Of Kites and Borders is one of those rare documentaries made in the developing world that manages to uplift, in spite of a dismal context. The hopes of children form the backbone of the film, and as a result, it feels universal and miraculously optimistic, suggesting that dreams, regardless of their outcome, are a valuable end in themselves.
Directed by Spanish journalist Yolanda Pividal, the film follows four working children in the border town of Tijuana who look longingly toward the U.S., speculating about the good (“less pollution!”) and evil (“bombs!”) they imagine exists on the other side. We get to know Maria del Carmen, a nine-year-old trash collector; Edie Escobar, a 15-year-old immigrant smuggler; and Gomez brothers Jorge Adrian and Jaime Fernando, age 11 and 10, who perform as wrestlers on the streets.
The film vividly captures the poverty of its characters: flies buzzing round plates of food, dirt covering the children’s feet and blackening their fingernails, houses made of falling planks and bags, and floors of dirt. Somehow, the documentary manages to have a slow and rooted pace while simultaneously feeling urgent and dynamic. An inevitable byproduct, perhaps, of having at its core the dreams of youth who are prisoners on the edge of two worlds.
The documentary has one major flaw that needs mentioning: it often feels stilted. The philosophical dialogue of young children interacting with each other sometimes seems too good to be true, particularly when dealing with the film’s unifying theme of the border. At times, it seems the directors of the film are coordinating interactions between characters to make the documentary more cohesive, raising questions about the ethics of documentary film-making, in terms of what kind of embellishments (if any) should be permissible for the benefit of plot or pace.
One of the most beautiful scenes in the film suffers from this unfortunate flaw. Maria is sitting in a large gray bucket outside her house as Irene pours water over her head with a bowl, bathing her. It just so happens that Maria is feeling pensive about the border right as water drips into her eyes and soaks her hair.
“Irene, do you know what the border is?” she asks.
“Yes,” her sister responds.
“What is it?”
“It’s what people cross to get to the other side. It’s also where people who don’t have documents get across.”
“Irene, what is the other side?”
“It’s where the Americans are. Those who speak English. That’s the other side.”
It’s a lovely moment that loses power because it seems forced. Later, as Maria’s mother brushes her hair, she and her mother engage in a similar conversation about whether it’s worth crossing the border. At times, however — particularly when the contemplative dialogue is directed at the reporter behind-the-scenes — the film achieves an authenticity that speaks to the evident talent of its probing makers.
The idealism of the characters is rooted in a very real context of suffering and diffulty, which serves as a sobering contrast to the positivity of children. We see Maria searching for scraps of metal in an enormous trash pile with her brother, wearing her trademark pink sandals, just as her father complains about the danger of stepping on infected needles at the site. He confesses he is exhausted, nearly 40 years old and having worked his entire life. The interview hints at possibly hopeless futures for his children; Maria later observes that her father used to smile, and never does anymore.
Edie Escobar, the teenage immigrant smuggler, raises roosters for cock fights to supplement his smuggling income. He draws connections between his two jobs: “These roosters are always ready to fight, and I am ready to help people cross to the other side. That’s my fight.” He acknowledges the risks involved in his desert crossings, but accepts them as necessary concessions in his quest for a decent life in the precarious world he inhabits.
The young brothers who spin and leap through the air on the street, dressed up as professional wrestlers, explain that their family is able to eat thanks to their hard work. But they don’t mind. They plan to be famous someday. Together, they speculate about the parks and zoos and cleanliness on the other side of the border, which they associate with the status to which they aim to someday rise. “Maybe that’s why Americans don’t want Mexicans to cross over there — because they don’t want us to see their beauty!” exclaims Jorge Adrian, spontaneously and sincerely, facing the camera.
The final scenes bring the documentary full circle, as Maria explains why she loves kites: because they direct her gaze up toward the sky, where there is no such thing as borders.
Grade: B
To learn more about the film, visit the Of Kites & Borders website.
