In the early 20^th century in Mexico City, there was a secret, high-society social club where gay men could meet and live openly.  The club, of which membership was highly guarded, catered to men in the upper echelons of society.  One of its high-profile members was Ignacio de la Torre (Alfonso Herrera), the son-in-law of Porfirio Diaz (Fernando Becerril), the president of Mexico at the time.  El Baile de los 41 – Dance of the 41 – is a semi-fictional account of Ignacio’s interactions with the club and his budding, adulterous relationship with Evaristo Rivas (Emiliano Zurita). 

David Pablos directs the 99-minute drama, released by Netflix, with care and tenderness.  Working from a script by Monika Revilla, Pablos carefully examines the tightrope that gay men had to walk to save face in their communities, and while there are certain elements of the tragedy of being queer present, Revilla never frames one party as guilty but rather places the blame on society as a whole.  That all the characters are living and acting in moral ambiguity is one of the strongest aspects of the film. 

El Baile de los 41 does not just have strength on the page, but its entire production design is gorgeous and evocative.  Color and lighting are expertly employed here as the warm glow from inside the clubhouse allows the men a sense of place, belonging, and ultimately freedom.  Towards the end of the film, during the titular dance in which half of the men are dressed as women, it is one of the only moments of joy and bliss in the entire piece and a welcome sight, too.  This moment of acceptance is very unique in its carefully constructed tender build-up and composition making it unlike anything else seen before, even within the genre.  When you compare this lighting to that of the outside world – especially in the harsh, unfiltered light of the city streets – the stark comparison is not just jarring but unsettling as well. 

It is not just the street lighting that causes discomfort, but even in the stately manor of which Ignacio and his wife, Amada (Mabel Cadena), reside in is harsh and unwelcoming.  The beautiful home with blue and green walls outlined in white trim would be the epitome of wealth and success in any other story but is instead a prison here for Ignacio and Amada is the guard.  It is not an entirely fair metaphor for Amada because if the dynamic is examined further, the metaphor falls apart completely and shows Amada as the true prisoner here; trapped in a political marriage with a man who can never love her and all but refuses to put up appearances. Cadena, through it all, brings an incredible mix of anguish and elegance to the role.  She is obedient to her father, but when she is at home, she is ferocious and demanding in ways that, with modern understanding of sexuality may appear crass and uncaring, but for a woman in her position and that time period her actions can be seen in a more powerful light even if her motivations are fueled by obligation. 

Herrera, as Ignacio, portrays the troubled man with dignity.  He is torn between duty to his position and country as well as his own desires – desires which are incompatible with his professional and political life.  He is our main entry point into the film and has a heavy burden to carry with the role.  On one hand, he has the immediate sympathy as someone struggling with establishing their identity, but on the other, he treats Amada with lessening respect in each passing scene.  Herrera finds the right balance to always win us back which makes the drama engaging and not irritating as can happen when the entry point is severely flawed and can become unsympathetic.    

Based on true events, the film unfurls like a memory, or rather a dream. A dream of being able to be oneself, a simple ask that – especially at the time – was impossible to pursue given the harsh and unforgiving views of society. Sharing many of the same themes as Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain (2005), Dance of the 41 allows us to reflect back and feel good about how far we have come in terms of acceptance of queer expression, but it would be a folly to ignore all which remains the same and not strive to do better.