Meet the Family Living Hand-to-Mouth as a Private Ambulance in Mexico City
Juan Ochoa is not unlike many 17-year-olds. He has a sharp haircut; it’s held in place by too much hairspray. He has a girlfriend, Jessica, and they talk on the phone. They talk on the phone a lot. But when Juan tells Jessica about his day, it becomes clear he’s different to most his age. He tells her about the person whose life he tried to save. He tells her about those who’ve fallen out of buildings, of the broken bones. Sometimes they laugh, as she jokingly asks for pictures, and Juan briefly becomes a normal teenager again. Other times, he cries.
Juan’s family operate a private ambulance in Mexico City. They do this because, without them, 9,000,000 people - as many as live in London - are cared for by only 45 government-funded emergency ambulances. That’s one ambulance for every 200,000 citizens. Families like the Ochoas help to fill the gap; they try to save lives. But it’s not charity.
‘Midnight Family’ documents the Ochoa’s struggle, as they try to make a living from keeping others alive.
Director Luke Lorentzen comprehensively captures the family’s experiences at every point in that process. He’s in the ambulance as the crew race at nerve-shattering pace to the site of accidents. He’s there as they bundle the injured into the back, providing what pain relief they can. And he’s there at the moment when they ultimately have to ask their patients, or their families, for payment.
Mexico relies largely on private healthcare. While it’s not immediately clear in the documentary, the Ochoa’s and those like them tend to operate in the richest areas of the city, where more residents can afford insurance. Helping those without insurance means the family are unlikely to get paid. But even when they help the wealthy, payment is often refused, and there’s little the Ochoa’s can do about it. The police offer no support; they’re more inclined to demand a bribe.
Juan can’t understand why people don’t pay. Without those like him, the injured would be left on the sides of roads, or wherever tragedy has befallen them. When they’re not paid, the family can’t afford to eat. They can’t afford new medical supplies. Saving lives costs them money. When they’re too broke to afford gas, the family have to ask a mortician for a loan. The fact they’re so well acquainted with someone who looks after dead bodies makes you wonder how often the Ochoa’s are successful.
Midnight Family isn’t an easy watch. Any documentary that opens with blood being haphazardly cleaned from the inside of an ambulance is unlikely to be a happy one. But Lorentzen makes it hard to look away. The film is shot beautifully - a feat made all the more impressive by the fact that Lorentzen worked alone, with just two cameras. It took him three years to document all that he needed. But the film's beauty isn’t there to soften the blows it delivers. It’s there to make sure you feel every single one.
The film's power lies in its visual intimacy. When the family scramble at breakneck speed towards each emergency, Lorentz is able to put you right in the passenger seat. You’re watching, as Juan barely avoids crashing while desperately speeding to get to an accident ahead of any competitors. You’re wondering, if they do crash, who will come to their aid? You’re worrying, if anyone does come, will the Ochoas’s be able to afford to pay?
As the sun rises on the Midnight Family, the documentary doesn’t offer any solutions to the problems it presents. But the value of this film is without doubt. As debate about healthcare remains as fervent as ever, in the US and the UK, this is a raw reminder of what society can look like when public services collapse. The relatability of Juan, of his family - of normal people with compassion for the injured and concern for their own wellbeing - leaves you feeling that, without adequate support and social provisions, none of us are that far from midnight.
Watch Midnight Family online and in cinemas from 21 February 2020 - click below to find out more.
