Seven years ago, Zdeněk Tyc portrayed in a very convincing way the tense relations between white Czechs and Roma in his film Smradi (The Brats). The film was based on a screenplay by Tereza Boučková and was about white parents raising adopted Romani boys. Tyc succeeded in avoiding the usual clichés and created a sublet and complex piece of work, a contribution to the debate on the issue of Czech Roma.
Tyc wrote the screenplay for his new film El Paso himself, and you can tell that, as screenwriter, he lacks the confidence he has as a director.
After his recent, Slovak-produced Malé oslavy (Small Celebrations), Tyc has made another raw social drama, an honest effort to delve beneath the surface of social problems. But like in the case of Malé oslavy, the result is somewhat perplexing.
The stigma of origin
Maybe part of the problem is the main character’s air of resignation. Like Anna Šišková in Malé oslavy, in El Paso, Irena Horváthová (Věra) finds herself in an unenviable situation. After the tragic death of her husband, she is left alone with seven children and unable to secure social benefits for her family. She is unable to pay off debt, plus has the added stigma that goes with her Romani ethnicity. Instead of trying to solve her problems, she starts drowning in them and gives up. What’s more, she refuses outside help, offered by a lawyer, journalists and a social worker. Stubbornly, she just keep repeating that she did nothing wrong.
One could almost question whether she deserves help, when she clearly doesn’t seem interested in it, and if she even wants to improve her situation. The film does not offer any solution.
The character of Věra is seen from the outside. There is no visible effort to get closer to her and to find out what lies beneath her refusal to accept help. This is paradoxical given that this character is based on an actual woman.
The term “El Paso” is allegedly a Romani slang term for an assault. In a way, the film is a form of assault. Tyc invades the world of Roma, without offering any message or trying to promote some sort of understanding. His approach is in line with the attitude of the majority of Czech society, which looks at the problems of the Roma from a distance, without trying to find out what the causes are.
A blind romantic
One could admire Tyc’s effort, but the potential remains unfulfilled. He has the approach of a blind romantic, who tries to see only what he wants to see, and fails the see what is most important – that Věra is simply a passive woman, which is deadening quality for the main character of a film.
Another problem with gleaning some message from Tyc’s film is its clumsiness – awkward dialogues and simplified situations, the inconsistent acting of some of the Romani non-actors and the exalted clichés of all kinds.
The final result is a film that can, despite its romantic efforts, harm Roma rather than helping them because the character of Věra portrays Roma as helpless, closed off and unwilling to accept help.
The hidden and overt racism of Czech society that was well illustrated in Smradi is suppressed in this film. It’s usually the white Czechs who are noble and helpful and make the passive Věra seem all the more annoying.
Tyc here was probably mainly interested in realistically portraying life within the Romani community. And here El Paso succeeds to a degree, revealing the difficult life behind the crumbling walls of a social housing unit on the city outskirts. Věra is struggling to eke out a living in a tiny flat, living from suitcases, surrounded by screaming children and facing the constant visits of social workers. The social workers, portrayed by Linda Rybová, David Prachař and Igor Chmela, seem helpless, and it’s hard to understand why there are even trying to help Věra when it seems so futile. It makes the viewer wonder what motivates the social workers to spend time with her children pushing a broken-down mini van across the Czech countryside. And it makes them hope in vain that they will get something from this film “invasion”.
