It is a brutal collision between two cars at a busy intersection in Mexico City that sets the events into action; the accident is the single thing that all of the characters in Amores Perros have in common, though some of the events take place before the accident and some after. “Let me see,” you’re thinking. “Three interconnected stories? Mixed-up chronology? Lowlifes?” Draw the inevitable comparison to Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction and then quickly put it out of your mind; the comparison does neither film justice. Both Tarantino and Iñárritu are incandescently brilliant, original filmmakers, but both have quite distinct artistic agendas. Of the two, Iñárritu arguably has a wider emotional range, because not all of his characters are involved in the underworld of drugs, gambling, guns and robberies. He portrays his share of criminals and outsiders, but there’s an incredibly well-paced, quiet and subtle section involving affluent, law-abiding citizens in the middle of Amores Perros that displays a maturity not yet seen in a Tarantino film.

Space limitations prevent me from going into too much detail about the interweaving stories at work here, but I’ll give it a shot: there’s Octavio (Gael García Bernal), a rash young man in love with his violent brother’s pregnant wife (Vanessa Bauche); there’s a famous supermodel (Goya Toledo) whose life slowly unravels after her beloved poodle falls through the floor into her new house’s crawlspace; and there’s a former freedom fighter (Emilio Echevarría) who wanders the street with his dogs, carrying out the murders of people he has been contracted to kill, while harboring in himself a heartbreak from the past that only slowly comes to the surface. And there’s more, so much more, enough for a handful of fine films.