Cronos, Guillermo Del Toro’s gothic horror masterpiece, has a sequel you had no idea existed

Guillermo del Toro knows monsters intimately. This fascination goes beyond superficial appreciation, because monstrosity in del Toro’s work is an acquired trait as opposed to a compulsive instinct. For example, the creature in del Toro’s ‘Frankenstein’ is a sympathetic victim who chooses to end the vicious cycle of abuse and preserve his innate tenderness despite the horrors. This instinct to humanize what we traditionally consider monstrous dates back to his 1993 feature debut. “Cronos”, which reinvents the myth of vampires giving it an extraordinarily stylish shade. While this debut film isn’t as thematically rich or complex as “Pan’s Labyrinth” or “The Devil’s Backbone,” it exhibits an emotional depth (and a deep love of the macabre) that blossoms beautifully throughout the director’s singular career.

“Cronos” is somewhat overlooked compared to del Toro’s later works, which could be attributed to its extremely limited release in the United States, where it was shown on a total of 28 screens. Additionally, being a first independent feature film primarily in Spanish, “Cronos” was not as sought after by general theater audiences at the time. Today it is considered a classic of the genre, a fresh and inventive story about humanity ultimately prevailing over monstrosityeven after the latter pushes us into the depths of addictive depravity.

Turns out “Cronos” seems to have a standalone sequel called “We Are What We Are” that no one ever talks about. This makes sense, as his only connection to del Toro’s film is extremely flimsy with Daniel Giménez Cacho’s Tito, who reprises his role as “Cronos” in this Jorge Michel Grau film. But does Grau’s film examine horror in a new way and have anything interesting to say?

While Kronos uses the fantastical to expose the monstrosity inherent in the human experience, it ends with a climactic final act that feels humane and hopeful. On the other hand, “We Are What We Are” has nothing positive, as it paints a relentlessly macabre picture of a family falling apart after the death of the patriarch. No, this is not a film about grief and what it does to us, but an uncompromising look at a dysfunctional family dynamic that already hides a sinister secret. There are no monsters or ghosts here, as existence itself is a horrible ordeal in a city overrun with corruption, which widens the gap between those drowning in riches and those who must fight for the scraps.

Grau knows how to weave anxiety into a story that keeps taking dark turns, and there’s clearly a sincere attempt to approach genre tropes from a subversive perspective. For the most part, it works, as the film asks insightful questions about the nature of guilt and shame and how they can manifest in unforgivable acts. Is the family’s monstrosity an extreme reaction to their socioeconomic situation, or is it simply a symptom of moral bankruptcy that has seeped into their patriarch? These intellectual tensions, while admirable, are overshadowed by the sadness of a film that refuses to take a break or rein in its unchecked cynicism.

You can also check out Jim Mickle’s self-titled American remake of Grau’s horror film if you like (Mickle insists it’s less of a remake and more of a companion piece). This entry is also quite thematically pointed and macabre, but takes a more simplified approach to Grau’s depressing original.