Dir. Carlos Cuaron, US/Mexico, 2008, 101 mins, in Spanish with subtitles
Cast: Diego Luna, Gael Garcia Bernal
Review by Richard Mellor
Can a football film's squad ever have boasted more galacticos? While in the directorial dug-out there's only Carlos Cuarón, the novice son of Y Tu Mamá También and Harry Potter helmer Alfonso, in the producer seats for Rudo y Cursi there's a who's who of modern Mexican cinema: Alfonso himself, Alejandro González Iñárritu, director of Amores Perros and 21 Grams , and Guillermo Del Toro, responsible for Pan's Labyrinth among other movies. And down on the pitch leading the line is pin-up forward and national icon Gael Garcia Bernal, partnered by consistent performer Diego Luna.
Despite the star names, and a strong first-half showing, Rudo y Cursi ends up putting in only a middling display. Its moves are too predictable and the glimpses of quality too sporadic to trouble the opposition critics... etc etc. In fact this footie analogy is misrepresentative, as Cuarón Jr's film is much less to do with the beautiful game than life itself and all its various quirks. There are few on-pitch scenes at all in fact, although the few exceptions do include a rather predictable finale.
But let's start at the beginning. Brothers Tato (Bernal) and Beto (Luna) live in a delightfully-filmed Mexican backwater. Both pick fruit for jobs and both love their mother. Tato plays the accordion and sings badly in a band while the older, married Beto fritters away pesos on the village slot machine. It's a humble idyll that's rudely interrupted by talent scout Batuta (Guillermo Francella). Pulling up in a sportscar, babe in tow, he watches the brothers play football on a dusty pitch and tantalisingly elects that he can take only one back to Mexico City and a big club.
Tato wins the golden ticket in slapstick style, scoring a penalty past his goalkeeper brother while trying to miss. Beto soon follows to a different club, but remains jealous of his sibling. Gradually the pair's careers accelerate: Tato scores goals galore and represents Mexico, not that we see it, and Beto keeps consecutive clean sheets, again off-screen. But here things turn... with success comes wealth, with wealth comes greed and with greed comes moral decay. As we all know.
It's the stuff of classic parables – and this is precisely where Cuarón's film errs. The destructive effect of Big Bad City on rustic innocents; we've seen it too often before, from Hogarth plates and Dickensian novels to Dylan songs. The onset of avarice and poor ethics from sudden financial strength may also be a recurrent truth, but that doesn't mean it bears repeating. The brothers have risen, and now they are obliged to, of course, fall.
There's no excuse though for how annoying they both are. Naive, loud and plain stupid, neither is at all easy to like, especially as they weakly succumb to their vices. Bernal overcooks the dimness of his simpleton striker, while Luna as a father is angry, self-centred and so totally lacking in sense of humour as to be detestable. Just as lamentable is their dialogue – all “your mum X”, or “suck my Y”. In Y Tu Mamá También, Luna and Garcia Bernal's bickering was endearing. Here it's merely annoying.
Francella's pithy scout is far more tolerable. His manipulative, suave and charming presence is a refreshing contrast to the brothers' buffoonery. Francella also narrates, largely in grandiose, cutely-observed football proverbs and metaphors. These include “nowadays wars are mistaken for games, and games for wars”, and “Goalkeepers are like ravens: they're allowed the unforgiven – to use their hands”. Many more gems like this summon welcome titters.
Almost as hilarious are family rows that escalate to shotgun-pulling and Tato's pursuit of a music career, funny simply for its single-minded depravity. But gradually Cuarón's attempts at light relief descend into morose silliness, even when death threatens to visit. On one hand it's nice to have a film which trivialises everything and never gets mawkish; on the other, it all feels much too easy. Given the pioneering producers behind it, Rudo y Cursi is a palpably unambitious piece of cinema.
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