Multi-story feature films often struggle, for reasons that are usually quite clear. Firstly, the continuous cycle of concluding one story and starting another disrupts the immersive, dream-like flow that most moviegoers expect from feature films. Secondly, unevenness is almost inherent to the form; some stories will inevitably be stronger than others, especially when multiple filmmakers are involved.
Given these inherent challenges, Argentina’s “Wild Tales” emerges as an extraordinary surprise. This reviewer regards it as arguably the finest multi-story feature ever. The Sony Classics release, nominated for this year’s Best Foreign-Language Film Oscar, is poised to become a significant art-house hit in the U.S. due to its remarkable skill in deftly overcoming the genre’s typical shortcomings, resulting in a film that feels astonishingly cohesive, relentlessly clever, and thoroughly entertaining.
A key advantage for the film is that it comes from a single filmmaker, Damián Szifron (“The Bottom of the Sea”), thus reflecting a unified vision and sensibility. Beyond that, Szifron demonstrates exceptional talent as both a director and a storyteller. Each of the six segments, averaging around 20 minutes, is utterly captivating, and all are united by a mordant black humor. Thematically linked by revenge and retribution, each story brilliantly sets up expectations that its successor ingeniously fulfills or surpasses.
The opening, pre-credits segment, “Pasternak,” gets things off to a high-flying start. An attractive young woman—a model, we soon learn—checks in for a flight and discovers she won’t receive frequent flyer miles because someone else paid for her ticket. On board the plane, she begins chatting with another passenger and learns they both knew a man named Pasternak, a boyfriend she had dumped years ago. Another passenger then reveals he was Pasternak’s professor who failed him. A shocking realization dawns: the plane is filled with individuals who have wronged Mr. P. And who, one wonders, is locked in the cockpit?
In “The Rats,” revenge is humorously depicted as a dish best served with ketchup. One night, a gruff man enters an empty roadside restaurant, and the young waitress recognizes him as the corrupt official responsible for her father’s suicide. While she wishes him gone from the world, she’s hesitant to act until the diner’s stern, elderly cook suggests a simple solution: lacing his fries and eggs with rat poison. The waitress faces a moral dilemma, compounded by a practical concern: does expired rat poison become more or less potent?
Class conflict intensifies in “Road to Hell,” a segment reminiscent of a more macabre version of Spielberg’s “Duel.” Driving his flashy new sports car down a remote highway, a slick corporate executive angrily insults the grizzled, rural driver of a slow pickup truck he passes. Predictably, the “city slicker” soon gets a flat tire a few miles later, and the first vehicle to appear in his rearview mirror is the very pickup he insulted. What ensues is an apocalyptic, yet droll, confrontation that would undoubtedly amuse Rod Serling.
The film’s concluding three segments distinguish themselves through their expansive scope, intricate complexity, and biting social satire. In “Bombita,” a demolitions engineer’s routine stop to collect his daughter’s birthday cake spirals into chaos when his car is towed from an unmarked spot.
Over the ensuing weeks, as his marriage simultaneously unravels, the infuriated citizen relentlessly pursues justice for his parking ordeal, soon finding solidarity with fellow Argentines equally incensed by what they deem “fascist” bureaucratic obstruction. One is left to wonder if his expertise with explosives might transform the engineer into a unique blend of Frank Capra hero and Che Guevara. In this particular milieu, it seems, almost anything is possible except for genuine bureaucratic accountability.
Recalling Paolo Virzi’s recent “Human Capital,” “The Deal” commences with a wealthy couple’s shocking discovery: their teenage son was involved in a hit-and-run the previous night, injuring a pregnant woman. Panicked, the father and his lawyer concoct a scheme to pay their impoverished gardener half a million dollars to claim responsibility. However, the lawyer, demanding an equal amount for his services, then involves the prosecutor, adding another million to the cost, alongside necessary police payoffs. Understandably, the beleaguered father eventually tells them all to go to hell, only to realize that his only true escape lies in a skill he inherently possesses: negotiation.
Just when it seems the film couldn’t possibly surpass what’s come before, “Till Death Us Do Part” delivers a truly explosive finale. While earlier stories hinged on enmity or distress, this one opens with pure jubilation and love. At a lavish wedding reception, guests are euphoric, and the bride and groom appear utterly consumed by bliss.
That is, until she uncovers his infidelity with another woman present in the room. Initially, she retreats to the roof, weeping and contemplating suicide. Yet, the prospect of vengeance quickly hardens her resolve, swiftly reversing their roles until he is the one groveling and sobbing. These relentless reversals of emotional fortune continue, creating the impression that a decade of marital turmoil has violently played out over the course of a single, tumultuous evening.
Each of these vivid vignettes, if separated from the whole, could undoubtedly win accolades at short-film competitions. However, their collective impact powerfully demonstrates the synergistic effect of true artistic vision. With a confident, coolly elegant visual style that evokes both Demme and De Palma, Szifron unequivocally emerges from “Wild Tales” as an international auteur of significant stature.
