Lupe Velez

(On Cable TV, December 2020) Seventh and penultimate episode in the Mexican Spitfire series, Mexican Spitfire’s Elephant isn’t one of its finest instalments – and knowing that this was the third film of the series to be released in 1942 does suggest why it feels like just another episode. Pretty much everything that has made the series is repeated here – Lupe Velez’s fast-paced, carefully mangled dialogue; Leon Errol’s dual role/impersonation; the Spitfire’s long-suffering husband; and deliberately goofy situations to heighten the face and slapstick. Yes, an elephant does get brought in at some point and it’s the highlight of the 64-minute film, which also features Velez singing two songs in this instalment’s cabaret club. While Velez is the draw, Errol remains the funniest performer here. If you’re a fan of the series so far, this is an easy if familiar watch. Still, there’s a strong feeling that Mexican Spitfire’s Elephant is repeating previous instalments, that the lemon is being squeezed too dry and that the series is running its course. Accordingly, the next episode, Mexican Spitfire’s Blessed Event, would be the last.

(On Cable TV, November 2020) If I repeat myself in reviews of the Mexican Spitfire series, it’s because the movies themselves are almost carbon copies of each other. In Mexican Spitfire Sees a Ghost, Lupe Vélez once again plays the titular spitfire, ready to unleash torrents of Spanish invectives and threats of divorce at the slightest opportunity, while Leon Errol gets most of the laughs once again by dual-playing a likable uncle and a less likable (but funnier) British lord. The convolutions of the plot, involving hidden bandits, business dealings and the usual intentional blurring of identities of Errol’s characters, are once again at the forefront to fairly good effect. But as usual, the fun is more in the scenes and details than the grander plot. One of the film’s highlights, for instance, is seeing Vélez dressed up as a maid, and screeching loudly as a “Mexican wildcat” in trying to convince a dog to come from underneath some furniture—it’s much funnier than it sounds. Of course, there’s a great blend of sexiness and wackiness at play whenever Vélez shows up in the series: combined with Errol’s very game comedic performances, it makes the series a somewhat consistent experience. The ending is a bit of an explosive puzzler, but it’s not as if anyone cares when the next instalment of the series was there six months later. Film historians infamously remember Mexican Spitfire Sees a Ghost as the top bill of a double-header that featured no less than Orson Welles’s The Magnificent Ambersons in the least desirable spot: mind-boggling but true!

(On Cable TV, November 2020) I concluded my review of Mexican Spitfire by stating that there was a definite danger in seeing too many of that series’ entries in too-close proximity, and I was right—watching Mexican Spitfire Out West barely two weeks later simply laid bare how similar the films of the series felt. At some point, films of a too-consistent series can feel like episodes of a TV show, and this third-of-eight Lupe Velez vehicle is pretty much a rerun of Mexican Spitfire, with dual roles being overused, Velez’s temper tantrums being more irritating than amusing (at this point, you have to wonder why the husband doesn’t simply grant the divorce she’s asking for, and walk away to a more peaceful life) and there’s very little variations from the previous film’s antics in structure or individual jokes. Despite the series heading out to Reno, it still feels as if just changing the previous film’s Mexico for another western locale. (A later instalment, taking the Mexican Spitfire at Sea, would at least have the advantage of a very different environment.) It’s still decently amusing if you’re in for Leon Errol’s dual-role shtick or if you happen to like Velez’s stereotypical fiery Latina persona, but my advice still stands—space those viewings by more than a few weeks.

(On Cable TV, November 2020) Lupe Velez played the character of Carmelita Fuentes in a series of eight films beginning with 1939’s The Girl from Mexico. But there’s a reason why the last six films of the series were all named a variation of “Mexican Spitfire” rather than “the Girl from Mexico” – Mexican Spitfire is a clear case of filmmakers looking at a movie, and essentially remaking it with an emphasis on what works. The humdrum The Girl from Mexico becomes the far more farcical (and Velez-centric) Mexican Spitfire, and the highly formulaic nature of the series is established. There’s not much missed in going directly to this film as an introduction—it begins with the newly married husband-and-wife coming back to New York after their Mexican honeymoon. Complications quickly accumulate, most of them focused on the dual roles played by Leon Errol as a kooky unclean and also a British lord coming to New York for business. Then there’s Lupe Velez, the titular spitfire that makes a scene during every scene, reverting to rapid-fire Spanish during her frequent tirades. It’s a stereotype (one easily imagines Salma Hayek, Sofia Vergara or Penelope Cruz playing the role in exactly the same way), but she plays it well—it’s tough not to smile once she gets going, and much of the film knows that appeal. The various other vaudevillian shenanigans are equally amusing, especially when the identity confusions pile up and everyone runs away to Mexico (obviously!) to patch things up. The male lead is bland to the point of being easily forgotten, but that’s the point—this is Velez’s series, and Errol is there to provide the comic insanity. Short but densely packed, Mexican Spitfire is not a great film—but it does have its charm. The only warning I have, based on seeing this and the later Mexican Spitfire at Sea, would be to space any viewing of the series’ films—they strike very similar notes, to the point of repetitiousness.