HOLA MEXICAN FILM FESTIVAL: Germán Cipriano Gómez Valdés Castillo, who sensibly shortened his stage name to Tin Tan, was one of Mexico’s most popular comic actors, a kind of Hispanic Jerry Lewis with the physicality of a Jim Carrey.
A multi-talented performer who starred in 106 films is surely a fitting subject for a biography but this documentary produced by his daughter, retired actress-singer Rosalía Valdés Julián, is pure hagiography.
Tin Tan is an unenlightening, superficial account of the Mexican star’s career, eschewing revelations of his personal life in favour of endless film clips of the man singing, dancing and clowning, combined with gushing tributes and anecdotes from former colleagues.
Evidently Simply Tin Tan, a 2005 doco produced by Rosalía’s brother Carlos Valdés, provided more insights into its subject but that hardly excuses Rosalía’s uncritical, slapdash effort in league with director Francesco Taboada and screenwriter Aldo Jiménez Tabone.
Valdés was born in 1915 in Mexico City but grew up in the northern town of Ciudad Juárez on the banks of the Rio Grande, where he got his start as a radio announcer nicknamed La Chiva – the goat – because he made a nannying sound. He looked a bit like Desi Arnaz with a moustache, with a very mobile face which was much given to mugging.
In the 1940s he was discovered by magician/ventriloquist Paco Miller, who invited him to join his company. There he first teamed with Marcelo Chávez, whom he called his 'carnal" (meaning brother) and who became his sidekick in numerous movies.
He was one of the first performers to popularise the Pachuco-style slang and mannerisms, which to many followers was a symbol of youths’ quest for freedom. His biographer Fritz Glockner says Valdés’ fondness for Spanglish upset conservative circles in Mexico City, who saw it as an affront to the purity of their language.
Despite his subsequent fame in what’s commonly known as the Golden Age of Mexican Cinema which lasted until 1969, colleagues say he remained unassuming and was generous to fellow performers.
As for his nickname, he says obliquely in one clip, 'The guys called me Tin Tan because I am all music."
Rosalía recalls that he met her mother, Rosalía Julián, who was nearly 17 years younger than him, when she was a singer and they went steady for seven years before marrying. The doco neglects to mention that Valdés was married twice before and is vague about the number of children he sired (there were six). 'My dad was always cheerful," Rosalía says in a typically bland comment, observing that he was the same off-screen as on-screen.
Just about the only blemish on the man’s character which the film sheds light on is his womanising. One colleague refers to his 'nomadic libido: he lusted from flower to flower."
But in most respects the man is portrayed as a paragon of virtue whose legacy lasts to this day. One fellow performer, Jorge Zamora, exalts him as 'King of the Guffaws, an Architect of Delight," who was blessed with a voice that 'rises to heaven, falls and rises again."
The doco skips over the decline he experienced in the latter stages of his career as several of his movies bombed, lead roles dried up and he was forced to play supporting parts. He died in 1973 from liver cancer, aged 57 – yet another detail the film omits.
