Ride into the absurd atop the zany ‘Kill the Jockey’
“What do I have to do for you to love me again?” That’s the million-dollar question put forward by the titular sad-sack to his pregnant girlfriend in the intriguingly quirky “Kill the Jockey.” Her answer? “Die and be born again,” she says in a cold but compassionate tone.
Clearly, she has had enough of his self-destructive behavior. The drugs, the alcohol, the cigarettes and the distance in his bloodshot eyes, at least on the rare occasion when his ever-present riding goggles aren’t hiding them. And she’s not the only one who’s reached her limit. So have his mob bosses, who desperately need the formerly great Remo Manfredini to sober up enough to ride their prized thoroughbred to victory in the upcoming “Grand Prix.” If Manfredini fails, it’s off to the human equivalent of the glue factory.
Thus, the stage is set for one of the strangest films of this or any year, a Felliniesque meditation on identity and gender fluidity presented with all the seriousness of a sneeze. It’s the daring intent of director-co-writer Luis Ortega to dwell amid the surreal in delivering a comical fever dream that only works as well as you’re willing to let it.
The visuals are as stunning as they are humorous. But they are often as empty as the head of the “great” Manfredini (the marvelously deadpan Nahuel Pérez Biscayart), the most beloved jockey in all of Buenos Aires. “The people want to see Manfredini,” says the resigned syndicate leader, Ruben Sirena (Daniel Giménez Cacho), knowing his equestrian endeavors would be infinitely more secure in the capable hands of Manfredini’s girlfriend and fellow jockey, Abril (Úrsula Corberó).
She’s everything Manfredini is not: beautiful, confident and she knows what she wants … and doesn’t want. And that’s Manfredini, the father of the baby she may or may not carry to term. But in the do-or-die race, it’s Manfredini atop the prized Mishima, a Japanese-bred champion the mob is placing all its hopes on. Unlike with his last ride, this time Manfredini gets out of the gate, and he even rides Mishima to the lead. But true to Manfredini’s “thirst for disaster,” things quickly go awry before horse and man child reach the finish.
Manfredini wakes up in the hospital with facial abrasions and a massive turban-like bandage encircling his head. Knowing he’s dead meat if he stays put, he crawls from his bed, grabs another patient’s plush fur coat and purse, and steals away into the streets of Buenos Aires disguised as a woman. And the more he’s recognized as such, the more feminine he becomes, to the point he’s applying makeup and growing increasingly self-aware.
The transformation is executed with flair and impeccable expertise by Biscayart, barely a word passing from his lips, relying on his wandering gait and mournful eyes to do all the talking. His subtle plays for laughs appear effortless, but there is immense skill at work as his Remo gradually metamorphoses into “Delores.” It’s both Chaplinesque and reminiscent of characters from the Wes Anderson canon.
His crescendo is a sensational dance scene in which he and Corberó flaunt graceful dexterity in a strange sort of mating ritual that rivals Travolta and Thurman in “Pulp Fiction.” Like Biscayart, Corberó possesses an intoxicatingly expressive face and a seductive smile. The two have great chemistry, an almost primal attraction that’s hard to resist. Same for Corberó’s romantic machinations with yet another jockey in Mariana di Girolamo’s Ana.
It’s all very loosey-goosey, as characters reinvent themselves on the fly, yet never in a manner that feels forced. Even more impressive, those redefinitions fit nicely into the film’s themes of birth and rebirth, whether it’s a newborn or an adult veering off into a completely new persona. What’s lacking is a point. Exactly what is it that Ortega and his co-writers, Rodolfo Palacios and Fabián Casas, hope for us to glean from their brief soiree into the weird?
Beats me. But it’s hard not to cheer on their film’s refreshing unpredictability. The ambiguity will likely turn off casual fans, but if you’re a connoisseur of the warped worlds of Wes Anderson, Luis Buñuel and Aki Kaurismäki – whose regular cinematographer, Timo Salminen, is also behind the camera here – it’s a must-see. So what if it ultimately fails to make any sense? In the moment, it’s pure joy, as well as a tribute to the places cinema can transport us, if we’re willing to be swept along, and in a way, reborn.
Movie review
Kill the Jockey
Rated: Not rated
Cast: Nahuel Pérez Biscayart, Úrsula Corberó, Mariana Di Girolamo and Daniel Giménez Cacho
Director: Luis Ortega
Writers: Luis Ortega, Rodolfo Palacious and Fabián Casas
Runtime: 96 minutes
Where: In theaters July 2 (limited)
Grade: B
