‘Kill the Jockey’ Review: A Sportsman Goes Adrift in Buenos Aires in Charming but Slight Picaresque
Nahuel Pérez Biscayart (BPM) stars as a troubled jockey whose identity shifts radically after a serious accident on the track in Kill the Jockey (El Jockey), a Venice Film Festival entry by Argentinian director Luis Ortega (El Angel, Dromómanos). Visually lush and full of playful mystery, this equestrian-themed psychological thriller-comedy-whatsit strikes plenty of poses that may tickle the fancy of viewers with a taste for camp, surrealism and/or the absurd. However, others might feel underwhelmed by the film’s strenuous efforts to charm and find it slows to a trot by the end.
Ortega’s knack for nifty needle drops has been noted before, and Kill the Jockey, partly financed by Warner Music Entertainment, stays true to form with a killer soundtrack mixing Latin pop, synth-heavy EDM, local tangos and original music by Sune Rose Wagner. Paired with the saturated color palette, boxy 1:85 aspect ratio and deliberately still and stilted performances, the vibe recalls the work of Aki Kaurism?ki — no surprise, given that the director of photography here is the Finnish auteur’s longtime collaborator Timo Salminen.
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That retro aesthetic is further buttressed by production and costume design choices that evoke the 1950s or ’60s, especially in the cut of the men’s suits and the peculiar getup Biscayart’s lead character sports for much of the film: a full-length mink coat with dainty bracelet sleeves and a tightly wrapped, padded bandage around his head that evokes the shape of a snug pillbox hat.
But before we get to that ladylike look, our hero, Remo Manfredini (Biscayart), mostly rocks the traditional silks that identify professional horse riders — a uniform he’s hardly ever out of for the first third of the movie. Remo is first met drinking hard in a Buenos Aires bar full of unsmiling staff and patrons who look on as he’s hauled off by the henchmen of his employer, Sirena (Daniel Giménez Cacho). The gangster, who controls gambling in the region, has his own distinctive accessory: He’s never seen without “his” baby — actually a series of infants, all less than a year old, whom Sirena or one of his men tote around like tommy guns. Why he’s always packing baby heat is never explained.
As Remo prepares for a race, it becomes clear his drinking is out of control. At one event, he barely gets out of the starting gate. The rider of the winning horse is Abril (úrsula Coberó, Money Heist) his professional rival but also his lover. Together, they celebrate their victory with a delightfully herky-jerky disco pas de deux that’s like to be the moment viewers will remember best long after the film is finished. We soon learn that Abril is pregnant with Remo’s baby, though her stony expression suggests she’s not all that bothered with whether the permanently sozzled Remo is involved in the parenting. Meanwhile, another jockey, Ana (Mariana Di Girolamo) makes her romantic interest in Abril very clear, adding a sweet sapphic dimension to the story.
Despite the fact that Remo is a total screwup, Sirena insists he rides his latest acquisition, a stunning chestnut stallion named Mishima imported from Japan, in the next big race. This time, Remo manages to make it out of the gate. But just after he takes the lead he veers off and, based on the horse’s POV camera, rides right into the fence, severely injuring himself. (And probably poor Mishima, although the horse is sadly never mentioned again.) Remo wakes up in the hospital with amnesia, barely able to say a word at first, let alone his own name. After stealing the aforementioned fur coat and a pocketbook belonging to another patient, he walks out into the streets of Buenos Aires.
The rest of the film evolves into a picaresque of semi-comic encounters as Remo, who renames himself Dolores and adopts she/her pronouns, discovers his feminine side. Presumably, this is all meant to illustrate the plasticity of gender identity or the fragility of modern masculinity. Or maybe it’s all just a lark. The screenplay, by Ortega, Rodolfo Palacios and Fabián Casas, is light on queer theory or even character motivation. But the comely cast, who contribute admirably athletic, physical performances across the board, have enough charisma and vigor to keep this not-especially-long film jaunty. In the end, it all feels a bit like a fashion film or some other branded exercise in style — except that the brand is Ortega’s peculiar and unique vision.
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