Kazan’s Viva Zapata! (1952) is an American morality tale masquerading as a Mexican biopic. Emliano Zapata (Marlon Brando) is the son of the shabby gentility of Mexican – a proud family name, but no money, no land. Therefore, no wife. With this motivation, he and his brother (Anthony Quinn) lead a rebellion against the local government, taking back land and eventually winning a leading role in the government.
And, in that role, becoming what he most despised.
This is not a movie of grand battles, of strategies and reversals. Betrayals, yes, most often met with gunfire, as we are introduced to the rough justice of spies and betrayal, as well as the myths of the downtrodden rebels and the symbols of freedom. But for all that, through the dusty, dirty war they fight, we learn that heartbreak accompanies such glorious feats; that, if you are not a man, then your role is to bury your man; if you are a farmer, it is not your place to speak.
But the American morality tale? It’s easy to spot, since we’re told point-blank. We see the weak civilian government, eventually overwhelmed by the treasonous military, led by men who believe in the realpolitik of killing one’s enemies at the first opportunity; men laden with their decorations, devoted to little more than their prestige, they slowly destroy everything around them in their avariciousness. As they possess great resources, what are Zapata and his farmers to do?
Lead them into the hills and mountains. His wife, relegated to the desperate woman role, implores him to not take the possible bait of a cache of supplies; his men need a strong leader, she proclaims.
Zapata: They don’t need me anymore.
Wife: They have to be led.
Zapata: Yes, but by each other. A strong man makes a weak people. Strong people don’t need a strong man.
And so we have our central lesson. Concentrate power in a man, and he comes under intense pressure. If he’s lost, then it’s a disaster. Decentralize, and then the loss of a man can mean little.
Or even, as one Mexican general notes,
Sometimes a dead man can be a terrible enemy.
This is not entertainment so much as it is a lesson, perhaps for now as much as for then. It’s not nearly as grim, as nihilistic as Paths of Glory, but its merciless depiction of the mighty abusing the lowly has no touch of romanticism; the dejected are dejected, the dead are buried, if they’re lucky. The women may care for your corpse, your wife will weep, and then it’s time to move on.
This may not be fun, but you won’t feel like you’ve wasted your time if you take the movie seriously.
