Dinheiro Queimado

Burnt Money, a provocative, severe crime thriller from Argentina, begins like a Spanish- language Guy Ritchie narrative, with an assembly of criminals arranging a heist. Yet the heist is over in a glance. The lion's share of the story is the impact of the job. So much of this film seems already acquainted, from its appealing crime thriller stylization to its narrative echoes of Reservoir Dogs, Heat and Bonnie and Clyde, that when it takes one of its unprecedented turns it overcomes you. There are a lot of unforeseen detours.

The opening introduces us to Angel and Nene, gay lovers who live in a murky Buenos Aires apartment. A narrator notifies us that they are known as "the twins." After showing how they met, in a grungy public restroom, the narrator distinguishes the one telling way they are similar: "the still eyes, the lost glare." The knifelike center on character relationships, and the novelistic way the story is divulged through sequential narrators, featuring internal monologue, prepares us to pull back to enmesh the "twins" in the heist. Neither they, nor the story, are as they appear.

Leonardo Sbaraglia plays Nene with scorched vigor. He has the loose-hipped walk of a younger Robert Downey, Jr., yet oozing even more with suggestiveness. His underhanded approach to life is not smug or justified, but rather self-assuredly devoid of any overeagerness or vanity. Eduardo Noriega brings a preyed-upon sentimentality to Angel. We feel at first as if he may be slow, and perhaps to some extent he is, but in a way that is lost in emotionally charged internalized delusions, a return to the primordial dilemma. He seems afloat in dissolution, a dream state readily seen. And their emotional holding out becomes a game that neither wins. Where they are intimate, there is peace restored, and there are religious obstacles.

The robbery of an armored car goes awry. The thieves, one of them injured, must stay completely out of sight. Law-sided demoralization and violence are initial drives of the story's turning point though not at the center. The film, which is based on a true story, offhandedly concedes that the lines separating cops from robbers are obscured, but its focus remains tight on the robbers.

One should not write this film off as categorized for a gay target audience. Though it revolves around the two implicitly loving leads, Burnt Money seems to compete with much more vivid heterosexual pairings. Nene swings both ways, and Cuervo, the getaway driver played by Pablo Escharri, has a girlfriend who figures integrally in the plot. After the men flee to Uruguay, police beatings push the left-behind girlfriend to give them up. Their status revealed, the robbers must stay out of sight, pressures mounting. Anti-gay implications add to the enmity. They don't trust each other, everyone keeps a gun at hand, but attachments gradually solidify nonetheless.

Burnt Money could have almost been made in the 1970s, when a film with the promise of spectacle in its subject matter was almost expected to take the more complex way to the end, no matter what the end may be. And yet the film reaches a climax we've seen so many times. Nevertheless, even in its brutal execution which extrinsically offers not much in the way of variation on a device dating back to the original 1932 Scarface, it maintains a theme of dissolution, a dream state made real to them, of feelings taking over, a theme which, in the end, makes the film its own beast.

An excellent movie where everything is beautiful - from the crumbling, claustrophobic backdrops of the antagonists' hiding places, the actors and the background music.

Besides showing an unusual homosexual relationship, the film also questions the relationship between sex, love and violence - even when the main characters turn "straight" violence and death hang in the air, with scenes sex often interspliced with those of death and agony.

More importantly, you can't help but feel sorry - and yet almost envious - for the doomed (and did I mention beautiful?) lovers as they slide towards their inevitable end, just for the incredible passion they have for each other.

WOW! Rivetting! The faces of Eduardo Noriega and Lorenzo Sbaraglia fighting and surrendering to their love is pure cinematic art. I left the theatre unable to utter a word. I wanted to revisit their world, no matter how tragic, there was truth in it, twisted, painful truth. PLATA QUEMADA deserves a larger audience. On my second viewing, I forced two friends, who hate subtitles, and are as far removed from the gay world as anyone I know and they loved it. They were seduced by the universe Marcelo Pineyro created for those superb characters to inhabit. More, Mr. Pineyro. More Eduardo and Lorenzo! Bravo!

I won't rehash the details again, as so many previous comments have done wonderful jobs on discussing the plot and technical aspects of this film.

I want to commend the leads on their brilliant job. Often when (male) actors are asked to "play gay" you get an overly sexualized relationship - as though they feel the only way to portray the connection between men is through overt lust.

The director and actors here, have instead sought out a more subtle, but infinitely more honest portrayal. Every touch and sidelong glance between Nene and Angel just burns with intimacy. They might have the least on-screen sex, but this is the relationship that you really believe. The actors truly seem comfortable with their bodies, with touching one another, and so whether they are touching or just looking at each other - you can feel that familiarity they share and the intimacy translates beautifully onto the screen. Really an amazing performance of body-language.

My one complaint about "Plate quemada" is the rather shoddy subtitles. I can understand enough of the language to be able to pick up when the sub's aren't direct, or are leaving out dialogue. I HATE that. In a film such as this, when so much of the plot depends on the characters and their relationships, it becomes agonizing not to know exactly what they're saying.

Marcelo Pineyro, one of the best directors from Argentina, surprises with every new effort. Working on this film with Marcelo Figueras, he also contributed to bring Ricardo Piglia's novel to the screen with unexpected results. The novel was based on a real criminal case that happened in Buenos Aires in the 1960's.

The two men at the center of the story are gay lovers who happened to be criminals. These two men share a passion that comes across on the screen like no other in recent memory. Angel, the Spaniard, wants to go to New York and Nene, his lover, wants to comply, but first they must attend to the assault of a vehicle that brings money to one bank. During the heist Angel is shot on his shoulder.

Things are so hot for all the people involved, they flee to Uruguay. This was perhaps a miscalculation, because they are being followed by the Argentine police, that is working with local authorities in apprehending all the criminals.

Nene is restless. He decides to leave the safe house, and finds Giselle, a beautiful woman who falls in love with him. At this point, we are of two minds, is Nene really cheating on Angel, or is he trying to use Giselle into providing another place where they can hide? The violent end comes in a finale that doesn't have anything to envy to any other movies of the genre.

The best thing in the film are the two leads. Leonardo Sbaraglia is one of the best actors that have come out of Argentina lately. He does an amazing job in portraying Nene. Eduardo Noriega, is also a Spanish actor that has done excellent work before and he shows his range in a magnificent performance as Angel. Leticia Bredice is Giselle, the young woman in Montevideo who befriends, then fall in love with Nene.

The film proves Marcelo Pineyro is a voice to be reckoned with and who has an enormous talent for giving his audience his best.