Lovesick [Netflix series review]

In  1996, our dear aunt Ángeles Mastretta published the book “Mal de amores”, and 10 years later her own daughter brought it to TV through a Netflix series. And I am here to hype them!

A la izquierda: Póster oficial de la serie de Netflix "Mal de Amores" basada en la novela de Ángeles Mastretta. Centro: Emilia Sauri (Renata Vaca). Derecha: la escritora Ángeles Mastretta.

Aunt Luce is a woman with big eyes

Back in my college days, my dearest friends—all of them worthy main characters in their own lives—and I, began reading the works of Ángeles Mastretta. And before you ask me on which side of the family she’s related, I invite you to read her book "Women with big eyes" ("Mujeres de ojos grandes").

This article isn’t long enough to convey the joy and enthusiasm with which I read that collection of short stories. Back then, I wasn’t the ignorant person I am now, who struggles to find time to read and cultivate myself. Rather, for academic reasons, I used to read between one and three books a week, and I still had time at night for the literary gatherings we’d come up with.

Amid all the political theorists, statisticians, and others we were reading, it was so inspiring to read Aunt Ángeles. As I pieced together the entire scene, imagining the characters’ faces, reactions, and personalities—practically smelling them from my home—I felt as though she were telling me everything, just as if we were at a sleepover.

Through *Mujeres de ojos grandes*, I imagined more about what my grandmothers’ youth must have been like. In a social context that prepared women for their primary role as wives and mothers, the women in these stories show that even within the limited space granted to their opinions and judgment, they were strong, creative, spontaneous, and full of life.

Just as I was reading "Puerto Libre", the San Luis City Council announced that Aunt Ángeles—whom we affectionately nicknamed “the Master”—would be giving a talk in town. My friends and I went; what am I saying, “went”? Yeah, we practically ran to see her!

And so, in full fangirl mode, she signed each of our books with a personal dedication and everything. Ever since then, it’s been official that “Aunt Luce is a woman with big eyes”—a fact that basically etched itself into my subconscious (though I probably already knew it)—and in one way or another, I’ve accepted it as my poetic reality.

The plot: Vicky Cristina Barcelona but the other way around

“Mal de amores” is set in Mexico toward the end of the Porfiriato and tells the story of Emilia Sauri. Emilia grows up in a liberal family, with a very close relationship with the Cuenca family (Dr. Cuenca is a well-known physician in Puebla), and her own father is an apothecary, so she has a good understanding of ailments and remedies.

Josefa Veytia, Emilia’s mother, is a character who bridges the traditional world of that era with those who dared to step outside their social roles (such as her sister, Milagros Veytia).

Aunt Milagros is a highly influential figure in Emilia’s life, through whom political ideas seep in, as well as the possibility of being a woman and making her own decisions during that time.

Daniel Cuenca is a character who comes and goes from the scene without ever seeming to leave Emilia’s heart. Wild, impulsive, and driven by his instincts, Daniel is sure to leave a trail of sighs from women in their twenties as he moves through the story.

Meanwhile, the incredibly handsome Dr. Zalvalza is a character whose presence, disposition, and dedication to his profession—and to the enigmatic Emilia—are the dream of anyone over thirty.

And that's where we'll stop the story to avoid spoilers... (And God forbid that Ángeles Mastretta should take offense at the subtitle of this section, too.)

The series

The book is set in Puebla, Chihuahua, Mexico City, and Chicago, but the series was filmed in Puebla and my hometown of San Luis Potosí.

Needless to say, I kept saying, “That’s San Luis!”, whenever a scene was filmed in my hometown, and I also went on to provide unsolicited details to my watch party about some of the buildings featured in the series.

The locations looked absolutely stunning! And honestly, considering that each episode had so many location changes and shifts between different states, I didn’t find a single continuity error!

The costumes, makeup, and hairstyles all showed impressive consistency, which truly bridged the 523-kilometer distance between the two cities with every one of Emilia’s walks.

I loved the cast—they really shone, and every actor was a perfect fit for their character. Among my favorite performances is Cassandra Ciangherotti, who really sounds just as I imagined other characters by Ángeles Mastretta (a mix of calm and composure but with a lot of passion). I also loved Sofía Carrera, who plays Sol, Emilia’s best friend, and I was so happy to see one of my favorites, Juan Pablo Medina, as Rivadeneira.

Can someone who’s already seen the series, and was born in Mexico before 1999 confirm whether Diana Bovio, who plays Emilia’s mom—Josefa Veytia—is the same girl who starred in the ads for the “new” Tsuru? I spent half the series wondering if it was her, in the red Tsuru, with that cute boyfriend! Help!

I loved watching certain historic buildings in my city as part of Emilia’s life, depicted in period detail, in all their splendor. It brought back memories of my art history classes and rekindled my admiration for colonial and Porfirian architecture.

Something that caught my attention is that, despite being a wealthy family, the scenes featuring Sol’s family or the Cuencas never showed their servants, which I think is a fairly acceptable omission. What do you think—should they have included them to make it more realistic? That said, much of the reality—the famine and the poverty of the population—is evident during Emilia and Daniel’s travels.

There’s a scene where Emilia says something like, “I was wondering where Don Porfirio’s trains had ended up,” and I identified with her, since I always imagined that traveling back then must have been extremely uncomfortable, obviously time-consuming, and rather unsanitary.

I think it’s wonderful that Catalina Aguilar Mastretta was the one to bring this book to the small screen. The protagonists of La Máster had to be portrayed by a woman with vision, great passion, and determination—just like the woman who wrote them. Clearly, Catalina grew up with a hunger to create, and with the encouragement and support of her mother—much like the prayer Aunt Milagros says as she holds little Emilia for the first time:

“My girl, I wish you madness. I wish you the fortune of love, the delirium of solitude, courage, impatience...”

The truth is that I really liked the series, and since I’d decided not to pay attention to the number of episodes, when the final episode came around, I did feel a bit down because I wanted more!

It also left me feeling uplifted, though a bit nostalgic to see my homeland and remember my friends—much happier than I felt after finishing the series One Hundred Years of Solitude (a review is coming soon, so don’t miss it!).

If you’ve read the book and watched the series, leave your thoughts in the comments.

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