“All the world’s a stage.” A phrase coined by Shakespeare as a metaphor for life but taken as literal in the 2003 short film 7:35 in the Morning (original Spanish title 7:35 de la Mañana). Written, directed by, and starring Nacho Vigalondo, this seven minute emotional rollercoaster of a film singlehandedly introduced me to dark comedy, made me rethink the musical genre, and ignited my appreciation for the art of the short film.
I’ll keep my synopsis brief as this is one of those films where it’s better to go into it knowing as little as possible. Set in the early-morning hours inside of a small Spanish cafe, 7:35 in the Morning opens to the arrival of a young woman (Marta Belenguer) confused by the eerie silence of the cafe’s motionless patrons. Suddenly, a young man (Nacho Vigalondo) breaks into song and dance, transforming the cafe into a theatre of his own deranged flashmob involving the other patrons. Through a shocking reveal at the film’s midpoint, the young man steers the rest of the film from fun and catchy to an edge-of-your-seat viewing experience that will leave you guessing until the end.
Vigalondo’s performance is playful, psychotic, and exemplary in the art of physical comedy. His song’s catchy chorus has been permanently engrained into my brain, and I often find myself humming the song as I wait for my morning coffee to brew. Overall, this film yields high reward despite the simplicity at its core, and even with being shot in black and white, its lively energy and twisted whimsy radiates a vibrancy on screen.
7:35 in the Morning was nominated for best live action short film at the 77th Academy Awards, but despite its apparent acclaim, is unknown amongst the masses. This seems to be a sad reality for most short films. I think people often see the format as being amateurish, linking it to student films or as some sort of stepping stone to getting a feature made. Of course we see this in cases like Whiplash and Bottle Rocket, but it’s unfair to view short films as a lesser-than practice when in reality it is its own unique art form.
I admit that I once had held that negativism towards short films, but Vigalondo managed to change my outlook with seven minutes of screen time. 7:35 in the Morning isn’t amateurish or a fragment of something larger, but an impressive standalone piece of work that pushes creative boundaries, successfully captivates its audience, and maximises its storytelling without a dull moment.
I was introduced to this film by a Spanish teacher I had in high school. The highlight of my bilingual education, aside from learning a second language, was that I became exposed to the rich histories and cultures of the various Spanish-speaking countries around the globe through music, fine art, film, and literary works. Out of everything, Vigalondo’s film has stuck with me the most. Perhaps the viewing of this film was only a fleeting moment to my peers, but to me it was a life-changing moment.
This film managed to find me at a time where I was transitioning from casual film enjoyer to being a full-blown cinephile. In all its strangeness, disturbances, and humour, it offered me a complexity not experienced through the smooth-brained blockbusters and made-for-TV movies I was used to watching. Back then I couldn’t explain why I liked it, I just knew that I did.
This film is a perfect blend of everything I love. It’s my soulmate film.
Given the film’s deranged unfolding of events, I find myself laughing when I probably shouldn’t be, but I’ve always had an odd sense of humour. I guess it’s no wonder that I’ve been told it’s a very “me film.” Reflecting on some of my favourite films—Triangle of Sadness, Rushmore, Heathers, Drop Dead Gorgeous, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri—it occurred to me there was a common thread between each title. It’s evident now that 7:35 in the Morning was my formal introduction to dark comedy and became a gateway drug to the expansive genre. It has even made its way into my own work as a filmmaker.
As a theatre kid, I find it amusing that this film presents its plot in the form of a musical number. Historically, the musical film offered a sense of escapism to its audiences from the real-world troubles through fun songs, larger-than-life characters, and Technicolor visuals. On paper, 7:35 in the Morning’s themes contradict the essence of a musical film, yet it works perfectly. The subversion of the genre only enhances the comedy within the film and sets it apart from anything I’ve seen before. As much as I love Singin’ in the Rain, La La Land, and all the other classics, I now believe the world is lacking in non-traditional musicals.
Following Bad Bunny’s halftime show performance at this year’s Super Bowl, my bilingual brain has been on the comedown of a reggaeton high. It’s been thrilling to bear witness to the rapidly growing fandom of Bad Bunny amongst non-Spanish speakers. In a world that seems increasingly divided by hate, it’s refreshing and hopeful to see people coming together and engaging with a new culture in such a way. The whole situation has made me reflect on my own personal favourite expressions of art in the Spanish language, thus prompting my rewatch of 7:35 in the Morning. The same joy I felt the first time I watched it came flooding back. A few years and a film degree later, I finally understand that its pure originality is what has made it stick with me all this time.
I’ve seen films that have made me laugh, break into song, and hide behind my hands in fear. I’ve seen films that have shocked me, lured me into mystery, and left my brain spiralling even after the credits have finished rolling. Only 7:35 in the Morning has managed to make me feel all of this to me in one fell swoop, and I still have yet to see anything else like it.
Words by Brooklyn Enriquez
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