MEXICAN CINEMA: A RECENT PORTRAIT

An overview of ten selected films shown at the Guadalajara Film Festival

The 41st edition of the Guadalajara International Film Festival presented a broad selection of contemporary Mexican cinema, ranging from intimate dramas to politically engaged documentaries and experimental works. Drawing from ten Mexican features screened during the festival, this overview reflects on recurring themes, tonal contrasts, and the diversity of cinematic approaches present in this year’s program.

The 41st edition of the Guadalajara International Film Festival (FICG) was held between April 17 and 25, 2026, in Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico. It is considered one of the most important showcases for the exposure, appreciation, promotion, and distribution of Mexican and Ibero-American cinema, being one of the most solid film festivals in Latin America.

In this article I review ten of the fourteen Mexican features I had the chance to see, thanks to the wonderful opportunity to be part of the FIPRESCI Jury, representing the International Federation of Film Critics. I place them in no particular order and without any specific preference. My intention: to summarize—only that—what I consider to be the main contenders for an award in the festival. Let’s begin.

The Rest is Memory (Lo que nos van dejando, 2026, Issa García Ascot, Mexican director)

Immersed in problems with alcohol and enduring a chaotic life, Sara, played by Natalia Solián, Mexican actor, a young biologist, is sent against her will to a desolate botanical station—in the Veracruz jungle—to recover, organize, and pack the samples under study before the facility is shut for good. Against all odds, it is there, in the most unlikely of places, that she comes to understand the depths of her emotional state, rooted in events from her childhood. While the film takes its time to define its course and its motivations, the initial thinness of the plot ultimately strengthens and justifies itself. Well-acted and with a very outstanding sound design.

Oca (Oca, 2025, Karla Badillo, Mexican director)

Rafaela, played by Natalia Solián, Mexican actor, a nun in a struggling rural congregation, has premonitory dreams that she interprets as messages from God that could indicate changes in her mission, moving her towards the role of messenger. The announcement of a new bishop’s arrival prompts her to find him, both to receive his guidance and to seek urgent help for the convent. The mission becomes a confusing, exhausting odyssey on the verge of getting lost, intertwining the nun’s path with that of others who are similarly pursuing fruitless quests. Certainties and doubts about faith, vocation, and purpose come into play. Are these manifestations of God’s plans or simply life itself? An ambitious film with evident merits, it starts off brilliantly but also, alternately, seems to lose and regain its way in some later segments. And maybe, it reaches a somehow too ambiguous ending.

City of the Dead (Ciudad de muertos, 2026, José Manuel Cravioto, Mexican director)

Enrique, played by Jero Medina, Mexican actor, a renowned crime scene photographer whose work is published in major newspapers, becomes embroiled in an investigation by the Mexican Secret Service, as several of his photos are believed to offer clues towards the capture of a serial killer. Stressed by the situation, the man loses his balance, blurring the lines between reality, hallucinations, and memories, while simultaneously shifting from an observing witness to an observed and followed object. Set in the 1960s and filmed in black and white, the film is inspired by the important photographic work of Enrique Metinides, Mexican photojournalist, but is entirely detached from the biopic genre, as its plot—treated as a kind of thriller—is entirely fictional. While it is interesting, the film is uneven, as the layering and blending of elements make its final act confusing.

I Am Mario (Soy Mario, 2026, Sharon Kleinberg, Mexican director)

In the midst of a gender transition, Mario, played by Oustin León, Mexican actor, becomes unexpectedly pregnant, which presents him with considerable difficulties in an environment of machismo and prejudice. From this point on, the determined pursuit of his inner identity, the concept of masculinity, and the genuine desire to be a father come into play, obviously under tension. Despite the understandable risks of her premise, director Kleinberg delivers a film that explores the various facets of such situations—including the impact on families—with balance, empathy, and a never-forced perspective. The main performances are convincing.

The Son-in-Law (El yerno, 2026, Gerardo Naranjo González, Mexican director)

From always being in the shadow of his wealthy in-laws, José, played by Adrián Vázquez, Mexican actor, ambition propels him to increasingly important positions of power in a Mexico controlled by drug money, amidst complete impunity, an environment where success is not based on merit or effort, but rather on “connections” and synergy with chronic, endemic corruption. Although it may seem hard to believe, given what’s been said, the film is treated in a tone closer to comedy—to the extent that this is possible. Perhaps that’s why the film falls short, beyond its obvious good intentions, and isn’t bold enough, sharp enough, incisive enough, and, even less, “humorous” enough. Nevertheless, its poignant, critical observations sustain it, and, I suspect, will in general appeal to audiences.

The Same Blood (La misma sangre, 2025, Angel Ricardo Linares Colmenares, Mexican director)

A serene yet resonant and heartfelt documentary about the 30-year struggle of the Peasant Organization of the Sierra del Sur, in the Mexican state of Guerrero, to bring to justice those responsible for the 1995 Aguas Blancas massacre, and to demand the release of imprisoned political comrades and the compensation to which victims and their families are righteously entitled. At the centre of the narrative is Norma Mesino, Mexican activist and social leader, who came to lead the organization after the murder of three of her brothers. This is a genuinely relevant film, not only for denouncing the historical injustices that motivate it, but also, and perhaps more fully, for Norma’s courageous and admirable social commitment, and for her humanistic dimension as well.

Our Body is an Expanding Star (Nuestro cuerpo es una estrella que se expande, 2025, Semillites and Tania Hernández Velasco, Mexican directors)

Although presented as a documentary, this is more of an experimental film of sensations, discoveries and rediscoveries, memories and suppositions, questions and certainties, all born from the close, indelible bond between sibling co-directors Tania and Semillites, who are queer. With the filmmakers at the center of the storytelling, what emerges is a collage of landscapes, earth, salt, ice; the brown geography of their bodies, explored through their lineage; their voices, writings, and drawings, in awe at all that surrounds them; their imagination, facing the doubts and expectations of a future that is, at the very least, uncertain. Consciously or unconsciously, everything is constructed as a kind of necessary protective bubble. This is one of those projects that some see as genius, and others as merely good intentions or perhaps disposable naiveté. Either way, the production’s joyful creativeness is something to be appreciated.

Dear Fátima (Querida Fátima, 2026, Varinia Collective — Lorena Gutiérrez Rangel, Su Kim, Jesús Quintana Vega, Rodrigo Reyes, and Dawn Valadez)

A documentary about the decade-long struggle for justice following the femicide of 12-year-old Fatima Quintana Gutiérrez. Her mother Lorena, her family, and other women who have also lost daughters, sisters, and loved ones, demonstrated for days outside the National Palace, in the zócalo of Mexico City, demanding to be received by President Claudia Sheinbaum, Mexican politician and president of Mexico. There is burning desperation and weariness born from what Lorena describes: “Impunity, corruption, incompetence, and machismo, united to be the perfect storm.” This is the outrageous summary of what this courageous, deeply painful testimony denounces and makes evident, solidly crafted amidst so much unbearable frustration and sorrow.

The Liar’s Circle (El círculo de los mentirosos, 2026, Nancy Cruz Orozco, Mexican director)

Cecilia, played by Dayane Romo, Mexican actor, who aspires to be a writer, leaves her small town for Guadalajara, where she enrolls at the university to study literature. When she befriends and becomes the accomplice of three irreverent, defiant, anti-establishment students, her solitude transforms into companionship and her naiveté into learning experiences, leading to a growth permeated by both good and not-so-good experiences that change her life. In this adventure, she delves into feminism and discovers rebellion, sexual diversity, the “not-so-pleasant” underbelly of cultural circles, as well as camaraderie, solidarity, and genuine affection. A film—not without some stereotypes—about pursuing dreams and the need to change course when obstacles arise. The soundtrack is fantastic, by the way.

No Translation Required (No se requieren traducciones, 2026, Rafael José Altamira Carbajal, Mexican director)

Paco, played by Cristo Fernández, Mexican actor, a taco vendor from Guadalajara, meets and falls in love with Gabby, played by Kelsie McDonald, American actor, an American agent for a Los Angeles fashion corporation. He moves with her to the US, where—despite the girl’s affection and good intentions—his lack of English, racial and cultural differences, as well as immigration restrictions, bring an abrupt end, not so much to “the American dream” but, rather, his dream of a life with Gabby. It sounds like a melodrama, but it is a funny and sharp romantic comedy that exposes, with focus and resonance, the current intolerant climate of borders, walls, and obstacles that stifle and compromise any bonds and intentions of coexistence. So its appearance as a “hygienic” and “harmless” film is perhaps just a facade. And there is something unusual in this film, and very much to be celebrated: regardless of the events and situations, all the characters in the film are genuinely likable, or end up being so.

So: if you are all big movie fans, and are maybe planning a “Mexican vacation” for 2027, consider attending the 42nd edition of the FICG. Every year I find it attractive and stimulating.

Alfredo Naime
Edited by José Teodoro
@FIPRESCI2026