Brutal passion and political commentary meet in Luis Buñuel’s take on the Frankenstein tradition. 

Made during his commercial period in Mexico, The Brute (1953), which pits a bourgeois landowner against his working-class tenants, may qualify as Luis Buñuel’s most political work. At the time of the film’s release, Mexico was going through an intense period of change and economic growth. Women received the vote, industrialization was occurring at a rapid rate, and the government had cut public funding. Conflicts between the state, the workers, and the labor unions were common. 

Nevertheless, The Brute works well as both a twist on the Frankenstein mythos and a Marxist fable. Man hires goon. Goon kills target, invokes wrath of the people, and sleeps with man’s wife. Goon kills man. This vantage point comes with a political view; taking advantage of a worker leads directly to our villain’s fall. 

The film starts as local slumlord Andres Cabrera (Andrés Soler) develops plans to demolish a low-income housing complex, but when the local revolutionaries led by Don Carmelo Gonzalez (Roberto Meyer) get a bit too feisty, he hires Pedro (Pedro Armendáriz), to rough him up. Referred to henceforth as Brute, the newly christened goon goes forth and accidentally kills the already ailing Gonzalez.

Pedro Armendáriz and Katy Jurado

At first our Brute is only too happy to aid his boss. He moves in with Andres and finds himself being pursued by his employer’s lusty younger wife, Paloma, played by the iconic Katy Jurado. But Brute risks his position when he falls for Gonzalez’s gentle daughter (Rosita Arenas) and invokes Paloma’s violent retribution. 

Oozing unpolished magnetism and brutal desire, Katy Jurado owns the screen. Her Paloma is volatile and violent, driven by her appetites, but capable of great cunning. She carves into her meaty scenes with gusto, and never devolves into a hock of theatrical ham.  

Armendáriz brings a brutal, if adequately dim, presence to the titular goon. His lack of moral self-awareness adds a much-needed layer to a character who defies descriptions of both dimwitted ogre and gentle giant. Arenas is lovely as Meche, the revolutionary’s daughter, and Soler does excellent work as an understated villain. While his cast-mates perform at the opera, Soler stars in a sophisticated spoken-word play. 

Paco Martínez and Katy Jurado

Though melodrama can ferment into farce with age, the gravity of the film has not rotted away with time. Yes, pathos is traded in for playfulness in a few key moments, but all of these brief spots of sunshine were in the script. Most of these moments feature a candy-guzzling grandpa played by Paco Martínez. As the slumlord’s ancient father, Martínez appears to be built from candle wax and china as he shuffles about the room, adorably oblivious to his son’s machinations. 

Cinematographer Agustín Jiménez captures poverty in almost every frame of the slums and slaughterhouse. All is dark, dank, and in desperate need of repair. Only Andrés’ home is well-furnished and friendly.  

In the few chase scenes, Brute and his revolutionary pursuers race around dark corners using only windows and sparse streetlights to find their bearings. In his final race against the police, Brute’s shadow seems to separate from his body and head down a different path. It’s a neat symbolic use of trick lighting, but it’s also a rare appearance of the director’s signature surrealism. 

Of all genres, the melodrama seems to sink further and further into camp and self-mockery as it ages, but The Brute seems to have fermented rather than spoiled. The final scene, like Pedro, still punches hard and leaves bruises.  

The Brute is available on DVD through Facets. Get your copy today. 

Author:  Ora Damelin is a film student at Columbia College Chicago. She loves to share her opinions on film and is delighted-and slightly befuddled-that those opinions are now published online.