Relatos Salvajes (2014) is widely considered the latest masterpiece of Argentine cinema. It depicts six distinct stories, connected by the common thread of frustration, people driven mad through the slow burn of daily life in La Ciudad de Furia. A construction contractor is unjustly towed from where he parked on the Buenos Aires streets, and through unsuccessful, enraged attempts to appeal his fine, loses his marriage, job, and is eventually sent to jail after a violent outburst. A women destroys her own wedding after learning the groom has been cheating. A businessman road-rages at a slow-driving blue collar driver on a country highway, leading to both of their eventual deaths. The film’s comedy is derived from its exaggerated projection of what it means to be Argentinian in the 21st century. A false sense of order, a staged stability, a system that continually fails to satisfy.
I digested these stories in my Airbnb after making an average meal for myself and a local companion. The chicken breast and broccoli may not have been Michelin-star worthy, but the ingredients were hard-earned at the Día supermarket a few hours before. I innocently strolled in, with Western Union-ordered cash on hand and the ever-wrong belief that this would be an in-and-out mission. I’d have olive oil sizzling on the stove in no time.
I couldn’t help but think back to my experience trying to purchase groceries when watching these characters become ever more unhinged during the course of their everyday routines, inconveniences adding up to frighteningly dark conclusions.
There was only one individual in front of me when I hauled my cart up to the line. He had just one item, a liter bottle of Coca-Cola, and waited to be called upon by the cashier. A laid-back night in Palermo.
Then, just as he was about to be called upon, an older man entered from the street, towing several empty soda bottles. He walked right up to the cash register, halting the line’s movement, and aggressively laid the bottles out on the conveyer belt.
I suppose he was seeking a kind of cash back deal, which seemed above board at first, until the cashier offered him a paltry quantity of pesos in return. One could feel the mood of the entire establishment turn on a dime. Suddenly, the familiar, LED-lit, over-air conditioned atmosphere started to darken, to physically warm in temperature. I felt itchy in my sweatshirt, inexplicable heat trapped in my layers. The cashier was firm, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Of no matter, this was clearly an unstoppable force against an immovable object.
Suddenly from behind me, an angry wail. I turned to face an exhausted-looking mother, consoling her 7-ish daughter, who was expressing the indescribable feeling of dread the entire store had come to digest. A younger boy, also hers, had decided to express himself by sprinting out the door, bringing with him the overjoyed giggle of a newly freed prisoner. The argument at the cash register continued apace, and the line grew.
The mother sent her daughter after the son, assigning a level of responsibility I thought too high for a junior enlisted soldier. The girl swung open the door, grabbed her brother, and carried him back. Unfortunately, this required a level of strength she was not prepared to sustain. She careened towards her mother, beginning a slow-motion descent that concluded by falling on top of her brother, directly into my left leg. Had I not been in an athletic position, a game of human dominoes would have ensued.
Now more employees were getting involved. Dead-eyed men and women in red vests seemingly came out of the walls, shuffling towards the conflict as it sustained an intensity I would have thought impossible for a dispute of what could have been no more than a few hundred pesos.
As they attempted to overwhelm the bottle collector’s arguments by physically outnumbering him, my eyes wandered back to the young man in front of me. He had set the Coke bottle down at the end of the conveyer belt, and now had his phone raised to his right ear. I heard noise coming out of the bottom, a Youtube video beginning. It lagged, to his visible frustration, and he hammered the screen with his thumbs, trying to get it to start again. When it did, I recognized the intro to “Down With the Sickness” by Disturbed. Great.
As the voices involved in the main event started to elevate, the heavy-metal classic began to take form. Coke bottle man had the phone pressed to his ear, though the whole store could hear the guitar build-up, choppy and unsettling. He tapped his foot, slow at first, then faster as the music increased in intensity. Then, as the cashier shoved rumpled bills in his adversary’s face, trying to get him to accept the hardline offer, the song reached its climax.
“OH WA AH AH AHHH.” Disturbed’s front man screamed out, reverberating off canned goods and meat shelves emptied by inflationary pressure. The song’s purveyor lost his mind, yelling out the lyrics as a medley of hardcore guitars rattled the floor and our souls.
“Come on, get up, get DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS” blared from the small-but-mighty iPhone speaker. The kid was in-tune, but his English was lacking, so his version was more feeling than lyrical expression. He was jumping, waving his arms violently. The young boy behind me was equal parts terrified and intrigued, mimicking his object of affection with flailing limbs just barely missing his sister. As this was all taking place, an agreement appeared to be reached. The man stormed off, leaving his bottles on the conveyer belt, hard-earned cash in tow.
“Adelante, por favor,” said the clerk, exasperated from a high-stakes negotiation. This request went, quite inevitably, unheard, as we were just getting to the chorus. The sweet goodness of Coca-Cola had been all but forgotten, replaced by a sonic anger battering the kid’s right eardrum.
“ADDELAAANTE.”
The music cut off, lights flickered back to resting state, cool air returned. The kid handed over 300 pesos and walked out, nodding his head to the imaginary outro as he stepped into the Buenos Aires night. Wild tales indeed, to be found wherever business is conducted in Argentina’s capital city.