Mark Reviews Movies: A COP MOVIE

Follow on Facebook | Follow on Twitter | Become a Patron

Review by Mark Dujsik | November 4, 2021

Alonso Ruizpalacios' A Cop Movie is a narratively layered documentary about fact and fiction, a genuine sense of duty and seemingly inescapable corruption, and how the telling of stories can bring a deeper understanding to systems and the people within them. The film is a bit too in love with its central gimmick to truly delve into any of these ideas with much depth, but it's a fascinating, line-blurring experience, nonetheless.

At first, Ruizpalacios presents this story as a sort of in-the-moment ride-along with Teresa, a police officer in Mexico City. She is 34, has been with the department for almost two decades, and explains how her father, himself a cop, inspired her career choice, even as he constantly attempted to dissuade his daughter of her ambitions. We watch Teresa, from a camera on the dashboard of her patrol car, drive through the city and arrive at the address of a call for medical attention.

That's when the camera switches from a wholly static and, hence, objective one to a handheld one, following Teresa as she aids a woman give birth, while waiting on an ambulance that arrives too late to be of any help. This is part of the way of the city, as the job of a cop takes on more responsibility than any of them are trained to perform. That's the positive side—that there are good cops, such as Teresa, to rise to such occasions—and a negative side—that such a situation of neglect in terms of public services exists.

The rest of Teresa's story only vaguely maintains the illusion that this is a traditional documentary. We see Teresa, going about her routine patrols, but she also speaks aloud to herself—not at all to the camera and only with a half awareness that anyone is watching her. She explains more about her job, the city, and her past. There's a potent moment in which the cop joins her father and his partner within a flashback to an incident in which the latter was killed. He was trying to obtain a bribe from someone driving the wrong way, and after an unseen argument, the partner is shot point-blank by the driver.

Teresa's father is shot and wounded in the aftermath, and the problems don't stop with that fatal incident. After, the father has to be driven to the hospital by fellow officers (The ambulance shortage has persisted since then, apparently), who can't do anything to help, for insurance reasons and a lack of real training, and could face repercussions if anything goes wrong in the process of transportation. It's little wonder the father, beyond some sexist attitudes, wouldn't want this career for Teresa, but she still explains how determined she was, how much work she had to do, and how proud she is to finally be a cop—until recently, that is.

The semi-illusion continues with another officer, named José but known by his nickname "Montoya." He has other stories, similar to Teresa's (He became a cop because his older brother was one), and shares many with her. The two are in a serious romantic relationship, having met on the job and earning the collective nickname of "the Love Patrol."

There's real respect and admiration between the two of them, especially professionally, as Montoya recalls a foot chase, led by Teresa, of a man who robbed a convenience store. Ruizpalacios stages the memory like a dynamic action sequence in a movie, with Teresa sliding across the hood of the squad car, running down the stairs of subway station, and standing off with the thief, her gun raised, across some train tracks. Whether or not this re-creation is accurate is beside the point. It's how the two—and, perhaps more pointedly, Montaya, who beams with pride—recall the event, and the scene says a lot about how they see each other and themselves as both cops and heroes.

From such formal trappings (the in-camera narration, the flashbacks, and that action sequence), it soon becomes clear that we're not actually watching the real Teresa and Montoya, but from the authenticity of the language and speech patterns of the people on screen, it's equally apparent that we're hearing the real people. Ruizpalacios makes that disconnect part of the narrative here, when a technical issue occurs during an interview, revealing different voices in the background from the people on screen.

Suddenly, we're not watching and hearing two cops. We're witnessing two actors, playing "Teresa" and "Montoya," taking a quick break from their roles. Almost immediately, the film becomes a more straightforward and completely different type of documentary.

It's still about Teresa and Montoya, who eventually reveal why they ended up telling these stories—directly and by way of the actors—of how their belief in duty became disillusioned by corruption. It's also, though, about Mónica Del Carmen, who has been playing Teresa, and Raúl Briones, who has been portraying Montoya, as they go through police training, memorize the real cops' stories, and otherwise prepare for these roles as actors. The attempt of transformation within that process also offers another perspective, since both actors, distrustful of the police as an institution to different degrees, have to understand their characters.

How much that understanding can actually change the actors' opinions—or ours, for that matter—is a major question here, and it's one that Ruizpalacios, like his cast, presents as another kind process. A Cop Movie doesn't provide simple or easily digestible answers to how perception shapes reality, the problem of corruption within the police, or what any of these people—actors and cops—have learned from their experiences. Still, the questions are vital and, here, are presented in a unique, dynamic way.

Back to Home

Buy Related Products