#connection » never forget that your family loves you (miguel rivera)

[heartsunholy-a]

Imelda 

[lennox-ainsley]

II. The Words I Spoke Became Song

This episode was revealed to me one day while I studied. Only the words to the music were included. I could not hear the music proper. 

"...as a melody thrills us with a new feeling when we hear it sung by the pure voice of a boyish chorister;" -George Eliot

Miguel hadn't always been so sure that he made it to Coco in time. The first seedlings of doubt had begun to sprout within him that fateful day in late August. The boy would relive it again and again: he walked into her bedroom, in one hand his guitar, in the other a tangerine. He sat down by her side, kissed her cheek and placed the family guitar on his lap.

“Abuelita  told me I could go check up on you after my chores were done.”

Coco didn’t respond and her face didn’t lose its slack expression. After pressing the tangerine in her hand, the boy began with some scales, arpeggios. Slowly, by quarter notes, then in triplets, and in doing this he led into singing “Un poco loco”.  After a few minutes of playing, strangely, there manifested no discernible change.  Maybe she's dozing, thought Miguel hopefully. Sometimes it took a second for her to pipe up in response.

So he tried “Remember Me”. That one always worked. Even if Coco didn’t sing along with him, she always smiled at hearing the song. Sometimes she would repeat a well-known anecdote about Héctor, her eyes shimmering with nostalgia. Miguel’s favorite story probably had to be the time where Héctor had tried juggling baseballs, but one flew out of his hand and into Imelda's plate, sending young Coco into a fit of laughter. This time, however, she remained completely still, as if imprisoned in some sort of stasis. A jolt of fear electrified Miguel’s body.  Is she - ?

“Mamá Coco? Mamá Coco,  me puedes oír?  ” Miguel began to shake her forearm. And the  pobrecito  would never forget what happened next  .  His  bisabuela’s  head fell back in her chair like that of a  muñeca , mouth agape. Without any part of her moving a single inch, a high pitched squeal stumbled out from the back of her throat. The boy recoiled and covered his ears, wide-eyed as he began to tremble. He had never heard something more unseemly than this. Some seconds passed, and the formless shriek began to take shape as a disfigured melody. Miguel knew it immediately; it would have been absurd if he couldn’t recognize it even through this repulsive racket. It was his secret weapon to summon his  bisabuela’s  favorite anecdotes of Héctor, but at that moment he had no idea what demonic presence he may have unwittingly summoned  . Coco’s slack, corpse-like body rang and began to quiver with the century-old lullaby. The impression was as if the melody had trouble recalling its own contours. Then suddenly, the strings of the guitar, without the boy so much as laying a finger on it, began to vibrate with the noise. It took Miguel a second to register the haunt. A little yelp escaped his throat as the instrument slid off his lap and fell to the floor with a  clunk. It continued to repulsively resonate, now loosely keeping time with the shrieking.

The youth suddenly felt the room grow cooler by the second. He reactively wrapped his fingers around himself as his senses absorbed the terrible spell that had trapped his poor grandmother. He swore he was going deaf, as the cacophony kept growing louder, and louder, the guitar and the shriek delighting in their mutual bastard natures, until finally, with a loud inhale from Coco’s lungs, the shriek quieted as some invisible force re-tuned the guitar pegs back to a comfortable tonality. Her hand slacked and the tangerine slice slipped from her hand, landing on the floor with a soft thump; the ghostly melody sounded out again, now without any shriek to accompany it. As the guitar hung on the final D flat, Coco’s body suddenly deflated to half its original size, exhaling as it went, while a sourceless single phrase reverberated in the air and filled Miguel’s ears:  Gracias.

Coco’s spirit had been confined deep within its torpid, corporeal prison, but, in a miracle invoked by the familiar sound of her father’s enchanted guitar, she finally left the Land of the Living at the age of 103.

Miguel stumbled out of the room, disoriented and numb. Neither his tongue nor his hands could relate what he had seen to his family, but they recoiled upon seeing his distress. The Riveras soon-after found Coco's corpse, and for another four hours he remained unusually mute, until finally he collapsed, struggling to breathe as he sobbed.

Miguel broke the little promise he made to himself, that at the very least he wouldn’t cry at his bisabuela's funeral, that he would stay strong for his family. Seeing the humble casket descend into its final resting place proved too much and he gave voice to his stifled sobs, burying his face into Tía Gloria’s chest as the rest of his family watched on. He, alone of all the people he knew, knew for certain what happened after a person died. He could console himself that she had been reunited with the rest of the Riveras, and that he would inevitably be in her presence again. Besides, just the next Sunday, Luisa bought him a crisp, pale blue guayabera and he went to church and held Socorro above the baptismal font while the priest doused her small head with water. Wave goodbye to one life, and greet another. Sorrow yesterday, joy tomorrow. Así es la vida. Yet, Coco’s absence still stung. It felt like part of him left this earth with her.

What's more, an unseen, unspeakable spectre oppressed Miguel’s spirit. With Coco’s death, the boy lost the only connection he had to his friend in the Land of the Dead. And without her, he couldn’t be so  sure that he pulled in for Héctor. While this spectre rarely externalized, and the Riveras (even the shrewd Elena) noted no drastic change in his disposition as they grieved, it would so occur, occasionally, that Miguel would be going about his normal business, doing his chores, making a sale, reading, practicing, or playing with the twins that suddenly that  thought  crept into his mind. He quickly became mindful of it and made sure to exterminate it at the source before it could take root.  Coco told so many stories of my  tátarabuelo  that it’s impossible he isn’t alive. It’s ridiculous to think he faded away when we talk about him so much.

That said, no matter how much he buried it, Miguel couldn’t shake the feeling that he proved a failure to his ancestor. He had so much to say to him, but feared that his words would have no audience. His uneasiness only worsened as autumn approached, and with it,  Día de Muertos. If there was any way he could know definitively whether Héctor still lived, it would be then, when the corporeal and semi-corporeal worlds grew close.

The Riveras sensed that this year’s festivities would be challenging. Not only had a new death occurred for the first time in five years, they also had to figure out what food pleased Héctor the most in life. Imelda had effectively locked up any stories she had of her husband, wanting only for her memory of him to shrivel up and die. Coco, in her moments of lucidity, had been reliable for a fair deal of anecdotes surrounding the family patriarch, but even she professed to have no knowledge of his favorite food. No one could have predicted his rehabilitation on the ofrenda. An exhausted Elena resigned to cook some simple tamales for the spirit.

Suddenly, Miguel had an idea, which came to him as he whistled in the kitchen, struggling to piece together a song he heard in his dreams while helping his abuelita cook. He rushed into the workshop, saw Luisa breastfeeding Socorro, and asked his mother if she had a pen, an envelope and some paper.

“Why?” she asked.

“I’m gonna write something. It’s for Day of the Dead.”

She laughed then pursed her lips. “Ay Miguel, you don’t exactly strike me as the writer type. Is it a song?”

“Maybe!”

“Well, after you’re done, make sure to help the twins sprinkle the marigold petals to the ofrenda room.”

“Thanks! Love you!”

She lent him the materials and he rushed outside, guitar in one hand and the writing materials in the other. He found Dante sniffing through a trash can, whistled at him, then the two ran to the side yard of the house. Miguel slid down the wall cross-legged, clicked out his pen, bit his lip in concentration, and wrote:

  Dear Papá Héctor,

  I’m not even sure if this letter’s gonna make it to you in time, or even make it crossing the barrier into your world. If it does, Dante will for sure know where to find you. I just hope he hasn’t slobbered too much on the envelope XD.

  First time crossing the bridge, eh? Excited? I know you’ll make it across just fine. We have your photo up on the ofrenda, so there’s no need to worry about it giving out under ya. From what I remember, the bridge is really soft but also kind of firm. You might wanna take off your shoes as you cross to really feel it under you.

  Mamá Coco might’ve already told you this, but I played “Remember Me” for her soon as I got back, and that’s what probably saved you. Our family all saw it, and they all changed their mind, even Mamá Elena! They told me that as long as I always keep family first and help out with the family business that they’ll let me play music. I get to sing and tap my feet whenever I feel it, even when making shoes!

  I’ve got a mariachi costume all ready for tonight. You’ll see me wear it. It’s red and it has a little orange thing sticking out on the neck (don’t know what it’s called but mariachis wear it). You’re going to be so proud seeing all of your descendants, just like how I’m proud to know I'm Héctor Rivera's great-great-grandson.

 But you wouldn't believe, I had this crazy dream last night, where we spoke with each other, but like we were singing our conversation. Weird, right? I can't remember what it sounded like however. I remember thinking how beautiful it was. I’ve been trying to write it down and here’s what I have so far:

Here the boy crudely sketched out a treble clef, staff and half a little melody in F.

(oh I forgot I’m also in a band! My teacher, profesor Cavalli is teaching me how to read and write music! I'm still practicing tho. You might see him tonight.)

  You know, I have to thank you, ‘cause without your help, I’d still be stuck as a shoemaker. Now at least I’m a musical shoemaker! XD

Un abrazo fuerte, tu tátaranieto,  Miguel Rivera

P.S.  Mamá Elena wants to know your favorite kind of food! For the ofrenda!

He folded the paper, put it in the envelope, licked it shut, wrote Héctor’s name on the front and asked Dante “Do you know where to find Héctor?” The dog barked the affirmative, whereupon Miguel patted the Xolo’s head and gave him the envelope. “Vete,  find him and give him this. Quick!”

The dog dutifully took off into the setting sun, missive in his mouth. Miguel relaxed as he realized he could do nothing else but wait, and pray for his tatarabuelo's soul.

Right before night had blanketed Santa Cecilia in cold darkness, before the warm candlelight had barely begun to caress the revelers’ painted faces, Miguel received his answer. But it came in a way that he would have never expected.

He remembered sitting in the ofrenda room, leaning a bit against the left wall adjacent to the offering, letting the warmth of the candles’ glow bathe his face. He remembered the feel of his  great-great-grandfather's guitar in his smallish hands. Up to that point, he hadn't really created This day, upon Elena's orders, was his only opportunity to use the instrument. All the other days of the year, the dreamy-eyed boy would have to leave it in the display outside with Héctor's letters. Miguel thought the guitar sounded way better than anything he could ever create. So much history had seeped within the aged woodwork of the instrument that it tinged it's sound with melancholy. It had so many tales to tell, of friendship and betrayal, of love and hatred, of comedy and tragedy.

He remembered trying and struggling to whittle away at the song he heard. Nothing he came up with sounded remotely like the ephemeral dream-music which made him quiver with delight the night before. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he set down his guitar and cast his gaze upon the ofrenda, letting his eyes climb up from Coco’s portrait all the way up, passing three generations, resting on the stern gaze of his  tatarabuela  and the contrasting grin of her husband. His breathing grew shallow.  Where is Dante? He thought. He feared the dog would come back empty-handed...or worse, with his original letter.

Suddenly, Miguel heard the light trot of a dog approach, and his eyes widened as he saw Dante... with an envelope in his mouth. A strange looking cat sneaked followed Dante inside after the Xolo, stopping right at Miguel's side. The boy felt his heart skip a beat.

“Dante, wha-?”

The alebrije dropped the dampened envelope on the floor before him and gave Miguel an excited lick on the cheek. Wide-eyed, the boy gingerly turned it over to find his name scrawled out on the front of the envelope. The handwriting...it looked like Hector’s!

He opened it, and the letter read:

  Ey chamaco!

  Yes, your letter came absolutely covered in drool. But it’s pretty cool you figured out a way we can communicate. You’re always so creative, so I shouldn’t be surprised, Miguel.

  My favorite food is anything having to do with chapulines. It’s been a long time since I’ve had them. They don’t have any in the Land of the Dead, which makes having them during Día de Muertos *that* more special. I hope by the time Dante reaches you, you will have enough time to prepare some. If not, don’t worry, there’s always next year, right?

  I don’t have a lot of time because as I’m writing this we’re getting cleared to cross the bridge, but you’ll feel me come in, I hope. Little nervous, but your letter calmed my nerves a bit. I’ll follow your advice about walking across the bridge barefoot.

Un abrazo devuelto, Papá Héctor

 P.S. that song seems pretty interesting. Maybe I can help you when I arrive?

Miguel read and reread the letter, fixating on some lines, skipping to others. Then a little gasp escaped his throat as he realized the handwriting was unmistakably Héctor’s. The musician wrote just like he did a century ago in his letters to Miguel’s bisabuela (he, out of all people should know. He had only read and reread those lyrics again and again). The boy looked at Dante and embraced him, kissing and thanking the  alebrije  profusely while the dog gave a few more sloppy licks to the boy’s cheeks. The cat ambled over and rubbed herself against Miguel's side as he giggled, sharing the affection between the two animals. He skimmed the letter again.  Help me when he arrives? How does he figure he can do that?

A great and ponderous silence straightaway oppressed the room as the air grew thick and humid. A little wind stirred the trail of marigold petals that had otherwise sat fixed upon the ground, causing the cat to let out a meow. Absentmindedly slipping Héctor’s letter into his right pocket, Miguel suddenly recognized the little creature. "Pepita?" The cat sat unmoved, looking through the door outside the ofrenda room. She seemed transfixed.

Dante let out a bark, drawing the boy’s attention to the spot where the Xolo stared intently. He was looking at the trail, at the marigold petals which began to illuminate, shining bright orange with a light flicker. They lit up in little clusters, one by one, as if weighed by some footsteps that belonged to an invisible someone with a slight limp. With each loosely synchronized group of light, they closed the distance between them and the spot where Miguel sat. Soon he saw a cluster of petals linger with their radiant light, right in front of him, and Miguel stood up, fixed where he stood, tightly gripping Héctor’s guitar. As he slowly angled his head upwards, he began to feel little pinpricks of energy tickle his skin, drawing out a great big blush on his face as he realized that he was standing in Héctor Rivera's presence. But as he opened his mouth to say his tátarabuelo’s name, his vocal chords sang it instead. He covered his mouth, reeling from shock. He tried to speak Héctor’s name again, but instead he let out a two bar melisma, jubilant and proud. A wide grin spread across the boy’s face, and a glimmering sensation of euphoria consumed his body and spirit. Tears spilled passed his eyelids as he instinctively shouldered the family guitar, his fingers almost mechanically finding the right notes. And in one attempt, Miguel Rivera remembered the song he heard in his dreams, singing:

  Say that I'm crazy, or call me a fool

  But last night, it seemed that I dreamed about you

  When I opened my mouth, what came out was a song

  And you knew every word, and we all sang along…

Miguel didn't have to hear Héctor’s voice to  feel  it. His very being vibrated with the moment’s pure spirituality.

The boy rushed outside singing as loudly as he could to this rediscovered melody. He couldn't keep himself still as he began to dance and improvise to the once-forgotten music. Dante rushed out and barked, dancing around his feet. The Riveras rushed outside to see who was causing all the noise and they became transfixed at the wild spectacle. The song did not let one pair of eyes stay dry as Miguel guided them on a journey with his playing, leaping and twirling and laughing with Dante mirroring his movements. As soon as Miguel had finished, they all applauded.

“Miguel, that sounded...beautiful!" Enrique admitted as he wiped his eyes. Even Tío Berto wore a soft expression.

Miguel expected to sing his reply, but the euphoric sensation had already left his body. He trembled, as if he had just disembarked from the most thrilling rollercoaster ever created.

“Héctor’s here! I felt him, he's here!” These words he repeated, in more or less the same order.

Elena became instantly skeptical. “What? None of us even knew him! How can you be so sure it's him?”

“I got a letter from him! He said his favorite food was chapulines!” The boy's voice cracked with his excitement.

"Impossible..." Elena replied, shaking her head.

"No, see, take a look!" Miguel reached into his pocket to show them the letter, but his fingers grasped nothing. He turned his pocket inside out and checked the other one, which produced nothing as well.  Where - ?

“Oh,  Miguelito, you don't have to make up stories about any letter. But I believe you felt someone come in. Perhaps Julio?" offered Elena.

Miguel almost glared at his grandmother, his brown irises sparkling with certainty. “No, I'm not making anything up, abuelita. I received a letter from him. It...was right in my pocket. He came in to the ofrenda room and I felt so overwhelmed…I began to sing and I couldn't stop. And earlier I was all struggling with it!”

“A miracle!” interjected a convinced Luisa, to which the whole family agreed.

“Well, whatever it is," Elena said, dismissing the topic for the time-being, "we now have a song for Día de Muertos, so let's really make things festive. Get your instruments, you two, and Miguel, get your costume on and help me set the table. We'll be having guests soon."

Abel and Rosa dutifully went off, Dante following them in hopes of scoring some dinner before Elena shooed him away. As Miguel followed his cousins inside, he couldn't help but absentmindedly strum the chords to his new creation, reliving its bold melodies, submerged in a mix of giddiness and confusion.

[astudyinsarcasm9]

Coco (Pixar) - Moive Reivew - Spoilers ahead! GO SEE IT!

I adored this movie! 

I went to see it knowing next to nothing about it. I knew its name and that Miguel was the main character but I avoided spoilers like the plague. So much so, I had no idea what the other characters looked like.

I recommend to see it. It is such a lovely and heartwarming story about family, what it means to be part of one and how you should follow your dreams despite the odds and if your loved ones agree or not, while not forgetting to still care about your family even if they don’t agree with you. 

Ok, maybe I didn’t use the right words but it has been two weeks since I saw the movie and I am still not over it. I want to see it again but I am waiting to have enough money to go to the cinema again.

Before I continue I have to address something that I’ve seen debated on this site:

DO NOT COMPARE THE BOOK OF LIFE AND COCO. THEY ARE BOTH AWESOME AND AMAZING MOVIES. Bonus: The producer of Book of Life fully supports Coco so shut up! 

IF WE HAVE 200000000 MOVIES ABOUT CHRISTMAS THEN WE CAN SURVIVE 2 MOVIES ABOUT DIA DE LOS MUERTOS. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER PEOPLE! 

REPRESENTATION MATTERS! I AM NOT MEXICAN BUT I SUPPORT MOVIES WHICH ARE ABOUT A DIFFERENT CULTURE THAN MY OWN. 

On with the review. 

The plot

Miguel Rivera is a 12-year old mexican boy who lives with his family made up entirely of shoemakers. He wants to be a musician but his family is opposed to it because his great-great grandfather left to pursue a career in music and never came back and thus, his wife put a ban on music in the Rivera family. She started a shoe making business which got passed on until it reached Miguel’s parents. 

Miguel wants to prove to his family that he is made for singing and and so settles to take part in the music show that will take place in their village. In the meantime, he discovers that famous musician Ernesto de la Cruz is his great-great grandfather and goes ahead and steals his guitar from his crypt in the cemetery. Only, when he does so he unleashes a curse and gets transported into the Land of the Dead. 

To get out, Miguel has to get his great-great grandfather’s blessing, but this will prove a very hard thing to do. 

Along the way Miguel makes friends with a con man named Hector who just wants to get his photos on an ofrenda so he can cross the marigold bridge to see his daughter. As it turns out later in the story, Hector is actually the great-great grandfather and not Ernesto. And so, from that revelation the movie takes a bit of a different turn but I’ll let you discover it. 

At first, the plot might seem complicated, but that’s because I may have not explained it all that better. But it flows and at no point does it feel cluttered and cumbersome. 

The Characters

The best aspect of the movie is the characters. Especially the dead ones. 

It is fair to say, we don’t spend enough time with Miguel’s relatives who are alive so we’re not gonna compare much. 

Though, I have to say that my favorite character is by far: 

Abuelita! She was hillarious. Every scene with her in it cracked me up. Aside from obviously, the handful of scenes where she was interacting with her mother, Coco. 

The other characters are Miguel’s parents and grandad, and some uncles and aunts who, honestly, I didn’t care for because they had little screen time. 

The dead characters were really entertaining. Mama Imelda,  Miguel’s great-great grandmother, Papa Julio Rivera, Coco’s husband, Tia Rosita, Julio’s sister, Tia Victoria, Abuelita’s sister, Tio Felipe and Tio Oscar, identical uncles to Miguel,  and Hector Rivera, Miguel’s actual great-great grandfather. 

Starting off, the characters really interact well with one another and you can tell they are a family. They have colorful personality, especially mama Imelda who is the most developed along with Hector. 

Hector is the con man. He has been trying to pass the marigold bridge for decades, always coming up with more creative ways to do so. When we, as an audience, meet him he dresses up as Frida Khalo to fool the security into letting him cross. But Hector can’t cross because his photo is not on any ofrendas anywhere. 

Miguel is a great protagonist. He really acts and feels like a genuine kid. He is a bit selfish but he is also kindhearted and caring. 

The voice acting was also incredible. From the singing to the talking, everything was spot on. My jaw dropped when I heard Miguel sing and it happened again when Hector sang. 

The Animation

Needless to say that the animation was breathtaking. Especially the character animation. Everyone moved so smoothly and so natural that, at points, you’d forget you were watching an animated movie. 

The colors were amazing and the Land of the Dead is truly creative. 

This is the best animation Pixar has put out so far. 

What I thought of the movie

Definitely worth more than one watch. This movie is proof that an original story, done with heart and passion can really sell well and bring audiences together. 

In a world were sequels have become the norm we need more movies like Coco, which tell an original story that manages to tug at our heart strings and stay with us long after we leave the movie theaters. 

Again, I am not mexican but watching the movie I felt as If I was closer to their culture. I was introduced to more mexican customs and traditions and I got to see just how beautiful their culture and their language is. 

We should be more open to movies like this. After all, there are so many beautiful cultures out there that could have a great movie like Coco. We just have to show movie makers that we like these kind of movies and that they sell.

Speaking of movies representing cultures I have to say that Coco is miles better than Moana. I mean, sure Moana was nice, the animation was great but, essentially it was a buddy-buddy comedy with some twists. I like that Moana does not want love and wants to carry on her ancestors’ customs and traditions but, at no point during the movie, did I feel transported there. All I felt was Disney trying to make money off of a culture. And while many aspects of that movie were cool and I learnt a great deal about polynesian culture I didn’t feel as invested in it and I gues this has to do with the stakes set up and with the link formed with the main character as well as with the story itself. 

Coco’s story is simply close to home to many many people because it talks about family and family values and about following your dream despite your family but also to remember to still respect your relatives and your customs and traditions in the process. Make no mistake, Moana si also about following your dreams but I felt less connected to her, for some reason. 

Pixar’s Coco is simply different and it shows. Disney is afraid to go in too deep because it does not want to alienate its audiences. I mean sure they have their fair share of dark stuff but it is mostly light stuff. (Except from the Bambi stuff). 

Pixar takes the cake for simply showing Hector’s death on screen and for also saying directly that HIS BEST FRIEND KILLED HIM. I remember that I was sitting next to two girls in the theater and they were blown away when that happened. I don’t think  they fully registered the implications of what they saw but they were taken aback by it. 

Go see Coco because it is a wonderful movie but also to show it support and to show movie makers and Hollywood and everyone that movies with characters from different cultures can sell well.

Even “The Book of Life” director Jorge Gutierrez supports Coco because if Coco does well he, and others like him, can go on to make more movies about different cultures. 

So please do not go around saying Coco is ripping off Book of Life because it is not. 

Yes, both movies have a guy with a guitar but that’s about it. 

[beckytailweaver]

This.

There’s a quote somewhere about how unwise it is to push a good man past his limits. A villain will gloat and monologue and try to crush your soul to feed his ego; a good man forced beyond the point of reason will just kill you.

The quiet ones can surprise you with the force of their emotions. The silly ones can hide deep wells of anger. This man has been dead, lost, lied to, injured, mocked, grieving, and abandoned for almost a century. You bet he’s got some rage. Prior to this, most of it was aimless, or directed at himself: his own foolishness for leaving home and dying of something so stupid, his failures at the bridge, and deserting his family so utterly that they never put up his photo. He may even believe that Coco hates him as much as Imelda.

Then Miguel helped him make a connection and flip everything he knew on its head. It wasn’t bad luck. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t his fault. It was deliberate, premeditated, cold-blooded murder. And beyond that, it was the betrayal of a friendship he believed existed since childhood.

Suddenly, that hundred years of buried, festering anger has a target.

Artists are often very passionate people. Héctor being kind, soft, silly, or happy-go-lucky on the outside doesn’t mean he’s incapable of feeling things very deeply, or of being incredibly intense when the situation calls for it. (Check out the intensity of his will to cross the bridge!) He’s a musician and creator of songs, music is a performing art, there’s got to be a lot of fire and drive in him to be as passionate as he is about his music and his loves.

To be a songwriter, not just a musician, one needs to have an intelligent mind, a broad command of the language, a complete understanding of musical notation, a keen musical ear, a stable sense of rhythm, and even a passing skill at mathematics. These things require discipline and focus, which makes me absolutely believe Héctor’s expression in Picture #1. This man is capable of laser focus, and has the fire within to launch straight forward when it’s needed.

He’s just spent most of his life, I think, tempering his passions to bend around the rigid, steel wills of his most important people (Imelda and Ernesto, both of whom seem to be very my way or the highway kind of people. In Ernesto’s case, we do this exactly my way or I kill you).

Until he finds out his best friend murdered him and destroyed his chances of going home alive or dead. Ernesto took away his life, his home, his family, everything he held dearest. This is a Héctor Rivera rage button. He doesn’t care about the songs or the fame. But this cruel theft of all that he loves is enough to make Héctor forget himself entirely. (Because fighting in front of a child is not a dad thing to do.)

If he’d had the strength, he probably would have done a lot worse than knock Ernesto over.

And yes, Ernesto is a coward. He has to poison his best friend, without even the decency to make it a quick death. He can’t handle pain. He freaks out and calls security when this weakened, rickety scarecrow jumps him. He runs away from a group of shoemakers and shopkeepers (granted, Imelda is pretty scary). He takes a child hostage to keep him safe from said shoemakers. (Of course, when it’s just a tiny half-skeletonized child he’s facing, then he can man up and throw him off a building...)

Ernesto has probably never seen Héctor truly wrathful either.

SOFTBOY IS MAD EVERYONE RUN