Here's to La Doña

In 1991, not long after I arrived in this country, I saw a TV interview with María Félix, who had starred in dozens of films in the 1940s and 1950s, the so-called “golden age” of Mexican cinema. An imperious figure with abundant hairspray and makeup that appeared to have been applied with a trowel, she was quite comical. Making fun of the Mexican custom of referring to political parties by their initials, she talked about the “FUF” and the “PUP” – the Frente Único de Feos and the Partido Único de Pendejos. If you don’t speak Spanish, ask your friends who do. I am afraid something will get lost in the translation.

The interview – with Verónica Castro on a program called La Movida – caused a lot of polemic because she attacked Mexico City, saying that it had become a filthy sewer. But she was really attacking the government and its politicians. Why couldn’t they keep the city clean?, she asked. Why couldn’t it be more like Paris? (She kept a home in the French capital for decades, and had houses in Mexico City and Cuernavaca.) Click here to see the whole show. (Forewarned is forearmed. It lasts four hours.)

Known with affection and respect as La doña, Félix was not a great actress – she herself said that “my job has been to be attractive” – but she was no doubt a great movie star, with a huge presence and a breathtakingly beautiful face. She died in 2002 on her 88th birthday, and this year – for her 100th anniversary – they have put up a sort of shrine to her (pictured above) in the Polanco metro station. She is probably turning in her grave to be consecrated in the subway, although maybe she can take some comfort that the station is in one of the city’s tonier neighborhoods.

In her 1996 memoir, Todas mis guerras (All My Wars), she wrote: In my life I have been accused of kidnapping my own son, killing my secretary, the robbery of a necklace that was given to me as a wedding present. Also of having married a man just for money, for being another’s lover just to garner publicity, of being a lesbian and a drug addict. I don’t pretend to be an angel, because for that you need a halo, but neither am I the devil in the form of a woman.

Thank you for smoking

Not long after I began this blog, a law was passed in Mexico City banning smoking in restaurants and bars. At the time, so many people smoked here that I thought the statute would be resolutely ignored. To my surprise, just about everyone complied; it was the subject of one of my first posts. Since then, it has been a lot easier to eat and drink in public places; you can go home without wheezing like an asthmatic and smelling like an ashtray.

However, a couple of years ago, I noticed a man smoking at the next table to me at a sidewalk cafe. I asked him to stop, but a large woman at another table, quite vehemently, told me that if I didn't like it I could lump it and go elsewhere. I mentioned that it was against the law to smoke in restaurants, and even more aggressively, the lady told me that I was wrong.

It took me a long time to get the story straight, but if I understand correctly, the tobacco companies lobbied very hard among local politicians, and got regulations passed that it could be at the discretion of management whether or not to allow people to smoke at sidewalk tables in bars and restaurants. Mexican waiters would be loathe to tell their customers not to do anything, so now the outdoor tables -- obviously the best seats in the house when the weather is good -- are loaded with smokers. While having my lunch the other day in Colonia Condesa, I was downwind from Poindexter over here. He made the experience less appetizing.

Well, the ban was fun while it lasted.

A hundred chilangos

How many Mexicans can a foreigner meet in two weeks? That was an arbitrary question that Jason Schell asked himself before embarking on his current art project. Schell -- who hails from Pennsylvania, but has lived in the D.F. since 2008 -- got a taxi driver's license and tooled around the city for 14 days. Needless to say, each one of his passengers asked what a gringo was doing driving a taxi in Mexico City.

This was his chance to explain that he is a painter and wanted to do a series of portraits of 100 chilangos. About half of the people he drove let him take their photo, and signed a release allowing him to later do their portrait. He is currently about halfway through the series of paintings.

His best passengers were old men, who liked to tell their stories and always left tips. Older women tended to be mistrustful and wouldn't allow him to take their picture. A prostitute, on her way to an assignation, suggested that her face was not her best feature and that perhaps he'd like to a more complete photograph. A drunken passenger wouldn't tell Schell exactly where he was going, and kept asking him questions along the lines of, "Does your family know where you are?" and "Will your friends miss you when you're gone?" The artist was sure that he had a serial killer in the back seat, and luckily was able to ditch him when the man had to go pee.

When he is not driving a cab, Schell teaches graphic design at the American School. He has exhibited in both the U.S. and Mexico, and in fact, you can see some of his work in two metro stations. He hopes that when he finishes the portrait series that they will be exhibited in different parts of the country and eventually find a permanent home in Mexico City.

Here's a link to a video with more information about the taxi project.