What This Year’s Latino Representation at the Oscars Tells Us

HOLLYWOOD — Here is a secret that I hope to trust you with, dear reader, of where to experience a true cinematic experience in Los Angeles. It is not one place but two, and how they speak to each other. 

The first and most obvious is the IMAX screen at the Chinese Theatre. For the diehard cinephile reading this, you will know the sound there is pristine, and yes, there is a bar, and the handprints of Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Harrison Ford, and so many other legends grace the floor outside the entrance. 

The second place is what used to be known as the Magic Johnson Theatre in South Central, now called Cinemark Baldwin Hills Crenshaw. If you grew up in Los Angeles like me in the early 2000s, it was the Magic Johnson Theatre that introduced us to cinema at a very young age. It is where, now, on any given Discount Tuesday, I can count on a packed theatre of Black and Brown families filling the rows and, in community, giving life to the movie projected on the screen. I share this Angeleno secret to offer an image of duality and complexity. Both experiences, though different, are truly the same.

How is this all related to this year’s Oscars? Let me explain.

Latino visibility at the Oscars is expanding, but the multiple cultural and industrial pathways that lead to it don’t always intersect. In many ways, this year’s Latino nominations mirror these two theaters I have come to love in Los Angeles. One represents the scale and machinery of classic Hollywood itself, but also the new studio system, with its prestige budgets and global distribution pipelines that shape what much of the world understands as cinema. The other represents something more independent, closer to the rhythms of the communities that fill those seats on Tuesday nights — films that emerge from outside Hollywood’s power centers yet still command the world’s attention, especially in our communities. 

This year, those two paths are embodied in the numerous nominations of Guillermo del Toro’s “Frankenstein” and Kleber Mendonça Filho’s “The Secret Agent.” These two works, both Best Picture nominees, arrive at the Oscars through very different paths yet speak to the evolving presence of Latino and Latin American storytelling on the industry’s biggest stage.

It is no secret that Netflix has been deeply invested in Latin America, and the institutional acceptance of a Latino auteur like Guillermo del Toro was inevitable, placing him as a key leader in helming this next phase of what the “studio system” is becoming. In 2023, Netflix greenlit del Toro’s “Frankenstein” after signing him to a multi-year partnership. The now titan of the industry financed the film at roughly $120 million, one of the biggest budgets of the Mexican director’s almost three decades in Hollywood. 

Since his first films in Mexico in the 90s, del Toro detailed his country’s sensibilities in his work. When he started working internationally, his source material drew from Spanish Civil War history, Catholic iconography, Latin American gothic traditions, and the horrors of authoritarian violence everywhere. But the truth is, his films are not always culturally coded as “Latino stories.” Instead, he is recognized as a universal filmmaker with Latin American roots. This is similar to how the Academy has treated fellow Oscar-winning Mexican directors Alfonso Cuarón and Alejandro G. Iñárritu. Critics like Manuel Betancourt argue that these filmmakers are frequently framed in awards discourse less as Latino filmmakers and more as global auteurs, a strong positioning that allows the industry to celebrate their artistry without fully confronting its own gaps in Latino representation.

Throughout his current press tour, del Toro has spoken more candidly and openly than ever on how all of his work is informed by his Mexican sensibilities, the dynamics of Latino families, and overall, the monsters we create as societies. Now that he has a truly secure place in the cinematic industry lexicon, and with the rise of more Latino critics, moderators, and writers, there is room for a more candid discussion of identity where there may not have been before. Del Toro's “Frankenstein” is a visual feat. Even more astonishing, knowing there was little to no CGI, and that, though it took years to make, the result is his uncompromised vision truly coming to life with the best resources in the business. 

What does it mean to truly trust your community when one of your own is hunting you down? We need not look far: how does one explain that the majority of ICE agents are Latinos? (The older sibling of The Latino Newsletter, Latino Rebels, wrote about this back in 2020.) In “The Secret Agent,” our main character is being hunted by fellow Brazilians who are funded by an industrialist. He is fighting to save his life and his son’s. But the contrast between that hunt and the way other Brazilians become our main character’s refuge and support also brings immense relief to the viewer. We see the beauty of authentic community during persecution and turbulent times, and this is what I find most exciting about what is being called a “political picture.” 

Kleber Mendonça Filho, a critic-turned-filmmaker from the Northeast of Brazil, said at the Academy Museum that “The Secret Agent” isn’t concerned with directly replicating the dictatorship that plagued the country in the 70s and 80s, but rather focuses on showcasing “a sense of time.”

Getting this film made was nearly impossible, given that the star and co-producer, Wagner Moura, had been directly targeted and censored by former president Jair Bolsonaro for a previous project set at the same time as "The Secret Agent.” Producers had to navigate a volatile cultural funding environment, where public film financing has been repeatedly contested and reshaped by political shifts over the past decade. Like many Brazilian films, it relied on public funds, international co-production support, and private backing. 

Even as “The Secret Agent” pushes through international distribution and its Oscar campaign, it does so without the full marketing machinery that typically surrounds studio contenders. This has forced its team to fight for visibility in the same awards ecosystem dominated by far larger promotional budgets. In that sense, the film’s presence in the Oscar conversation is not only an artistic achievement but also a reminder of the structural hurdles Latin American cinema continues to navigate to reach the global stage.

For Latino leaders, thinkers, and consumers, reimagining what Latino culture is and can be is an ongoing imperative. For many Latinos, the Bad Bunny Super Bowl was a moment when Puerto Ricans, L.A. Chicanos, Central Americans, and beyond were seen together for the first time, symbolically raising the “Latino” pride flag high. As I think about what these Latino Oscar nominees mean, I think about how both films talk to each other. 

Most importantly, and most definitely, is the fact that both of these films, and these kinds of films, need each other. “The Secret Agent” represents Latin America speaking for itself. Del Toro’s “Frankenstein” represents a Latino auteur firmly established within Hollywood institutions. Brazil is a part of Latin America, as much as Mexican goth stories are a part of Latinidad. 

Both films moved international audiences, but they operate in what some would consider different cultural economies in ways that should push each side. As mergers and big changes continue to rattle the industry, it's also a time to truly think about what gets resourced and what is celebrated when we uplift Latino representation. 

Beyond conversations about duality and integration, both films are beacons of light, reminding us that Latino cinema remains a vigilant art form. Across his work, del Toro dares us to look at the monsters within us and how the horrors of patriarchy plague families. It asks to look deeply within. In “The Secret Agent,” Kleber Mendonça Filho dares audiences to consider the potential corruption of neighbors and the legacy of our past actions.

Despite what happens this Sunday during the awards ceremony, I remain hopeful, knowing that some doors have been opened, tables are being built, and a sense of sanctuary can emerge for Latinos in an art form that, no matter what, dares us to dream. 

Francisco Avilés Pino is a Mexican writer and producer based in Los Angeles, whose work spans journalism, film, and fine art, exploring how power, identity, and culture shape immigrant and Latino/a life in America. Their work has appeared in the Museum of Contemporary Art-LA, HarperCollins, NPR, Vogue, The Nation, and The Intercept.

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Nuria Net edited this edition of The Latino Newsletter. Julio Ricardo Varela published it.

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