After seeing Roma, I sat in stunned silence. My heart was pounding, and the tears were welling up as if they hadn’t been flowing freely throughout the previous two hours. I wasn’t sure of what I had just experienced, but I knew that it was something that made my heart swell in ways films rarely ever do, a transcendental experience of the most sincere order. This is certainly not an exaggeration – Roma was truly one of the most visceral, emotional artistic experiences of my life, a deeply melancholy exploration on themes and concepts far large than what can be represented on screen. One thought that struck me profoundly was the feeling that I was witnessing film history being made – Roma is destined to be a film that will be considered one of this century’s greatest, a work of utmost importance, a piece of unrestrained, impactful emotional and artistic expression that blurs the boundaries between fact and fiction, and it is already being heralded as one of the most impressive cinematic achievements in recent years. Roma is so many different things – a historical text, a visual autobiography, a social manifesto, a stunning artistic achievement, a film about memory and an intimate family drama with the scope of towering epics. More than anything else, Roma is a masterpiece – and that isn’t a word that should be thrown around recklessly, but it is the starting point for looking at the astonishing achievement that is Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma.

It is difficult to explain what Roma is about – because this isn’t a film necessarily too concerned with the story. It isn’t an experimental work in the truest sense, but the director was attempting something with this film that was quite unorthodox for the kind of film that it is. The film sees Cuarón returning to the roots of his artistic career, where his earliest days as a filmmaker were spent making small but memorable films such as Sólo con Tu Pareja and Y Tu Mamá También – but certainly not with the same intention or style as he had when he was still a novice director. Roma is a family drama, focused on a wealthy family living in the titular Colonia Roma district of Mexico City in the 1970s, during an era of profound social, political and economic upheaval, with student protests and government instability looming. The parents are successful medical professionals, and their four children are mostly raised by the family’s live-in housekeeper and nanny Cleo, played by Yalitza Aparicio, who becomes a second mother to the quartet of children and helps them navigate the tumultuous years of the early 1970s. Cleo is the film’s focal point – a young woman of Mixteco heritage who is not merely an auxiliary part of the household – she stands as a steadfast, firm member of the family, and she consistently grapples with being caught between the worlds of servant and surrogate mother to these children, often taking the form of something more than just a hired helper, but someone ingrained deeply within the family. The film chronicles Cleo’s experiences with the family over roughly the span of a year, where she witnesses change, good and bad, and sees a shifting society that is experiencing its own internal and external change, with Cleo being an observer to a world she struggles to comprehend fully, as well as finding her own unique challenges and overcoming certain obstacles.

At the outset, one of the most remarkable facts about Roma is that it autobiographical, with Cuarón basing much of this film on his own childhood in Mexico City in the early 1970s. It marks a change for the director known for making sweeping science fiction epics like Gravity and Children of Men, and while it is entirely unexpected for a director who is part of a generation of artists who have revitalized genre filmmaking, the result was nothing short of astonishing, and we can see many of Cuarón’s finest qualities still being present, and he is clearly working from the same set of skills that he has honed magnificently throughout his career, while still venturing into unchartered territory with this film, creating an unusually enthralling cinematic experience. It is an introspective journey into the mind of the filmmaker, who takes the bold step to examine his past and represent it in a way that is not egocentric, but rather beautiful both visually and narratively. Yet, even within the confines of being an intimate drama about family, Roma still has the heart of a true epic, a sweeping representation of society as seen through the eyes of ordinary people. There is so much to unpack about Roma, but even if we just look at the underlying intention behind this film, the poignant sharpness is demonstrated with such unwavering passion and intricate control. This is a film made by someone who is introspective to the past, aware of the power of artistic expression and endlessly talented enough to bring them together in a way that is audacious and original, and the film extends beyond simply being Cuarón exploring his own past for the sake of cinema, with Roma evolving into a visual memoir that is narratively potent and aesthetically stunning. More than anything else, Roma establishes precisely what we’ve known all along – Cuarón is one of his generation’s true visionaries, someone who is able to captivate audiences by challenging boundaries of categorization and exploring the depths of the human spirit through the most heartachingly beautiful methods possible. If Roma doesn’t prove that this is a filmmaker in such unequivocal control of his craft, then nothing else will.

Roma is a truly unconventional film, and even though it isn’t entirely audacious in theory, the way it was produced – both in terms of the visual and narrative aspects – remain stark and shimmering. Cuarón has made a film that is focused on many different ideas, but the central one – both in terms of the characters and the film as a whole – is that of memory. Roma appears to be Cuarón taking a heartwrenching voyage into the depths of his past, and the past of those around him, to conjure up the experience of being young. It isn’t enough to just replicate the particular historical moment visually and narratively – there needs to be some sense of resonance in how the story is conveyed, how the era is portrayed. Cuarón is looking back at his childhood not through a rose-tinted lens but through the stark monochrome of his 65mm, black-and-white camera, which creates an unsettlingly gorgeous image of Mexico City, but also one that shows the aridness of memory, and how the past can haunt us in ways that are not entirely pleasant. Roma is undeniably a film that foregrounds memory – not only does it see Cuarón revisiting his own personal history, but the characters themselves deal with their own memories – regrets and successes, heartbreak and joy – these are the elements that compose an individual and shape them into their future selves.

Yet, despite being a film that looks at memory and the experience of being young, Roma never feels like a traditional childhood story – it never relies on the same conventions that these kinds of films tend to, and oftentimes we see the film navigating its own unique direction. There is a profound lack of nostalgia in this film, at least in the traditional sense. Cuarón doesn’t make it appear like his childhood was filled with joy and reckless juvenile abandon. Roma is a complex tapestry of Mexico in the 1970s, a series of episodic moments woven together to create a fully-realized, singular vision of not only this particular temporal moment but life in general. Whether it be in the quietly heartbreaking moments of personal despair, such as the third-act revelation that the family at the centre of the film are about to undergo a massive change through divorce, or a enormously significant moments that leave a lasting impact, such as the Corpus Christi massacre that finds itself being amongst the most heartwrenching moments of the film, Roma is a series of moments which are independent enough to not need some overarching metanarrative to bind them together, but still being symbiotic enough with the moment alongside it to be a brutally honest portrayal of life through the eyes of one ordinary family. Most certainly within the neo-realist tradition of filmmaking, Roma is a film that takes an unconventional approach to the historical and autobiographical films by not merely replicating events, but meditating on moments, many of which occur in the background of scenes, making it not a single story, but many. Seeing the past brought to life is effective, but what really lingers is how this film evokes the precise emotions that one would feel in such moments, which is perhaps the greatest merit of Roma – it doesn’t merely show the past to the audience, but rather places the audience firmly within these moments, where we can experience them with something close to the potency of the real thing. There is no way to fully encapsulate the panoply of emotions evoked in these moments, and it is impossible to fully portray reality, but Roma comes unquestionably close to doing so.

Cuarón has had a great career, and as a result, he’s caught the attention of some remarkably talented people, getting a variety of notable performers into the fray for his films. Roma is not only unconventional for the fact that it is a much more intimate film than what we’d expect from the director, but also because there is a distinctive lack of recognizable performers in this film. The leading role of Cleo was played by Yalitza Aparicio, who is making her acting debut with this film. It has been mentioned several times in press for this film that she was a schoolteacher before being cast in this film, and if there was ever an instance of a true “star is born” narrative, it is very clear here – Aparicio brings such a soulful sensitivity to her portrayal – it is not a performance inundated with much external emotion, which often makes it both easier and far more difficult for an actor to play, especially one without any previous experience, yet she plays Cleo with the quiet confidence of a true professional. It is a deeply internal performance, relying on restraint and subtlety to convey the inner-workings of this character and her mind. It is a performance that thrives on the lasting impact of a subtle gesture, a quick glance or a vague smile, an uncertain nod or a moment of excruciatingly beautiful silence. It is an introspective performance, and Aparicio is truly extraordinary. The other great performance in this film comes on behalf of Marina de Tavira, who portrays the matriarch of the central family, someone who is a bundle of contradictions – as a mother she can be genuinely loving or brutally volatile, which extends to her relationship with Cleo, who is often at the end of both her emotional abuse and her unflinching adoration. It always is a risk to cast performers who aren’t particularly well-known, or entirely newcomers to the industry, but there is nothing more triumphant than when it pays off, and the result is something as extraordinary as Roma, where the cast of unknowns – whether in central roles such as Aparicio and de Tavira, or in very small roles appearing in a single scene (a man singing in the middle of a burning forest while others rush to put out the fire, an empathetic medical professional who has to deliver the news that a baby has been born dead, or a woman desperately trying to save her friend who has been shot during the massacre, screaming for help), the cast is operating exceptionally well, and bring so much realistic nuance to this film, imbuing it with a certain gravitas that would not have been possible if established or recognized stars had been part of it, and each role is performed with such extraordinary sincerity, we often forget we are watching a work of fiction.

Roma is a film that isn’t only narratively powerful, but also technically a marvel. Understandably, this is the part of my review where I’d normally mention the creative aspects of a film, musing on their technique and how the visual and technical aspects complement the narrative, almost reducing them to an afterthought. Make no mistake, however – Roma is an astonishing film for a number of reasons, and it is how the film is delivered that lingers on the most, and perhaps even overtakes the story as being the most memorable part of the entire film.  Cuarón is not only a marvellous storyteller, but he also is an undeniably brilliant visual stylist, and even though Roma is an intimate family drama, he still creates a film as visually-striking as any of his more audacious productions. Filmed in gorgeous black-and-white, Roma is a shimmering social odyssey, a journey into the 1970s that is as beautiful as it is complex. Cuarón, serving as the film’s cinematographer, constructs a vision of Mexico City that is devastatingly beautiful – he abides to the general concept of the “camera-stylo” technique (which was popularized by Agnès Varda, whose film Cléo from 5 to 7 was very clearly an influence on this film, right down to the protagonists of both films having the same name), whereby the camera is used as a pen, a dynamic tool to “write” a specific visual story. There are moments of such breathtaking beauty throughout the film, and Cuarón masterfully controls the camera, lingering on a particular shot for longer than one would expect, which isn’t only an artistic choice, but a narrative one, utilizing the concept of a long-take with such masterful precision – the Corpus Christi massacre, one of the most shocking mass murders in world history, is shown almost entirely through a single shot from a department store window, which is only one of several examples of Cuarón’s prowess as a filmmaker, as representing something so grandiose in a way that is still intimate but endlessly overwhelming in scope takes a great deal of audacity, and the director clearly exercises his creativity in this regard, making this one of the most impressive directorial achievements of the year. Roma is just a wonder of a film, with the gorgeous visuals, the precise editing and the lack of a score creating a harrowing but stunning experience that will remain with the viewer for an extremely long time.

Yet, we can’t look at Roma as being just a film – it is something much larger than that. It is a work that has so much meaning, and will undoubtedly resonate with anyone, regardless of whether or not they can relate to this film and its message. It is a film that looks at life and celebrates it, in spite of the heartbreak, despair and pain that comes from being human. Being alive is not an easy experience for anyone, and Cuarón ensures that his film makes the pivotal statement that even though suffering is inevitable – and for some, it is more frequent and far more impactful – life is still a beautifully fragile thing, something that is, beyond anything else, a miracle. Roma is filled with misery and despair – but beneath that, there is a portion of hope, pulsating with passion and optimism that everyone has their place and that there is always a better day on the horizon. Roma looks at both the social situation of Mexico in the 1970s, being a broad humanitarian epic, as well as being a profoundly touching ode to family and the individual’s journey to self-actualization. Cuarón combines the grandiose and the intimate in his endeavour to look at life, breaking it down to its simplest form, lamenting on the past and peering towards the future, whether it be through large historical events that impact society, or small individual moments in the mind of an ordinary person. There is something so heartbreakingly powerful about Roma, something that extends far beyond the story or the filmmaking – a sense of awe and wonder, an intricate understanding of the human condition, and a deeply sentimental (but never trite) adoration of the past. It is difficult to determine exactly what it is that makes Roma such a powerful film, but whatever it, is, Cuarón made something truly extraordinary.

Roma is a daring film, one that soars on the sheer willpower of its bold fascination to portray life in a way that is brutally honest, but also toweringly beautiful. Cuarón has made an undeniably important film – it is often a very unsettling experience, and there is a great deal of sadness present throughout it, but it is all for the sake of representing reality, showing the truthfulness of life and how it is not something with a particular coherent line of events, but rather peppered with heartbreak and happiness, where we find ourselves in situations that are unpredictable, where life’s journey is shown to be entirely unexpected as we make our own metaphysical journey towards wherever it is that we’re going. Roma is a film that just cannot be reduced to just a few simple thoughts – it is a broad meditation on life and existence, and its impact is only matched by its extraordinary visual beauty and mesmerizing nature. There is just so much that can be said about Roma, but nothing is more true than the underlying pulchritude of this film, both narratively and visually, with it being a deeply personal love letter to life from a director who has ventured around the cinematic world, trying his hand at different genres, conventions and dimensions, only to return to his roots, exploring the childhood where his creativity began, with poignant melancholy and meaningful sensitivity. Roma is unquestionably an incredible film, one that left me entirely speechless and exasperated from the emotional intensity and the soulful splendour of a film that is destined to be a pivotal work of art, a piece that will doubtlessly inspire future artists in the way that previous artists inspired Cuarón. There is no other way to say it: Roma is a masterpiece, and I won’t be forgetting this masterful work anytime soon.