Churubusco Studios, a rambling complex in Mexico City, has been in business since 1945; in that time it has overseen some 3,000 movies and more telenovelas than anyone can remember. Today, on one of its sound stages, sits something from the future: a curving, luminous wall of 800 LED panels, stretched out in a panorama the size of four double-decker buses. The giant screen, displaying a computer-generated backdrop of Mexico City, is manipulated by technicians who can change the weather or rearrange buildings from a nearby console covered with glittering monitors and switches. It is “like flying the Apollo 11”, says Monica Reina, the head of Simplemente, the company that built it.

This virtual-production studio, the first in Latin America, was built last year at the request of Amazon Studios, which used it to film “Every Minute Counts”, a drama series about the Mexico City earthquake of 1985 which will start streaming on Prime Video on November 8th. In the same week Warner Bros Discovery will launch “Like Water for Chocolate”, a streaming series executive-produced by Salma Hayek, and Netflix will drop “Pedro Páramo”, its movie adaptation of Mexico’s arguably greatest (and certainly weirdest) novel. The three releases represent each streamer’s priciest production in Mexico to date; Netflix believes that “Pedro Páramo” is the most expensive Mexican movie ever made.

For decades Hollywood executives have gone south of the border in search of cut-price production services. But increasingly they see Mexico as a source of creative spark, too. When Ted Sarandos, Netflix’s co-chief executive, was asked which place he was most excited about, he said Mexico. Global demand for Spanish-language television has nearly trebled in the past four years, with Mexico accounting for a quarter of the shows, estimates Parrot Analytics, which tracks consumer interest.

Mexico has a long history as a film-production hub, having taken up the slack when Hollywood slowed down during the second world war. For a time in the 1940s cinema was Mexico’s sixth-largest industry. Talent later fled to Mexico from Spain’s dictatorship in the 1940s-70s and from Argentina’s in the 1970s and 80s.

All this has given Mexico “the DNA of international production”, says Avelino Rodríguez, head of Canacine, an industry body. When Netflix made its first foreign-language original, nine years ago, it chose to do so in Mexico (with “Club de Cuervos”, a football comedy-drama).

For all their technical experience in moviemaking, Mexicans have seldom seen their own stories convincingly told on screen. Though the Mexican box office sells more tickets than that of any country after India, China and America, its multiplexes are dominated by foreign fare. And when Mexico has starred, its image has often been wearily familiar: Westerns, novelas and the ever-popular narco-dramas predominate. “People would equate Mexican film as if it was a genre,” rather than a nationality, says Alejandro Ramírez, chief executive of Cinépolis, a Mexican cinema chain that is the world’s third-largest.

Páramo, not Paramount

Increasingly, however, Mexican productions are finding an authentic edge. The arrival of well-capitalised American streamers courting local audiences has meant a big infusion of cash. Netflix opened an office in Mexico five years ago; it now occupies six storeys of a central skyscraper, overlooking a city where its adverts seem to plaster every bus shelter. In the first half of this year Netflix commissioned nearly four of every ten movies and TV series in Mexico, reckons Ampere Analysis, a research firm.

As well as cash, streaming is inserting a bit of grit. In the broadcast era producers in Mexico and every other country had to make shows for the widest possible audience, resulting in those familiar tropes. “People imagined Mexico was mariachis and people riding horses in the street,” says Francisco Ramos, Netflix’s head of content in Latin America. Streaming, by contrast, can cater to niches, allowing realistic slices of life. “The Secret of the River”, a coming-of-age drama series set in rural Oaxaca, might never have been made in the broadcast era, believes Mr Ramos.

Netflix says its data suggest that shows are more likely to travel internationally if they are also popular at home. It has responded with a “local for local” strategy, aiming its Mexican output squarely at Mexicans, and hiring more Mexican (as opposed to more broadly Latin American) staff to make them.

Independent movies are also finding it easier to break even. The long-standing dominance of Mexican television by Televisa, a politically connected broadcaster, meant that locally made movies earned little from TV rights, instead relying on the box office for around 80% of their revenue. Since the arrival of the streamers, the television market has become more competitive, and TV rights now contribute nearly half of Mexican movies’ earnings, estimates one industry insider. The downside for cinephiles is that many of those movies now go straight to the small screen, forgoing a theatrical run in return for a big cheque from a streamer.

This is not the first wave of interest in Mexican film. Twenty years ago, critics swooned over the “Three Amigos”, a trio of Mexican directors. The Amigos, now in their 60s, have become established stars in Hollywood: Alfonso Cuarón has just made “Disclaimer”, a thriller for Apple TV+; Guillermo del Toro is working on a new “Frankenstein” adaptation for Netflix; Alejandro Iñárritu is directing an untitled Tom Cruise film for Warner Bros.

The difference today is that Mexican creatives are getting more options to tell their own stories at home, rather than heading north for work. “We used to be a country that exported talent. Whenever one of these wonderkids popped [up], the US acquired them…Now these kids are coming back, and they are saying, ‘I want to do my show, but on a global scale’,” says Alonso Aguilar, head of Mexican originals at Amazon Studios.

The next generation, which Mr Aguilar dubs “the kids of the Three Amigos”, is already earning plaudits on the festival circuit. Earlier this year Astrid Rondero and Fernanda Valadez won the grand jury prize for world cinema at the Sundance festival with “Sujo”, a movie about a hitman’s son. Lila Avilés picked up various gongs last year for “Tótem”, a portrait of a child’s relationship with her grandfather, having previously won awards for “The Chambermaid” in 2018.

This crop of film-makers also has a healthy dash of commercial nous, and an eye on the world beyond Mexico. Michel Franco won the grand jury prize at the Venice Film Festival in 2020 with “New Order”, a dystopian flick that imagines a military dictatorship taking over the country. Since then he has gone on to make international crossover features with actors such as Tim Roth (“Sundown”, 2021) and Jessica Chastain (“Memory”, 2023). Alonso Ruizpalacios, who was recognised at the Berlin Film Festival in 2018 for “Museum”, a Mexico City-based heist, this year made “La Cocina”, a movie set in a restaurant in Manhattan and filmed in English and Spanish. As Mexico tells more of its own stories, audiences around the world are watching.