7:35 in the Morning

By Jasmine Wallis

I love a good Musical. They’re cheery, catchy, and fun. But every musical is slightly removed from reality. What would you think if you were at work or in a café, and everyone around you suddenly burst into song? That’s precisely what happens in Nacho Vigalondo’s dark short film, 7:35 De La Mañana.

The Spanish film is Vigalondo’s debut and granted him an Academy Award nomination for Best Short Film and it’s evident as to why. It begins with a woman named Mujer walking into her local café, the same café she goes to at 7:35 am every day. Suspense is created in the first few seconds with the silence, and tension of other patrons; only hearing the clinking of coffee cups on saucers and the woman’s shoes on the floor as she takes her seat. It is then that Tipo (played by Vigalondo himself) begins the twisted musical number that carries the audience throughout the rest of the film.

Vigalondo cleverly uses the musical trope of professing love for a woman through song, a trope that is so heavily used it appears commonplace that every other person in the scene knows the words and dance moves (I’m looking at you Grease). In this film, the whole cast breaks into song and dance but Mujer is concerned, and confused by this, unlike in Musicals where it’s accepted, and assumed everyone should know the song. Through small details, voices shaking, darting eyes, and a pile of cell phones by a waiters feet the audience realizes that there is something more going on.

The way Vigalondo sings, and dances to express his feelings for Mujer is something that audiences have seen before; the grand romantic gesture that western society fawns over. We’ve seen it in  Love Actually, Say Anything, and Bridget Jones’ Diary but what begins as a romantic cliché results in an explosive ending that will leave audiences conflicted by their own emotions. It is this twist on the cliché that makes it a disturbing yet enchanting film to watch. The black and white film that is set in the one place subverts the romantic gesture and turns it into a terrifying expression of one man’s love for a woman.

If it were not for the cheery sounding song that is played through the whole film the comedic element would be lost. It is through the fumbling dance moves, off-key singing and Tipo’s head bobbing that the audience can chuckle at the audacity of what is a highly serious situation. It’s important to note that after this film, Vigalondo went on to become a well-known sci-fi, and thriller writer, and director. Whilst this film is neither of those, it leaves audiences on the edge of their seats, holding their breath, and crossing their fingers, and toes. Ultimately a foreshadowing of the types of films Vigalondo created in the years afterwards.

7:35 De La Mañana successfully fulfils its plotline within the time frame it is given. The short film has a beginning, conflict, and end but also leaves the audience questioning the story. What happened before Mujer walked in? How long were they practising the routine for? What was the aftermath of Tipo’s actions? Good short films fulfil an audience’s sense of closure, yet also stir the imagination and make you crave for a sequel.

That was what got me hooked: the suspense, the dark comedy twist, and also empathy for the characters involved. In the song, Vigalondo’s character sings the line, “Don’t forget that the best things in life / you have to let them begin / and let them end.” Ultimately Tipo had already made up his mind, this would be the first and last interaction he would have with the woman he saw every morning at 7:35. The whole film is deeply poetic and beautiful, and the way Vigalondo weaves a musical, a dark comedy, and a tragic love story into eight short minutes is what will make audiences forever enchanted by the scene in the café.