Mexican approximation of a Guy Ritchie caper film, or in other words Quentin Tarantino twice removed: brisk, brutal, callous, convoluted, technologically tricksy. If, under director Hugo Rodriguez, it's a bit more ragged, it's a bit more human into the bargain. That element appears to carry over into a repeated pattern of masculine frailty: a mumbling, stammering electronic voyeur (Diego Luna in bashful mode, and no less cute for it) overawed by his beautiful cellist neighbor; an aging thug who draws growls from every dog he meets; a druggist who commands neither obedience nor affection from his helpmate; a barber pussywhipped by a proletarian Lady Macbeth, getting her hands dirty by personally gutting a Russian mafioso on a fishing expedition for swallowed jewels. Just deserts are in plentiful supply. Lucas Crespi, Jesús Ochoa, Rafael Inclán. (2003) — Duncan Shepherd
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