Well here you are in Mexico. It's the 1970s and you've decided to take a trip to a country that just so happens to be in the midst of a civil war of sorts (the Mexican Dirty War some call it). Why you're here is anyone's guess, even you can't remember, but you're taking in the sights and sounds all the same. People marching in the streets, kids playing in the alleys, neighboring people calling to each other from the rooftops, and the ambience of birds chirping, dogs barking, and street vendors vending. It all feels like a dream --no, more like a memory. As you stroll along the sidewalk you recognize a house that feels quite familiar, yet somehow remains entirely foreign to you. The gate leading into the residence is ajar, and it sounds like the crashing waves of the ocean are pouring out of the narrow opening. Peeking your head in, you see Dixon pouring something all over the driveway tile and proceeding to push broom his way across. In one of the second story windows you briefly spy John and Ryan before they walk out of sight. Near the entryway of the home is the Underground Table, masquerading as patio furniture. The stage appears to be set for an small gathering of some sort. You hear a plane over head soaring through the sky, its roar reaches your ears just as you notice a copy of Roma resting on The Table and on open chair inviting you to sit. Now you remember! This is the home of Alfonso Cuarón and somehow the Underground Table crew have maneuvered their way inside. The "how" isn't really important, but the "why" is the same as all the other times you've stumbled across The Table, its patrons, and your exclusively reserved seat. Join us for a discussion on Alfonso Cuarón's most intimate film yet: Roma (2018)
