Such a frustrating disappointment

hyped garbage

The movie's neither hopeful in contrived ways, nor hopeless in different contrived ways. Somehow it manages to be wonderful

It’s sentimental, ridiculously long and only occasionally funny

A pretty good and disturbing look at the drug traffic 'culture' in Juarez, Mexico and the music that represents it, literally.Big time drug bosses pay these musicians to write theme-songs for them to enjoy for themselves and to send a message out to the police and rival gangs that you should not mess with them.If you don't speak the language the folk songs sounds like happy fiesta music perhaps about wooing a girl or something like that but the happy music has some rather disturbing lyrics about the life of various criminals.It is bizarre to see big crowds of people in their concerts singing joyfully about kidnapping and decapitating people, when you know that all these songs represents real people and real events.They also follow one police around who's trying to do the best job he can but is unable to because the criminals have more power than the police does.So yeah worth seeing.

This is quite an interesting documentary by Israeli filmmaker Shaul Schwarz who follows police and musicians connected with the sadistic and violent Mexican drug cartel. The film is called 'Narco Cultura' and is a scary, yet hilarious examination of the music that exploits the drug war in Mexico as well as the never ending pursuit of the drug lords by the Mexican police. I don't expect this making anybody's Top 10 documentary list, due to its repetitiveness, but should play well and might even make the rounds on VOD.If you are unfamiliar with narco corridos, they are known as drug ballads and were featured in the TV shows 'The Shield' and 'Breaking Bad'. A narco corrido is a song, primarily created by a Mexican band consisting of a waltz or polka type beat with accordions, a horn or two, and has brutal lyrics that talk about real life drug lords and the ongoing drug situation in Mexico. It's like gangsta-rap with a polka beat in Spanish, but more hardcore, as it usually features chopping up bodies, mass murders, and kidnapping. It basically glorifies the drug lords and their crimes.One of these musicians lives in L.A. and goes by Edgar Quintero, who has a band named Buknas de Culiacan. He tells us that he and the other rappers like himself scour websites for news on the violent drug cartels and their vicious murders for their inspiration and their songs. They even go so far as to meet with the drug lords and their henchmen to get stories to put in their songs, to which they are paid in drug money, and even weapons.Meanwhile, Richi Soto, is a crime scene investigator in Juarez, Mexico, the world's most violent city, who investigates the cartel's murders and kidnapping cases. He tells us how a lot of his colleagues have been assassinated by the cartel, and how he has to take sever precautions with his own life and his family, in order not to meet the same dire consequence for just performing his job. We even see very graphic photos and videos of the murders, which is horrifying to say the least.What is so sickening and sad, is that these so called musicians have a giant following, which is mainly the young Latino crowd, who revel in these lyrics and hold these drug lords and their crimes as if they were golden idols. Every concert is packed with a young crowd of Latinos who know every violent word, dance, and cheer these frightening songs. Even the musicians brandish weapons on stage, even a bazooka. Above, I mentioned this was a hilarious look at this situation, and I mean that these hardcore lyrics and stories are set to an accordion and plays out like a mariachi band. It just doesn't seem to mix well, especially when these bands play at club like venues with laser lights.If two things are evident in this documentary, they are that some of the law enforcement are just as corrupt as the criminals themselves and the musicians themselves wish they were a part of the drug cartel, but have made their money exploiting their hero's lives. One thing for sure is that I might be too scared to step inside Juarez. But what makes this documentary suffer, is the offbeat pace and unnatural flow to it. Not too mention, we see the same scene over and over, but with different people. This could have been better as an hour long HBO special, rather than the 104 minute doc it is.

"It smells of blood and death, and 50 meters from here, across the border, no one wants to know what happens, and they shut their eyes. I miss the Juarez where I grew up, where I played. Will it return again? What is the limit? Why go on? But at the same time, here I am, in my beloved Juarez." Another scary-wacky documentary along the lines of the "Act of Killing" from Indonesia. The truth is indeed stranger than fiction. 60,000 dead in Mexico since 2006. It is all taking place so near to the U.S., yet so far away from consciousness for many. Looking across the border recently from El Paso, I tried to imagine what it was like in Juarez. I did not imagine such insanity; palace style graveyards for dealers, broken systems for justice and law enforcement, the perverse glorification of the violence, the extremes people will go to in order to survive, . . .

Every American should see this film, even though I think the 'values' it expresses are downright evil. People should see it just to be warned about this disease of violence and murder that is metastasizing on our southern border. As documentary cinema it's pretty good; it follows certain characters who have an intimate involvement of the drug culture and drug trade. There is no narration, just interviews with essentially two main players: one a Mexican CSI investigator, and the other a morally ambiguous songwriter who specializes in 'narcocorridos', songs about the Mexican drug trade and the carnage that goes with it. Narcocorridos exploit sensational stories of murder and violence, naming real events, real drug lords and real victims, and generally casting them in a heroic aura which is far better than these criminal scumbags deserve. Corridos, songs which tell stories, are a venerable tradition in Mexican folk music. Traditionally they have a sweet, lyrical quality, telling tales of Pancho Villa or the revenge of jilted lovers and the exploits of famous bandits. Of late the corrido has taken a darker turn, celebrating the nihilistic deeds and deaths of narcotraficantes and in general glorifying and promoting the culture of trafficking and murder. For this reason narcocorridos have been banned in Mexico as an incitement to violence. And, unavoidably, since the songs often name players, dates and locations the bands themselves become partisans in the drug wars and have become too often the victims of the mayhem they celebrate. The songwriter interviewed in this documentary lives in California and makes his money off the public's fascination with the horrors of the drug trade. His band features, along with the traditional instruments like tuba and accordion, a bazooka, which is shown but not, we must hope, played on stage. Gone are the bittersweet sounds of Los Alegres de Teran or even Los Cadetes de Linares and instead we have musicians with attitude. They seem to be really good musicians but their music is drowned out by the attitude. On the other hand, we also follow a young policeman whose job is to collect forensic evidence from crime scenes after the shootouts between rival gangs. This often involves severed body parts strewn conspicuously about the neighborhood as a message to the other guys. It's an awful, thankless, job because few of the murders are solved and the corruption of the Mexican authorities is epic. He is careful, dedicated and in danger. Policemen in the northern states are killed on a regular basis. This fellow represents the best of Mexican manhood, unlike the locos you see posing with their pistols and their AKs. You get to see what he's up against. He is the real hero, but is anybody going to write a corrido about him? The problem with the drug culture is that is isn't actually a culture, with its traditional values. It is instead the absence of values, the absence of culture, a black hole that threatens to swallow light itself. Santa Muerte is not a real saint. She is the anti-saint. Near the end we see an entire cemetery where the rich drug dealers go when they die (seldom of natural causes). Each mausoleum is like a big ornate church with domes and cupolas and there looks to be a whole city of them. And the windows are glazed with bulletproof glass. The drug culture becomes a parody of itself.