Argentine Bank Robbers Face the Music in The Delinquents

Throughout most of The Delinquents’ three-hour-plus runtime, there’s a pervading sense that something is being held at arm’s length from the audience. This is not a bug but a feature, and an effective one; over the three-year timespan following a calm Buenos Aires bank robbery, executed by one of its own employees, writer-director Rodrigo Moreno patiently unfolds the mix of transparency and opacity that fuels his characters. Sometimes it feels too inaccessible, at other points too thematically digestible, but it’s certainly not too Argentinian. Like the best Argentine cinema, Moreno merges perceptive but mundane psychology with prickling social critique, and even though The Delinquents’ thematic clarity borders on obvious during its 189 minutes, Moreno demonstrates such command over his characters and actors that The Delinquents remains calmly compelling.

Morán (Daniel Elías) is a competent but unremarkable clerk who, one ordinary day, takes advantage of being the only employee in the vault and lifts exactly $650,000—enough for him and one other person to live comfortably, without working, until retirement. Calling The Delinquents a heist film, even an arthouse one, feels grievously misleading: Heist films love to focus on the spiraling aftermath of their central crime, but the inciting incident in The Delinquents feels more and more insignificant as the film pushes into the third act. The robbery, which unfolds with such rehearsed poise that it could be mistaken for part of Morán’s duties, is not a lit fuse for a thrilling explosion, but rather a gradual dissolution that will change the lives of Morán and his accomplice.

That accomplice is a coworker (but not necessarily close friend) Román (Esteban Bigliardi) whose initial resistance to taking care of the stolen money while Morán serves his three-and-a-half-year prison sentence is less out of a moral code and more a desire to keep his head down. The most like a thriller The Delinquents gets is seeing Román’s efforts to hide the cash in the small apartment he shares with his girlfriend, and the slight brushes with danger when his stash is almost discovered. Román’s unvoiced refusal to tell her about Morán’s scheme reveals a lot about the private individualism that’s burrowed deep in our main characters. It’s one of The Delinquents’ most effective ways of undermining relationships—too much of Román’s life has become defined by static societal conformity, with even his close romantic relationships tainted.

There’s something methodical to the way Moreno and cinematographers Inés Duacastella and Alejo Maglio observe the criminals, as if both the camera and Morán are silently repeating “It’s all part of the plan” to themselves with a fixed certainty. One fault with The Delinquents comes when Morán explains his grand motive late in the film—not just because his solemn rejection of bending to a life of capitalist labor has been thoroughly defined by his actions and relationships, but because we don’t gain any more profound insight than when he initially explained his smug but entirely legitimate resistance to work to Román.