Chupa

Before this movie even dropped on Netflix, the internet did what the internet does best: it had a collective meltdown over a title. If you spent five minutes on social media in early 2023, you probably saw the jokes about the word "Chupa" and its, uh, less-than-innocent slang connotations in certain Spanish-speaking circles. It was the kind of viral marketing nightmare that only happens in our hyper-connected, meme-driven era. But once you actually sit down with the film, you realize that Jonás Cuarón (who previously gave us the much grittier Desierto) wasn’t trying to be edgy. He was trying to make an Amblin movie.

I watched this on a Tuesday afternoon while wearing one fuzzy sock because I couldn't find the other, and honestly, that lopsided feeling of comfort and slight annoyance is a pretty good metaphor for the film itself. It’s a sweet, well-meaning adventure that feels like it was grown in a lab using DNA samples from E.T. and The Goonies, then given a vibrant coat of Mexican paint.

The Myth, The Legend, The Winged Fluff-Ball

The story kicks off in 1996, a choice that feels very "now." We are currently obsessed with the 90s in the same way the 80s dominated the 2010s. Our protagonist is Alex, played with a quiet, soulful loneliness by Evan Whitten (Mr. Robot). Alex is a kid struggling with the loss of his father and feeling disconnected from his heritage. His mom ships him off to San Javier, Mexico, to spend time with his grandfather, Chava.

Demián Bichir (A Better Life, The Hateful Eight) plays Chava, a retired luchador who is slowly losing his memory but hasn’t lost his spirit. Bichir is the absolute anchor of this movie. In an era where streaming platforms often prioritize high-concept hooks over character depth, his performance feels grounded and genuinely moving. He brings a gravitas to the "crazy grandpa" trope that makes the bond between him and Alex feel earned rather than scripted.

Then, of course, there’s the creature. Instead of the terrifying, blood-sucking lizard-monkey of folklore, this Chupacabra is essentially a winged cat-dog with giant blue eyes. The creature looks like a Pokémon that had a rough night in the Chihuahua desert, and I mean that as a compliment. It’s designed for maximum plushie-sale potential, but the CGI is surprisingly tactile for a mid-budget streaming release.

A Very 90s Kind of Future

The adventure kicks into gear when Alex discovers the baby "Chupa" hiding in his grandpa’s shed. Naturally, there are bad guys on the prowl. Christian Slater (Heathers, True Romance) shows up as Richard Quinn, a scientist who wants to capture the creature for its perceived medicinal properties.

Slater is clearly having a blast playing a corporate stooge. It’s a classic 90s villain role—not particularly deep, but perfectly slimy. He’s the kind of antagonist who exists solely to be outsmarted by children, and in the context of a family adventure, it works. He’s joined by Julio Cesar Cedillo (Sicario) and Alex Knight, who fill out the ranks of the "men in suits" chasing our heroes through the desert.

What I appreciated most was the sense of place. Cuarón and cinematographer Nico Aguilar capture the Mexican highlands with a warmth that avoids "yellow filter" clichés. The production design by Benny Rowan feels lived-in; the ranch is cluttered with Lucha Libre masks and dusty memories, making it feel like a sanctuary rather than a movie set. It’s a great example of how contemporary cinema is getting better at specific, respectful representation without making it feel like a checklist.

Finding Heart in the Algorithm

Is Chupa predictable? Absolutely. You can set your watch by the plot beats. We have the "learning to trust" montage, the "narrow escape from the authorities" sequence, and the "tearful goodbye" finale. It follows the Spielbergian blueprint so closely it might as well have a "Property of Amblin" stamp on the frame.

However, in an era of franchise fatigue and multiversal chaos, there’s something almost rebellious about a 98-minute movie that just wants to tell a story about a boy and his monster. It doesn't try to set up a "Chupa-Verse" or leave us with a post-credits sting teasing a crossover with Bigfoot. It’s a self-contained journey.

That said, the film does suffer a bit from "Netflix sheen." There are moments where the lighting feels a little too digital, a little too clean, missing that grainy, cinematic texture that made the 90s films it emulates feel so magical. And while Ashley Ciarra is charming as Alex’s cousin Luna, the child ensemble doesn't quite have the spark of something like Stranger Things. They’re good, but they’re playing roles we’ve seen a thousand times.

Chupa isn't going to redefine the adventure genre, and it probably won't be the first thing you think of when you look back at the cinema of the 2020s. But it’s a solid, heart-on-its-sleeve family film that treats its cultural setting with genuine affection. It’s the perfect "5-minute test" winner—if you start it while waiting for something else, you’ll likely find yourself still there an hour later, rooting for a CGI fluff-ball to find its way home. It reminds me that sometimes, a simple story told with a bit of soul is exactly what the algorithm ordered.