“This is the first film I’ve made where the hero believes in God.”
I think that was a good choice for director Alex Cox. Highway Patrolman (El patrullero) may be his best film, as it rises from an interest in a cultural reality, as opposed to a a worship of movie lore. The undeniably talented Cox transcended the semi-punk L.A. scene with the comic Repo Man, and his Sid and Nancy became the only non-documentary movie about the punk scene to be embraced by filmgoers. Embracing Sam Peckinpah made for some fun pictures (Straight to Hell) but didn’t develop Cox’s career in a particularly useful way, although his political/historical opus Walker was so genuinely anti-Imperialist that Universal did everything they could to see that it didn’t get shown. And Universal was the studio that proudly promoted the blatantly anti-American films of Costa-Gavras!
Highway Patrolman relates the adventures of an idealistic young man who wants to do good as a cop on the open highway. Pedro Rojas (Roberto Sosa) graduates proudly and is assigned to the rough roads in rural desert country. At first he cuts a straight profile, refusing bribes and keeping his nose clean, but the demands of his superiors for ticket quotas (“No matter what they’ve done, they’ve always broken the law!”) and the general corruption take their toll. Even his pal Anibal (Bruno Bechir) is cutting corners, and warning him not to interfere with drug runners. Pedro gets married to the demanding Griselda (Zaide Silvia Gutiérrez) but also begins drinking and begins a relationship with the drug-addicted prostitute Maribel (Vanessa Bauche). He’s also wounded in the line of duty. A tragedy eventually sets Pedro on a personal mission outside his job description — to nail the drug runners that killed someone he cares about.
The description sounds like a generic action picture, and Alex Cox gleefully explains that the movie got made because a Japanese investor envisioned the script as a ‘Mexican samurai film. That’s true, in that Pedro Rojas enters a corrupt system and works out his own personal compromise with morality and the law. But Highway Patrolman is much more — it’s the universal story about someone trying to do good in a world organized on different lines. When Pedro acts noble — taking truant kids back to school, shooting a mad dog — the effect is almost absurd. He ends up like everyone else, living a compromised life where sneaking around keeps things calm, and acting virtuous only makes people suspect you.
The characterizations make an impact because no ironic or sarcastic attitude is imposed on the story. Roberto Sosa’s idealist patrolman begins with his chest puffed out in pride, and slowly goes the way of all flesh. But instead of falling into degradation, he simply assumes his place in the corruption around him. Neither of the women played by Vanessa Bauche and Zaide Silvia Gutiérrez are ‘types.’ Maribel does what she does to survive, but Griselda clearly pursues Pedro for economic reasons as well: as soon as they’re married she complains that there’s not enough money. Pedro doesn’t need to be told that she wants him to start taking bribes.
The absurdity is in the system. Officially, all the cops are on the up-and-up, but they are also in a bind where they can’t be honest and keep their jobs. And who hasn’t had a job where you’re expected to cheat in one way or another, even though nobody acknowledges it?
Alex Cox’s direction is phenomenal; it’s really worthy of study. There is no coverage, and most scenes consist of just one fluid shot. Excellent cameramen handhold the camera as they walk. The long takes are not ostentatious. There are no show-off moves: the camera position shifts naturally to encompass ‘coverage’ angles in one unbroken move. Even the major action scenes use this principle, which makes everything in the film seem all the more real. It’s likely that this worked well for the actors too — there are no ‘cheats’ of action. Cox also uses his crane extremely well, and never ostentatiously; Delmer Daves could have learned a lesson from this Englishman. I think both John Ford and Max Ophüs would approve mightily.
Only once or twice does Cox go experimental on us. Pedro has issues with a father who has disavowed him over his choice of profession, and Pedro’s thoughts causes him to materialize. One scene begins with a surreal, unexplainable ‘thing’ in the frame with Pedro and a police doctor — a thing that disappears across a jarring jump cut. Buñuel would approve as well.
El patrullero is a Mexican movie made mostly by Mexicans but with an English director and writer-producer, both of whom spoke Spanish fluently. That makes a big difference — it’s obvious that the Mexicans embraced the show because a) Cox was providing jobs rather than ripping people off, and b) the screenplay is sympathetic to its Mexican characters.
I’m not sure a great many viewers saw Highway Patrolman; it’s actually something of a minor masterpiece, a perfect blend of art and action picture.Critics didn’t jump up to celebrate it, likely because in 1991 it just wasn’t possible to sell the mainstream on a Spanish language feature like this. Several of the negative notices took on an attitude of, ‘we want Mr. Repo man back,’ dictating to Alex Cox where his auteurist duties lay. Some reviewers that liked the movie described it as a black comedy, when it’s actually as un-ironic as can be. Pedro shoots a mad dog, and instead of being grateful, a woman demands that he pay for a chicken that got shot as well. That’s not an exaggeration in the least. La mordida (The bite, aka the bribe) is built into everything in the culture. I see nothing exaggerated in the movie — even the violent action is understated.
The impressive joke in all this is that Alex Cox and his crew invented their own Highway Patrol organization, with its own cars, uniforms, badges, everything. It seems real to us, but it’s all made up from scratch. The real Mexican highway patrol wouldn’t cooperate, because the script asserts that most highway patrolmen quit after only a couple of years. It probably worked out for the better for the movie, to not have the local officials breathing down their neck over issues of public image. Remember that on The Magnificent Seven, John Sturges was plagued by industry types that insisted that the clothing of the peasants in the movie always be clean and spotless. That’s what happens when you go to Mexico, swing your weight around, and then make a movie about American gunmen ‘rescuing’ the incompetent locals. The officials reading the Patrullero screenplay likely responded to its honesty and compassion. They were probably disposed to like Alex Cox too, after seeing his Walker.
