I Have No Tears, And I Must Cry

I first found out about the short film “I Have No Tears, And I Must Cry” through the January 2023 issue of The Season. There a short article describes the film as a story about an immigrant woman facing a green card interview. Because of my own experiences as a wanderer in many lands, something about that description resonated with me, so I made a mental note to watch it. Because issues related to immigration and the immigrant experience are a frequent topic of conversation at home, I thought I would invite my two children to watch it as well. So a few weeks later, I sat down with my pre-teen children ready to figure out why that woman needs to cry but cannot. And now I am ready to tell you, but in so doing, let me warn you that spoilers are inevitable.

Clocking at under twelve minutes, this short film written and directed by Monterrey-born Luis Fernando Puente, is tight story telling at its best. The dialogue is sparce, communicating only the essential information for the viewer to follow along. No line is wasted, as every piece of dialogue is intended to drop some information that helps the viewer understand the state of mind of the characters as well as the situation they are navigating.

This scarcity approach to telling the story works well in part thanks to the subtleness of the acting. (This is a welcome respite from the exaggerated quirkiness that plagues comedies and the over-the-top performances that infest action movies nowadays.) Each character conveys their own inner world in just the right way. As soon as the couple sat in the immigration building’s waiting room, one of my children said: “Está nervioso. ¿Por qué?” [He is nervous. Why is he nervous?]. There was something about the husband’s stare that conveyed uncertainty without the need for words. When the immigration officer opened her mouth for the first time, my other child predicted: “No se la van a dar” [They won’t give it to her]. There was something about the way the officer spoke that telegraphed that there would be no green card at the end of the interview. And Mexican actress Alejandra Herrera, who plays the wife, craftily took the viewer through a set of evolving moods as the short progresses.

This it all comes together satisfyingly through the lens work of cinematographer Oscar Ignacio Jiménez. Characters come in and out of focus as needed, and this is an effective way to establish what matters. In the first shot we are introduced to the main character. We see her first, and that is how viewers know that this is told primarily as her story. The story itself is related through close up after close up. There are no wide shots. Even when the characters approach the USCIS (i.e., “immigration”) building, the shot is very tight, with no sense of place beyond the wall immediately behind the characters. This helps establish a nearly claustrophobic mood to the short, where everything feels like it is taking place within rather confined spaces. This sense of confinement is purposeful, intended to underscore the restrictiveness of the system and the feelings of the protagonist. The opaque colors add to this by conveying a sense of somberness to the entire short.

From a narrative standpoint, the story is told in three main beats. A conversation inside the couple’s vehicle before the interview, the interview itself in the USCIS building, and another conversation inside the vehicle after the interview. The vehicle conversations act as bookends, as a prologue and epilogue of sorts. The prologue sets up the stakes: this is more than likely a turning point in their life together. The interview is where the battle is fought and lost. The epilogue asks an open-ended question: now what? Of course, the question is not really open ended. The viewer gets a sense that in the end things will work out. This is created by establishing a powerful symbol in the form of a green couch. This green couch works somewhat like the yellow house in Ernest Hemingway’s “A Way You’ll Never Be,” except that instead of being associated with fear, the symbol is associated with hope. Thus, while at the end of the short the wife continues to be in an uncertain place, there is the hint that things will work out. There is a determination to move forward even in the face of uncertainty.

The moment the credits rolled, one of my daughters immediately asked whether there was a Part II we could watch. I explained that no, there was no “The Tears Strike Back” sequel and that that was a good thing because some stories are meant to make us think. What followed was a discussion on the nature of immigration. We talked about how migration has always been part-and-parcel of the human experience. As cleverly indicated in Jorge Drexler’s song “Movimiento”: somos una especie en viaje / no tenemos pertenencias sino equipaje [we are a traveling species / we have no belongings but only luggage]. Some people leave their homeland because they fear for their safety. Most people leave their homeland because there are better economic opportunities elsewhere. No one leaves their homeland as their first choice. When you migrate, you bury a piece of your soul in the place you leave behind. This is one of the reasons migration transforms people. And places. It is the latter transformation that causes most societies to be uneasy about immigration. Most societies are not very open and welcoming to immigrants, especially poor immigrants. For this reason, immigration policy in countries that receive large numbers of immigrants (again, especially poor immigrants) tends to generate controversy. 

In the heat of those debates, people tend to forget that for immigrants this is not a policy issue. It is a deeply personal issue. It is about the kind of life they might live, the kind of future they may or may not aspire to, the relationships they can and cannot foster. The contribution that “I Have No Tears, And I Must Cry” makes is a human contribution. It is a reminder that for immigrants, the “policy questions” are immediately personal and have a profound impact on their lives. It serves to highlight that this is about real people, with real aspirations and real problems. Of course, several feature films deal with immigration (e.g., A Better Life), but Puente’s contribution is unusual in that it shows the human side of legal immigration, which most people do not realize is both expensive and complicated and fraught with difficulty. For that reason alone, the short is worth watching. 

There was one thing that bothered me, though, which was the title. The title promises a sad story, and that’s what it delivers, but it also promises no tears, hinting that the protagonist is all cried out. Yet the protagonist is a happy one initially (we have no hint that she’s all cried out) and she’s openly crying by the end of the story. I understand that she could not cry during the interview, but her mood during the interview is more of confusion and even disbelief, not of sadness. The sadness comes in the epilogue. Then she just cries. So the title, as beautiful and evocative as it is, does not really connect with the story. Of course, that’s a small thing to pick on. This short film is worth watching due to everything mentioned here—the acting, the mood, the script, the topic.

The film was selected to premier as part of the 2023 Sundance Film Festival in Park City’s Prospector Square Theater. It was one of 64 films that the Festival selected out of 10,981 candidates. That is an achievement in its own right. And it also signals that Luis Fernando Puente is a promising new voice to be on the lookout for. – Gabriel González (“I Have No Tears, And I Must Cry” premiered at the Sundance Film Festival, January 23, 2023.)