Jonás Cuarón stretches his director’s wings away from papa Alfonso with Netflix’s Mexican coming-of-age tale, Chupa. It’s a fantasy comedy about huggable, lovable chupacabras–hence the nickname title that’s drawn a bit of translation humor–directed at adolescent audiences. Its special effects aren’t groundbreaking, but they nail Chupa’s adorableness as we learn about the importance of heritage and the despicableness of disrespectful outsiders. There’s nothing narratively unique, yet backyard luchador rings and snuggles from not-so-ferocious urban legends are enough to sell the cultural significance of Cuarón’s spirit-lifter. It’ll mean the world to specific audiences, and that’s why representation remains a cause worth championing in today’s cinematic landscape.
Alex (Evan Whitten) lives in Kansas City with his single mother, trying to assimilate with other American children instead of cherishing his Mexican roots. He barely speaks Spanish, asks for “normal” dinners instead of barbeque tacos, and plays his Game Boy to escape reality. That’s until he takes a trip to Mexico to stay with his forgetful grandfather Chava (Demián Bichir), lucha-loving cousin Memo (Nickolas Verdugo), and musician cousin Luna (Ashley Ciarra). Alex is hesitant about meeting family members he’s been disconnected from since his father’s death, but that all changes when Chava’s clan bands together to protect a mythical chupacabra cub from American scientist Richard Quinn (Christian Slater), who wants Chupa’s blood for profitable medical reasons.
On the spectrum of wholesome releases, from rich Pixar explorations to made-for-TV family matters, Chupa puts simple children’s storytelling first. Chava’s very serious absentmindedness stays surface-level as a subplot, as does American pharmaceutical corporations paying urban legend hunters. Alex’s confrontation with his heritage and the lessons learned are delivered in neon lights—taught, inadvertently of course, by Chupa. You’ll get your pleasurable moments of Chupa learning to fly like a four-legged luchador and your confrontations between Chava and Quinn that stay appropriately PG. It’s enough to get by, yet underserves any dramatic heft.
The animation departments bring chupacabras and other wildlife, like mountain lions, to life, though not always with pristine pixelation. A stationary Chupa looks fantastic—its wide eyes beg for compassion, its tilted head warms your soul with a puppy dog’s curiosity—but mobility is an issue. Again, we’re talking about a children’s movie that opts not for Stan Winston levels of practical craftsmanship; there are jankier moments where a moving Chupa doesn’t feel fully rendered. Where something like 2022’s Beast does a splendid job computerizing a renegade lion, Chupa is a step backwards, though a confessedly precious one.
Then there’s the adventurous element of it all, stuck somewhere between Bichir’s suplexes and Slater’s work with a tranquilizer gun (Bichir sells grandpa gruff, but Slater’s flatter as the baddie). Danger levels aren’t exceedingly high to not scare away the youngest audiences. Copious nods to Jurassic Park try to repurpose nostalgia or rustle similar excitement–Quinn is basically an evil Alan Grant, and entire scenes are ripped from Steven Spielberg’s “dinomite” classic–but there’s no parallel. The Jurassic Park of it all feels clunky given how Chupa stays away from intense animalistic altercations, almost like Cuarón is trying to decipher the primarily humorous, sometimes serious tone of his creature feature in real time.
Chupa is a rascally, if not the boldest or most artfully composed, coming-of-age fable that proudly represents Mexican culture. There’s value in its transplanted story about Alex’s reclamation of his family’s individuality, especially from a perspective outside the United States. Maybe Chupa’s heartwarming design isn’t maintained in motion, or its older actors overshadow the youngins, but Cuarón still keeps the story’s pulse beating throughout the good and the bad. Mileage will vary based on the age of the viewers, but Chupa knows that, and plays to the audience that will cherish its messages and squeal with glee when Chupa darts on screen.
Director: Jonás Cuarón
Writer: Marcus Rinehart, Sean Kennedy Moore, Joe Barnathan
Starring: Demián Bichir, Christian Slater, Evan Whitten, Ashley Ciarra, Nicolas Verdugo
Release Date: April 7, 2023 (Netflix)
Matt Donato is a Los Angeles-based film critic currently published on SlashFilm, Fangoria, Bloody Disgusting, and anywhere else he’s allowed to spread the gospel of Demon Wind. He is also a member of the Hollywood Critics Association. Definitely don’t feed him after midnight.