Mexico | 2016 | 95 min. | Colour
DIRECTOR’S STATEMENT Chills and nostalgia accompany my memories. It's not the earthquake itself, or the objects bouncing and dancing, or the dizziness. It is not the fear and anxiety that stuck with me. My father was driving my brother and me down Havre Avenue in Mexico City when suddenly dozens of buildings collapsed like paper toys, just like that. I remember the smell, the smell of gas escaping from the pipes shattered beneath hundreds of tons of rubble. I remember the smell of death seizing my nose. It was very early in the morning. I remember the smell that taught me what death is. There is a saying in my country, a joke that has some truth to it, it says, “you already have something to tell your grandchildren.” And yes, this is what I want to tell them: It was 7:19 am on September 19, 1985. I was 12. An earthquake destroyed much of Mexico City, leaving thousands of people buried under rubble and thousands more without any utilities. The catastrophe reached Mexico. The greatest tragedy struck Mexico, a country that was not ready to take it.