Freedom is one of those concepts that seems easy to define, but the moment one starts to offer a thorough explanation, it becomes clear it is much more difficult to pinpoint exactly what it entails since it is often a cyclical concept that is singularly impossible to entirely comprehend coherently. This is what director Rodrigo Moreno set out to explore, amongst a range of other subjects, in The Delinquents (Spanish: Los delincuentes), a dreamlike dark comedy in which he tells the story of two bank clerks who grow tired of their mundane, humdrum existence and decide to work together to ensure their future freedom from the banality of their everyday life – one of them uses his intricate knowledge gleaned from years of being a financial pencil-pusher to rob the bank at which they both work, with the intention of turning himself into the authorities and serving a short jail sentence of only a few years, after which he will be able to live a peaceful life, and all his accomplice has to do is keep the money while he is in prison, and that upon his release, they can split their earnings and live comfortably, the incarceration being a necessary consequence that will allow them a brighter future, at least under this plan. Naturally, there is much more that comes about as a result, with both men realizing the plan, as fool-proof as it may seem, takes a psychological toll as they begin to fall victim to various existential quandaries, which begin to erode at their sanity, forcing the previously well-defined boundaries between fact and fiction to steadily erode as they become more enamoured with the idea of simply retreating from reality as fast and efficiently as possible, the process forming the foundation for much of the story, which takes several calculated risks in its effort to a disquieting but oddly emotionally resonant tale of the psychology of wanting to emancipate yourself from a particularly dull routine, and how the impact can be both magnificent and terrifying, depending on how far we are willing to go in plumbing the emotional depths of this often ambigious and unsettling story presented to us by a director whose primary objective was to provoke conversation, which is done exceptionally well over the course of this fascinating experimental comedy.

Humour is a vital tool for social change and something that many artists have harnessed when setting out to tell stories that convey a very particular message. This film is not outrageously funny, but it is covered in a thin layer of sardonic dark humour that strikes us from the very first moment – even the title itself feels slightly off-kilter since we usually associate the concept of a delinquent with younger, more mischievous characters, rather than two grizzled, middle-aged bureaucrats in midst of some kind of existential crisis. Moreno’s gift is that he can craft a film that could be described as fluently nonsensical – nothing in this film quite works as it should, and the director bends logic, as well as time, to fit his particular narrative, which forms quite a complex and invigorating film. Its main themes are made very clear, and the director is not interested in mere allusion – the correlation between the two protagonists and how they define and pursue freedom is made evident from the very beginning, leaving very little space for questioning the foundation of the narrative. Instead, most of the time is spent crafting a darkly comical odyssey about the dangers of capitalism on both the psychological and emotional state of these characters, who represent the disgruntled middle class, the people with solid, relatively comfortable jobs that are secure, but at the risk of losing any sense of excitement, and where the possibility to rising further and attaining more success is very slim – capitalism, as defined by Moreno and his equally revolutionary predecessors, does not reward hard work as much as it finds more opportunities to exploit those who work harder – it almost seems as if the more effort one puts into contributing to the vicious cycle of the free market, the more likely they are to become even more abused. One doesn’t need to be aligned with libertarian views, or have an anarchist outlook on life to understand what is being said in this film, which is an extraordinary social satire about the cyclical nature of the free market economy, and how it takes advantage of those who have been indoctrinated into believing that this is their only way to survive – and in choosing the centre the narrative on two characters who find the willpower to challenge the system, albeit with the clear risk of facing immense consequences, we see fascinating insights offered along the way.

Nothing in The Delinquents works quite as it should, and we soon discover how liberally Moreno is willing to challenge conventions in crafting this story. He isn’t an absurdist in the traditional sense that he provokes increasingly surreal scenarios for the sake of confusing the viewer, but rather adds touches of off-kilter storytelling to underline the challenges faced by these characters. This film is the perfect example of how a strong story can be enriched to be even more brilliant with the right tone. The entire film is shrouded in a dreamlike atmosphere – not much happens in the film (we can even summarize the entire plot into three short sentences), which seems quite counterproductive for a film that runs over three hours in length. There are long stretches in which the camera focuses on some inconsequential action, or lingers slightly too long on a particular shot, which indicates that not only is the film trying to emphasize the importance of pausing to observe our surroundings (something that is nearly impossible in our fast-paced lives), but also creating a particular tone, which is beautifully curated throughout the film. The film leaps between the two main characters, and despite being tethered to each other, there are only a few brief moments in which they occupy the same space, with the story choosing to oscillate between them at different points, showing their journeys that ultimately coalesce into quite a stark, unforgettable conclusion that is both ambigious and wildly cathartic, which is perhaps the only appropriate way for a film such as this to end. Moreno makes good use of a lot of allegory alongside some dreamlike imagery – we aren’t ever sure whether what we are seeing is real or simply fabrications by these characters as they imagine an idyllic, simple life in the countryside, which has never seemed more utopian than it had under Moreno’s incredible direction (and with a lot of help from directors of photography Alejo Maglio and Inés Duacastella, whose cinematography is amongst the best of the year), and which helps navigate the sometimes unorthodox structure that the film takes on throughout its lengthy but worthwhile running time.

The Delinquents is a very complex film with many narrative layers, but the most appropriate way to view it is as a story of two men who may be on opposite sides of the divide when it comes to being imprisoned, yet they are both trapped within a society that keeps a closer watch over them than any tangible security guards ever could, which leads to some of the most fascinating commentaries, all of it proving that Moreno’s approach was less about the narrative and more about how he defines these characters and their ambitions, which make for a profoundly fascinating narrative with many unique elements. The characters of Morán and Román (and it is not a mistake that these names are essentially the inverse of one another, as made even more evident by the introduction of the characters of Morna and Norma later in the film, who seem to mirror our protagonists) are terrific literary creations – two profoundly ordinary men who are struggling to win the battle against the socially-mandated mediocrity layered on them by the position they find themselves in, both socially and economically, and their efforts to not only break this repetitive cycle but abandon it completely, makes up the heart of the film. Credit, therefore, needs to be given to actors Daniel Elías and Esteban Bigliardi, who are as integral to developing these characters as the writer and director, with whom they work closely to construct these vibrant, complex individuals that are as far from stereotypical as they could be, but yet still feel like they represent an entire class system, with the actors asked to essentially carry the weight of the middle-class on their shoulders throughout this film, as they explore these characters and what they represent. It’s a beautiful, poetic work that forms undeniably two of the best performances of the year, and the simplicity with which these characters are defined, and the film’s tendency to blur everything together in creative ways only contribute to the overall complexity that simmers below the surface.

There comes a point in The Deliquents where the story stops making sense – the timeline skews in several jagged directions, and it doesn’t seem to be as coherent as we would expect. This is entirely intentional because the purpose of this film was not to be a straightforward heist comedy, but rather something much deeper. Categorization is always an essential part of assessing and consuming art, even if it can be counterproductive – as a culture, we are predisposed to classifying works of art along well-maintained parameters, which is usually seen as a solid barometer of success, based on how well a film fits into a particular category. The result can be that we experience genuine bewilderment when it becomes clear that this is not always possible, and that some works are designed to be the exact antithesis of this concept. The Delinquents is not a film that wants to be classified – it is a heist thriller where the actual heist is done quietly and briefly. It’s a comedy without any clear jokes or moments of genuine humour. It’s a social realist fable that doesn’t directly comment on any notable issue, instead using allegory to convey a particular message. This film refuses to adhere to the rules, and as a result, it is a daring and provocative work that moves at a glacial pace, and we certainly can feel the length, but this sense of banality and slow-paced rumination allows the film to meditate on certain themes in detail, while never coming across as overly verbose or unnecessarily dense. It’s a narrow tonal and conceptual tightrope that needs to be walked, but Moreno executes it with impressive skill, crafting this engaging and complex story of the broken promises of capitalism, which ultimately proves to be the foundation for one of the year’s most extraordinary and most captivating cinematic endeavours.