Critics reviews

From the very first super-long shot down the dry bed of the Los Angeles River to the last close-up in a massive strawberry field, Escalante's film is a work of gripping concision, malevolent patience and queasy mystery.

Performances range from perfunctory to amateurish; social analysis is cursory at best. Escalante has some talent – his film is usually striking to look at – but on the evidence of this picture has disappointingly little idea what on earth to do with it. Keeping away from his mate Carlos might be an advisable first step.

[Los Bastardos] is a severe, realist film that gets its message across by replicating in the audience the tedium of work and the shock of sudden violence that severe inequality can inspire.

Working again with non-professional actors lends the characters a degree of authenticity that pushes [Los Bastardos] close to documentary status. There is no doubt that Escalante harbours commendable intentions here but the arthouse audience this film will reach was long ago converted to his cause.

From the bold opening credits, the simplicity of his conceptions, the stripped-down refinement of his widescreen framing and the rich sound mix, it’s clear Escalante possess a strong talent. What he does with it is another matter.

Graphic gratuitous violence is piled up for similar [indiscernible] motives. Worst of all, the English dialogue written for this part of the film sounds like the translations you get on foreign Google entries, and the acting by all the gringo characters is, literally, not to be believed.