Save the last orgy for me
of a vaguely defined character, Turturro has enough charm and gusto to make his scenes fly.
Fading Gigolo is also charming in its evocation of very particular corners of New York City. Jazz decorates the soundtrack. Charac- ters hang about in brown, delightfully cluttered rooms. An older Jewish man in glasses is forever calling round to make nebbish remarks.
Are we reminded of the work of another film-maker? It’s on the tip of my tongue. Eduardo Palacios).
When the lad steals a bag of cocaine, he ends up attracting the hideous wrath of a gang of crooked cops. They break into Heli’s house, kill his father, torture him and Beto, strangle the dog and kidnap Estela.
Shot with a cool distance, Heli has none of the gooey relish of a Gaspar Noé film. This is a less connected cinema of cruelty. But the gradual slump towards ultimate moral compromise – played out to an apparent quote from John Ford’s The Searchers – is no less gripping for all that. The violence may be gratuitous, but the anger at social inequality feels entirely sincere. Powerful stuff.