) collectively glitch and turn murderous, and the country becomes a war zone.There is a mother. There are androids. This film pulls the former off more elegantly than the latter, due in large part to a stunning performance from Moretz.The bulk of the film takes place nine months after that fateful night. The country’s remaining humans occupy the military camps that dot the country, protected from androids by electromagnetic transmitters. Sam and Georgia, now past her due date, hope to flee to Korea via Boston, but they have to brave the wilderness ahead — a.k.a. “No Man’s Land” — first. Unfriendly soldiers, bloodthirsty robots and the pregnancy all complicate their plan.For a movie set during a robot apocalypse, “Mother/Android” offers little in the way of world building. It’s unclear why the androids are revolting or what they want, just as it’s uncertain how America hopes to save itself. This undercooked backdrop is both a blessing and a curse: It offers ample room for the film’s strong emotional core, but it can also be hopelessly distracting. This is a movie about a young woman fighting to create a family for herself against all odds. Also, cyborgs?The androids are effectively creepy (think “Terminator” skeletons mixed with zombies), and Moretz sells Georgia’s turmoil so gamely as to overshadow the ridiculous premise. A standout turn by Raúl Castillo sends the film into a twisty third act. It’s a bizarre movie, but there’s enough action to help you zip through this overstuffed story even if you’re not sure why you (or Georgia, or Sam) are there in the first place.Mother/AndroidRated R for robotics (and dismemberment). Running time: 1 hour 50 minutes. Watch on Hulu. More