“Los delincuentes”: the serpentine epic of two petty Argentine criminals


The efflorescence of new Argentine cinema in the 2000s – a fireworks display of talents as diverse as Lucrecia Martel, Pablo Trapero, Adrian Caetano, Lisandro Alonso, Diego Lerman, Daniel Burman… – has faded a little over time. Like Alonso, who we find in very good form with Eureka , released in France on February 28, we are about to reconnect with one of the most discreet, but no less talented, elements of this wave of now fifty-year-olds in the person of Rodrigo Moreno.

Author of a few films unknown on this side of the Atlantic, with the exception of El custodio which caught our eye in 2006, he returns today with a three-hour fresco extending the triviality of this film which depicted the gloomy life of a bodyguard of a minister of planning in whom, under the eyes of the security professional, the turpitudes of the world above are combined.

Here, once again, it will be about two modest servants of a system which daily dazzles them without depriving them of its charms. The novelty of Los delicuentes , however, is the silent aspiration for a freedom – refusal of productivist routine and existential income, poetic impulse towards Edenic lands, love to live immediately or never – that the very construction of the story , adventurous and disaffected, adopts in the first place. Or two bank employees, Roman and Moran. The anagrammatic tandem – touchstone of a narration haunted by duplication – is put at the service of a heist film which breaks even before the crime takes place.

We first discover a charcoal suit hanging on a chair with a faded white shirt and a lighter gray tie. The thing, vaguely ectoplasmic, seems to stand on its own. All that’s left is to put someone in there, another ghost. He’s a bald, weary-looking bearded guy, burgundy backpack on, who we’ll soon know is the Moran of the duo, and who’s going to drink a little black at the counter with the bandoneon for the moment. , an instrument with an eminently melancholic essence, which accompanies it on a soundtrack mixed with a tenor saxophone with caressing bass. It’s already very beautiful even though the camera, tired of filming the little morning employee in his resignation, allows itself a vertical diversion on very bourgeois and very respectable buildings which smell of their old Europe.

Time travel

Welcome to Buenos Aires, where we find Moran, locked in a blind room gathering wads of notes in plastic bags and operating armored doors of bank thickness which he does not own, in the company of a sidekick no less perky, than part of the opening codes. This leading to this, at the end of a dreary day smoking on the sidewalk with colleagues, the unexpected absence of an employee allows Moran to go down alone to put the recipe back in the coffers. The opportunity, it is known, created the thief, he came out with 650,000 dollars under his arm and immediately contacted the absent man, said Roman, to offer him a deal of which nothing would have suggested that he had had the latitude to simmer it.

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