by Finnlay Dall
Worth: $4.00
FilmInk rates movies out of $20 — the score indicates the amount we believe a ticket to the movie to be worth
Cast:
Raúl Briones, Rooney Mara, Anna Díaz, Lee Sellars
Intro:
Lukewarm and with barely any bite …
La Cocina unfortunately feels like dishing out slop on fine china, which for an establishment like The Grill, doesn’t seem like a tall order to make, especially when the stressed out chefs, crumbling waitstaff and brutal upper management are all popping veins over the upmarket New York equivalent of a Denny’s.
The irony is not lost on director Alonso Ruizpalacios, who on some level understands that the U.S hospitality industry is a satire all unto itself. As our disgruntled chef Pedro (Raúl Briones) constantly reminds us: “America is not a country.” Like the restaurant’s tacky nautical themed front of house, America is a farce built on the backbone of undocumented immigrants, who struggle to navigate the hostility of the concrete jungle, much less, that of their far more privileged management.
As Pedro is caught between mentoring his childhood friend and newly arrived immigrant, Estela (Anna Díaz) and sorting out Julia (Rooney Mara) – his love, a waitress at The Grill, and the mother of their unplanned child – he and the other chefs will have to talk their way out of hell when $800 vanishes from the restaurant’s accounts.
If New York is a prison, Ruizpalacios turns La Cocina into the cafeteria kitchen. Winding concrete walls, shuttered windows and a complete lack of natural light make for a suffocating experience. So, it makes sense that the film borrows its cues from the early days of cinema. Pinhole vignettes and fades to black and sped-up flashbacks make for a film lost to time for characters who are bum well out of it. Yet, with its haphazard usage, it struggles to capture that aesthetic as effectively or as precise as something like the recent Grand Tour.
And what high stress work environment would be complete without a ludicrous one-shot? As the lunch rush begins to arrive, the camaraderie and chatter of the earlier hour dies down, as Pedro, Estela and the rest of the chefs prepare for the gruelling work ahead of them. Orders are missed, plates are swapped, chicken is burnt and pizza is left undercooked. The ribbing and banter soon sours to abuse as Pedro and others start to slur with conviction. But it’s not until a waitress fulfils an order of Cherry Coke from a clearly broken dispenser that the floodgates (quite literally) open. As a waitress stumbles over a distracted chef into a sticky scuffle, losing three trays in the process, Pedro and Julia trudge through the soda-infested waters just to be able to meet their orders on time.
Exhausted, sobbing, their sanity in tatters, it’s up to the head chef (a perfectly pissed off Lee Sellars) to raise morale. Egged on by his team, he sings the National Anthem in Spanish, and surrounded by a black sea of Coke, he intends to keep on going, even if it means going down with the rest of the ship. To newbie Estella, it’s pandemonium; to Pedro, and the audience, it’s perfect.
This comedic ten minutes has won countless praise from critics. When Ruizpalacios commits to gags, while he never reaches the same level of hilarity and wit as someone like Ruben Östlund, his chaotic slapstick certainly has an odd and meticulous charm to it.
However, there’s the other 129 minutes of self-serious and frankly stale drama that articulates character emotions with the same nuance as a late afternoon high school drama that would even leave Euphoria’s Sam Levinson cringing. Mara and Briones are given little to work with, and their stale performances as a toxic couple in love has about as much chemistry on screen as water and oil.
The food at The Grill may be poorly plated on purpose, but when even the sandwich that Pedro makes for Julia as a labour of love comes out looking like the worst order at the worst Subway, the film doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in its cooking or plating skills.
Lukewarm and with barely any bite, La Cocina may have its tasty moments, but with a nearly two hour wait time – without a morsel of good writing to boot – it’s a dish best served out back.
