After a long and well-received run at music festivals, “Going Varsity in Mariachi” arrives on Netflix this week, where it’s expected to find a well-deserved mainstream audience. “Mainstream” is the key word here. While it may seem like a niche film in the synopsis, this engaging and entertaining documentary about Texas high schoolers who play to win statewide mariachi band competitions has enough substance to delight even viewers who don’t know the difference between a grito and a guitarrón.
As the editorial headlines succinctly put it: In Texas, where football tends to dominate any discussion of high school rivalries, more than 100 public schools also field competitive mariachi teams hoping to win the state championship. Most of the top teams are said to hail from the Rio Grande Valley—specifically, a tight-knit group of towns along the U.S.-Mexico border.
But not all teams are created equal. The Mariachi Nuevo Santander team from Roma High School in Rome, Texas, often stands out from the crowd, with its flashy costumes and impressive musical skills. But directors Sam Osborne and Alejandra Vasquez chose to focus on the Mariachi Oro team from Edinburg North High School, an underfunded institution in a low-income area.
Overcoming long odds, Oro’s Mariachi bands have secured their fair share of awards and acclaim over the years. But during the 2021-22 school year covered in “Going Varsity in Mariachi,” the challenges have become more daunting than ever. Like a high school football coach forced to reorganize after key players graduate, devoted band director Abel Acuña finds himself in the process of rebuilding with several newbies in the mix—including violinists, trumpeters, and a newbie who can barely handle his massive guitar (a deep-bodied, six-string Mexican bass).
Early on, Acuna expressed cautious optimism about his new lineup — but he admits that he and his students have a long road ahead of them, and don't have much time to coalesce as a band.
Amid all this, the specter of COVID-19 looms large and distracts. For much of the documentary, we see students, teachers, and audience members practically wearing face masks while in public—the trumpeters lower theirs during rehearsals and performances, but only briefly. Without addressing the obvious, the filmmakers generate undercurrents of suspense without ever directly addressing the real issue: What happens if one or more of the mariachi players catch or fall on the dreaded virus?
But despite the potential risks, the young band members in “Going Varsity in Mariachi” — identified only by their first names in the film titles — seem more interested in scoring victories than avoiding infection. Bella, the charismatic violinist who serves as the varsity band leader and the film’s de facto heroine, sees music as the best way to earn a scholarship to pursue higher education in pharmaceutical studies. Abby, the other violinist, also has her sights set on a scholarship, primarily so she can spread her wings at the relatively distant Texas State University in San Marcos and become independent from her close-knit family.
Then there’s Drake, the guy who’s trying his best, though not always successfully, while trying to master the guitar. Drake, who often brings to mind Jonah Hill during the recent “Superbad” era, wasn’t particularly dedicated to his work at first, skipping rehearsals to spend time with his new girlfriend. We’re left with the impression that this might be his first time in a serious romantic relationship, which might explain why he’s not paying attention to other things. On the other hand, we’re also left with the impression that Acuna is allowing Drake to rejoin the band, after he was fired, at least in part because, well, he doesn’t have anyone to replace the teenager.
Going Varsity in Mariachi proceeds in a brisk, straightforward manner, effectively alternating between scenes of practice and competition, and glimpses into the private lives of the coach and students.
Acuna admits he’s nearing burnout after years of doing jobs that “three or four people do full-time” at better-funded schools. And while he’s generally sympathetic and encouraging, he can be harshly critical — especially when Mariachi Oro is ranked near the bottom of the preliminary competition. Sure, he says, “they’re making a documentary about us.” But that doesn’t mean his players should be cocky. “We still have a job to do,” he says. “And today you didn’t do that job.”
Here and elsewhere, directors Osborne and Vasquez manage to quietly achieve a thrilling intimacy with their subjects, capturing unguarded moments that are at once moving and entertaining.
Maria and Marlena, two lesbian girls in Mariachi Oro, are worried about negative reactions from homosexuals if they pursue their dreams of becoming teachers in Texas. However, they are willing to attend prom together, and their agreement to do so is captured in one of the film's most beautiful moments.
As a first step toward independence, Abby asks her father for driving lessons, leading to a very funny sequence where the father's anxiety is clearly evident. (“Wait! That's a stop sign!”) The scene where Akuna calls Drake's mother to tell her that her son is (temporarily) out of the band, while a shy Drake stands nearby, is intense enough to make the viewer shudder with empathetic embarrassment.
The music, which ranges from mariachi standards like “Mexico Lindo y Querido” and “Volver, Volver” to newer songs written for competitions, is so catchy that you can’t help wishing there were more of it. But the filmmakers make it clear from the start that this isn’t a documentary about music so much as it is about the musicians. “They don’t think of themselves as high schoolers trying to play mariachi,” he notes midway through the film. “They think of themselves as mariachi players.” In other words, they think of themselves as worthy competitors in competitions. any platform.
