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Ser mexicano sin estar en México: Entrevista con Francisco Ohem sobre LOS MARIACHIS PERDIDOS

What does it mean to be Mexican, and how can a culture become a refugee for those living on the other side of the world? In Los mariachis perdidos, filmmaker Francisco Ohem embarks on a journey through the Balkans to discover the remarkable history of a community that found in Mexican music a voice of expression, belonging, and consolation.

Through a film that intertwines memory, nostalgia, and fiction, the director explores the cultural ties between Mexico and the former Yugoslavia, and proves that cinema and music can cross borders, languages, and even nations that no longer exist. During this conversation at the 24th edition of the Morelia International Film Festival, filmmaker Francisco Ohem shares with us the origins of this documentary project, the historical and cultural coincidences he discovered along his journey, and the challenges of building a narrative capable of connecting with audiences from such different contexts.

This is a conversation about identity, the power of culture, and the capacity of cinema to uncover extraordinary stories in the most unexpected corners of the world. 

FICM: At one point in the documentary, the narrator Vojislav Brajovic mentions that this is a film about Mexico without Mexico. However, is Los mariachis perdidos really about Mexico? What cultural expression did you encounter while searching for these mariachis?

Francisco Ohem: Wow, this is such a good question! Well, the whole project revolves around a search for something. It’s a road movie, a film about a journey and the pursuit of something meaningful. Discovering the voice of our narrator, brought to life by that outstanding actor—a major figure of the Yugoslav era and someone greatly admired by those who experienced that time—felt like the culmination of a journey that constantly made me ask myself: Is this a Mexican or Yugoslav film? Is this a film that sets out in search of a mirror to reflect an imagined Mexico, while also helping us understand something about what being Mexican really means? Or perhaps is this a fable about how Yugoslavia, this multiethnic state, had a brief moment of unity in which everyone said, “Alright, rather than fighting one another, we’re all Mexicans now”? 

I processed that whole search by creating this narrative voice that could embody that young generation that might have had the chance to watch that lost film by Emilio “El Indio” Fernández, the very phenomenon that started it all over there. This generation would have grown up listening to this music and imagining Mexico without ever having been to Mexico or speaking Spanish, like the rest of the generation. In short, I would say that this is a film about Mexico; however, I consider that Mexico is, indeed, in the film. Mexico is within the emotions of all these people, within “El Indio” Fernández’s film, and, simultaneously, the film is also filtered through the fantastic vision of Mexico that exists there.

At the same time, I think it ultimately becomes a reflection on what Mexico is and what it means to be Mexican. That is to say, these are constructions that evolve over time, that each one of us create, and many of them are often driven by political motives. If anyone is interested in drawing clear lines around identities, it is the State, the political system that, as a project, tries to define everything in rigid terms and then say: only this counts as being Mexican. Yet Mexican identity is fluid, constantly changing, and incredibly valuable. So why can’t there be Yugoslav Mexicans? Chavela Vargas expressed it best in her famous phrase that needn’t be repeated.

For me, this film was conceived long before. It started on the internet, but this was a completely different internet, one I consider myself lucky to have experienced. It was the internet before the algorithm, before technology companies like Facebook, Google, and all that bullshit.

Back then, the internet was a community of weirdos connecting with one another to talk about our obsessions and trade all kinds of oddities. I was a music collector, and someone sent me an album by Kvartet Paloma (Ljubomir Milic). When I heard that music and saw this blue-eyed charro who sang in a language that I wasn’t aware of, I felt completely blown away.

I remember thinking, “This is the kind of music you hear in a traditional Mexican cantina, and this guy is singing about his bad luck in love and how the only remedy is a few shots of Tequila. If I took him to Guanajuato or Jalisco tomorrow, he’d fit right in, and before you knew it, he’d be having a drink with the locals.” So, this film became an adventure in itself. Although I had studied the phenomenon, journeying through an unfamiliar territory, working across languages I don’t speak, and confronting the challenges of telling the story of a country that no longer existed turned the whole expedition into an adventure.

My hope is, first of all, that this adventure connects with audiences on an emotional level, and if it also leads them to question what it means to be Mexican, so much the better.

FICM: Mexican culture seems to be present in many corners of the world. Aside from the music, what other coincidences with Mexican culture did you find?

Francisco Ohem: I found many. Actually, this film would not have been possible without a tremendous affinity between both cultures. The war that marked the end of Yugoslavia coincided with the rise of telenovelas as a mass cultural phenomenon in the 1990s. There’s a joking expression that says that, during daytime, everyone stayed in their own trench because Bosnia, Serbia, and Croatia were at war; but at night, once the war paused, they would return home and watch the same Mexican telenovela and cry. The very same thing happened with “El Indio” Fernández’s film.

Right after we landed, we found out that many people speak Spanish because of the influence of telenovelas. Without RBD and the telenovela Rebelde, this documentary might have never been made. We often relied on translations provided by Rebelde fan clubs, which generously volunteered to help us. 

This is a highly independent production that was made through improvisation, ingenuity, and a lot of persistence. Quite often, it was just the cinematographer and me travelling together and taking on all sorts of roles, from driving and producing to recording sound in many locations. That was one part of it. Another aspect is that there is deep affinity, because both the Balkan countries and Mexico have very complex histories. Our region, like theirs, was colonized by empires.

In our case, the arrival of the Spanish gave rise to a process of cultural and ethnic mixing that is currently inseparable from what it means to be Mexican. They were conquered by the Turks and the Ottomans, while others were Germanized under Austro-Hungarian rule. Just as we did, they experienced the impact of foreign empires. We only had a short period with Maximilian, but they experienced it far more extensively.

Somehow, we share historical similarities. I say this because their character, like that of Mexicans, is marked by tremendous endurance and resilience. Yet when confronted with adversity, they never lose their sense of humor and always manage to find a reason to celebrate life. Just as we do, people there invite you to their homes, they welcome you with a drink and say, “Consider yourself part of the family. Whatever you need, just ask.”

I believe Mexican culture offered them a sense of comfort, since Yu-Mex music came at a time marked by the trauma of World War II, a conflict that felt very much like a civil war. Through “El Indio” Fernández’s film, they found a way to channel a collective trauma, and Mexican music became a way for people to express feelings they were unable to express at that time through their own traditional music because of the political circumstances.

In the 1990s, amid another period of war, people found an escape through telenovelas. I feel that Mexico has been a kind of companion for them, a romantic and imaginary place of refuge. Honestly, as Mexicans, particularly those who devote themselves to creating and working in culture, I hope it makes them feel that their efforts are not in vain.

Culture does have a value and it serves a purpose: something you create in one place may be discovered somewhere else, where it can help people feel, endure, and get through difficult times. 

FICM: Coming back to the voice-over narration, we get the sense that many filmmakers tend to avoid this resource because they consider it an overused technique. However, Vojislav gives the story precisely this fable-like tone and makes it even more moving. What led you to tell the story in this way? How did you develop this tone, and how did Vojislav come to be involved in the film? 

Francisco Ohem: Well, as I said, this film was particularly challenging for me because it belongs equally to Yugoslavia and Mexico. It’s a film made for two audiences, whose cultural backgrounds are very different.

The reality is that Yugoslavia disappeared thirty years ago, and a lot of people are no longer familiar with what Yugoslavia was. The history of the Balkans is extraordinarily complex. In this case, we were facing a dilemma. How much of this documentary should be explanatory, using maps, archival material, and narration to explain things? How much of it should be a journey? An emotional experience? Or simply an observational film?

On the other hand, if I used the film to explain every detail about Yugoslavia, audiences in the Balkans might say, “There he goes again, another explanation of what we already know.”

As a filmmaker, this is something I consider very important. And there’s an idea I’d like to revisit in order to talk about Yugoslavia. Yugoslavia was very famous for having been one of the founding countries of the Non-Aligned Movement. Actually, Mexico was somehow part of that movement. In fact, the connection runs so deep that there is still a statue of Josip Broz Tito on Paseo de la Reforma in Mexico City that, if you’re ever walking through the area, you may find yourself face to face with it. 

Tito founded this movement so that countries unwilling during the Cold War to join either the capitalist West led by the United States or the Soviet-led Eastern Bloc could have a third alternative. This was a very intelligent move in order to offer great flexibility.

I bring this up because, as a filmmaker, I’d like to encourage that perspective. At the very least, I see myself, or aspire to be, a non-aligned filmmaker. I feel that cinema is going through a very different moment when it comes to finding its audience. Sometimes, I feel like there is a kind of Cold War between streaming platforms and the more commercial, formula-driven side of cinema, with people who read books like Save the Cat! and want films to be made according to a simple A-plus-B-equals-C formula.

Then there are filmmakers whose audience is the refined world of European film festivals. Don’t misunderstand me, that’s alright! I truly think that kind of cinema is important, it’s moving forward and exploring new frontiers. Yet it can often be difficult for the general public to access because those films can be challenging for viewers to engage with.

However, I do think that we are all capable of making films that are accessible to audiences without sacrificing their depth of artistic merit, even when they deal with subjects that go beyond the mainstream themes. You can approach those subjects in creative and entertaining ways; humorous, yet still thoughtful and profound, encouraging audiences to question and reflect afterward.  

Sometimes I think filmmakers can fall into that tendency. The goal was never to make a didactic film that brings out a map and explains everything. At the end of the day, all you really need to know is that there was a country that no longer exists, called Yugoslavia, almost as if it belonged to a fairy tale. That’s enough. If, afterwards, you’re inspired to learn more about who Tito was or to explore the Yugoslav economic system, which is fascinating, that’s something each person can do on their own. 

FICM: Speaking of this non-aligned filmmaker you aspire to be, this is your first feature film. I saw that it was presented at the Mexico City International Documentary Film Festival (DocsMX) and Ventana Sur. How did those spaces help shape your vision and the final result?

Francisco Ohem: Making this film was a long process. It took ten years and involved many challenges. One of the frustrations was that I constantly was trying to build a co-production with the countries from the former Yugoslav region, but the political complexities made it extremely complicated. They interpreted it as a film that spoke favorably about Yugoslavia. Given that many of these countries now have fairly nationalist governments, it was almost impossible to establish a co-production. Spaces such as the Sarajevo International Film Festival, Mestizolab, DocsMX, and the Guadalajara International Film Festival gave us the opportunity to present the film while it was still in pre-production and start building partnerships and collaborations. So even though in the end we couldn’t establish any co-production, we were able to connect with people who later became crucial in supporting us in that region. 

Additionally, I would like to thank Inti and DocsMX. The film was selected for the Work in Progress program last year, and I think that was the final push that made this film possible. Thanks to those spaces we could receive very valuable and specific feedback from industry professionals and that helped us solidify the film in its final stages. We were also fortunate to receive awards from our friends at Chemistry and Estudios Churubusco, whose support proved essential in allowing us to complete the film and carry out its post-production.

As I said, these spaces are immensely valuable. DocsMX’s contribution to documentary cinema in Mexico is unbeatable. Quite literally, without its help, these projects probably wouldn’t exist or reach an audience. They are spaces that support you and provide awards that help bring films to completion.

Of course, we’re eternally grateful to the Morelia International Film Festival for giving us the opportunity to premiere the film and begin its journey with audiences. We’d love for everyone to come and watch it. We hope to see you there!