
Omar Chaparro

Returning to Earth as an imitator, the legendary Mexican artist Pedro Infante must prove that he is no longer a womanizer to enter paradise.
I didn’t expect to cry during a movie about a dead Mexican crooner reincarnated as a washed-up impersonator. But there I was, sniffling into my michelada, watching Omar Chaparro’s Pedro Infante—now trapped in the body of a struggling tribute artist—try to win back his estranged wife by singing Amarga Navidad in a dive bar. The scene shouldn’t work.
It’s corny, over-lit, and the camera lingers a beat too long on Chaparro’s damp, pleading eyes. And yet. There’s something about the way he holds the microphone, not like a performer, but like a man clutching the last shred of his dignity.
That’s the trick of Out of the Clear Blue Sky (Como caído del cielo): it takes a premise so ridiculous it should collapse under its own weight and somehow finds the emotional truth buried inside the absurdity.

Pepe Bojórquez, the director, isn’t reinventing cinema here. What he’s doing is trickier: he’s trying to reconcile Mexico’s most mythologized macho icon with the country’s modern, feminist reckoning. Pedro Infante, the real one, was a serial womanizer whose personal life was as messy as his on-screen charm was effortless.
The film’s conceit—Infante’s spirit must prove he’s no longer a cad to earn his place in heaven—isn’t just a plot device; it’s a cultural exorcism. Bojórquez isn’t letting Infante off the hook, but he’s not canceling him either. Instead, he’s forcing the legend to confront the women he hurt, one awkward, cringe-inducing encounter at a time.
"A sentimental Pedro Infante tribute with touching music and emotion undercut by silly writing and clumsy side plots."
The story of a womanizing legend seeking redemption in a new body lands as surprisingly heartfelt, with multiple viewers calling it beautiful, moving, and even crying through repeat watches. latestnetflix.com's view is that Strong affection for the songs, the nostalgic homage, and Omar Chaparro’s earnest turn as Pedro give the film charm, but low-budget execution, over-the-top comedy and some absurd narrative choices keep reactions mixed.
Before Out of the Clear Blue Sky even landed on Netflix on Christmas Eve 2019, Omar Chaparro's office was taking calls. He told Mexican cameras he had been asked to kill himself, and that strangers hoped the film's plane crash would be "lo más real" so he would die on screen. Univision ran the quotes. He was 45, a box-office comic with a long Martha Higareda streak, and he had just posted that he would play his "más grande ídolo" Pedro Infante in a movie that was not a biography. latestnetflix.com's read is that Fans of the Idol of Guamúchil did not wait for a trailer.They decided a wig comic had no right.
He almost walked. El Universal reported he turned José Pepe Bojórquez down twice until the script, written with Alfredo Félix-Díaz off a play by Toby Campion, felt like a tribute instead of a stunt. In the plot Infante has sat in limbo for 60 years, too much of a womanizer for heaven, too beloved for hell. He gets one more shot inside impersonator Pedro Guadalupe Ramos, whose marriage to Raquel is already rotting because he slept with her cousin Samantha. Chaparro plays both skins. Ana Claudia Talancón is the wife. Stephanie Cayo is the cousin. Angélica María, who actually worked with Infante, plays herself. That last credit is the film's insurance policy. It did not calm the widow.
Irma Dorantes went on De Primera Mano and asked, "Qué es eso? Caída al infierno." How long did it last? What did they do? She said no imitator has his talent, and that she would rather they did not, even if she cannot stop them. Chaparro, talking to GQ México before release, described a private ritual. He walked naked through the house, lay on the floor, cried, and prayed to Infante for permission. He sent himself WhatsApp voice notes in the idol's cadence. He told Yordi Rosado he once fell asleep naked in the dressing room. He co-wrote "De qué me sirve el cielo" with Jorge Avendaño and then prayed to Infante, not God, to help him sing it without embarrassing the catalog. After wrap he told GQ, "me niego a dejarlo." His wife and kids told him to get over it.
The Netflix Latinoamérica trailer still opens on the Christmas miracle pitch. Chaparro told Al Día the interesting value was watching Infante meet the 21st century and learn that being machista is no longer a compliment. He told SensaCine he understood the pile-on. "Es lógico que digan cómo este cuate que hace personajes con peluca va a interpretar a mi máximo ídolo." He asked people to watch first. Some did and still hated the forehead prosthetic. Some changed their minds. The threats were real either way.
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