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Reviews of Recent Independent, Foreign, & Documentary Films in Theaters and DVD/Home Video
THE PARANOIDS In slo-mo, a King Kong-like figurine falls head first in mid-air against a forest backdrop. That odd dream sequence opens this tentative romance/slacker comedy, whose charms very latently come to life. In the next shot, a man stuffed in a giant purple monster suit snoozes while a group of children jump up and down, screaming for the listless, googly-eyed “Cachito” to get up. Perhaps Luciano, the man in the costume, had too many antidepressant cocktails, which leave him in a stuporous state even when awake. (Like the overly eccentric American indie Kabluey, this film won’t shatter the stereotype of children entertainers as sad sacks outside of the party.) Most of the time, this Argentinean film’s pace and tone fall into a despondent, desultory state similar to Luciano’s. His mostly monosyllabic responses kill any attempt at conversation, and he practically hides underneath his tousled bangs. He makes his living through entertaining at kids’ parties, hidden inside his outfit, and lives in an apartment, furnished piecemeal and given to him by burly Manuel (Walter Jakob). While Luciano has a screenplay percolating in his head, Manuel has already written a hit Spanish TV series, “The Paranoids,” basing a character on Luciano, without telling his longtime friend. Before you think you have seen this competitive relationship before, be forewarned, there’s no contest. Luciano threw in the towel long ago. When Manuel leaves for a business trip to Chile, his hot girlfriend, Sofia (Jazmin Stuart), crashes at Luciano’s, but she barely has more social skills than Luciano. She may lack medication, but she shares the same pensive nature—she’s as equally inscrutable as he. There are one too many silent elevator rides and a babbling, stoned conversation between Luciano and his houseguest that simply kill time, rather than expand on what we already know about the characters. The details of Luciano’s apartment are just right—the half-eaten pizza on the floor, the emblematic Ramones poster on the wall. What’s a little off is the casting of Daniel Hendler as Luciano. He takes an effectively understated approach, keeping the twitching and the hangdog posture to a minimum, but based on a first impression, he’s too hip and good-looking to be a walking doormat. Strangers would not be so quick to deride a man who looks like a young Daniel Day-Lewis—even Luciano’s doorman harasses him. Though the director keeps the quirk on the downlow,
Luciano doesn’t stand out among other deadpan slackers. Sure, Luciano’s
paranoid, but there’s more than one person I can think
of who has obsessively worried about catching a STD or the neighbors
smelling the marijuana. What occasionally saves the film from becoming
dourly droll are the occasional moments that will jab the viewer to
attention—a child’s lonely birthday party and the metaphor of a video
game as a contest of male testosterone. But neither the film nor Luciano
are eccentric enough to be truly memorable. Kent Turner
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