It's probably just me, but when the economy's this bad, even the latest movies seem to be all about bankruptcy, conspiracy, mindless consumption, bad plumbing, etc. Even when a film is about multitudes of people falling in and out of love in sunny Los Angeles (See "Valentine's Day," well, then again, don't see it!) , I start imagining unrepaired potholes on the streets, flu-infested chicken meat served up as organic in posh restaurants, and notice (with a gasp) that most of the supposedly glamorous cast wears exactly the same ensemble from dawn to midnight without a single wardrobe change. What is that?
So there's a sense of relief in watching "Rudo y Cursi," which is comfortable having characters wearing sweaty clothes for days on end. No hypocrisy. No coverups. "Rudo y Cursi" is happy to depict desperation with frantic hair-pulling alternating with combustive laughs and a distinct, denim-damaged chic.
From the very opening scenes, the kids are wailing, the wife is nagging and there's no cash, anywhere. Still, no problemo for the titular characters of "Rudo y Cursi": a story seemingly hopped up on tequila straight from the bottle while chewing on the worm without blinking. It's mindful of those wild, feverish dreams you have when the temperature is over 30 degrees C at night and the sweat has your pajamas clinging to every crack fissure of the body.