Reseñas de la crítica

Cordón stages scenes for their gritty realist qualities, as when Miguel and Techno (Diego Escamilla Corona) hustle their music aboard a packed city train or when Miguel's crew slowly skate through a long city street, packed with vendors and shops, which is all captured in one take. These are fine textures for representing Mexico City's centripetal spatial construction, but Cordón prefers to leave these strands untied.

The story's quirky unpredictability and the direction's Altmanesque textures account for much of its appeal.

As in Larry Clark's Kids or Gus van Sant's Paranoid Park, skateboarding is more than a sport or hobby in Cordón's well conceived and made Te prometo anarquia (I Promise You Anarchy) – in all these works, skateboarding unfolds an extended metaphor for how the young are levitationally rolling away from a precariously balanced adult society.

[Hernandéz Cordón has] stepped up his game, cleaving close to his script and developing a narrative that above all privileges mood, but intentionally comes into focus about halfway through... Creating a melancholic portrait of generational confusion, Hernández Cordón gives us doomed love among the present-day los olvidados who live in the now, an odd romance that shows how sometimes the only choice you're left with is to start anew.

The streets of Mexico are now in large part run by teenagers who can harness this always-in-the-present mentality into temporary gain. From this, the sense of general despair that permeates the film also transforms into a kind of knowledge.

...It is a risky and respectable development but unfortunately sends what was a mostly organic story down a path towards schematic, inevitable results, a path which retroactively makes much of the film's world—skaters, high and low classes mixing, conflicted homosexuals, differing scales of criminal activity—feel more self-consciously like a blend of research interests than something that feels true, connected and whole.