Cherry Coke Floors and Broken Dreams: The High-Stakes Drama of La Cocina
A film where form and theme resonate in perfect harmony is the Mexican La Cocina, which we, as a jury, were compelled to honor with the FIPRESCI prize. Set primarily in the confined yet vibrant space of a New York City kitchen, the film delves into the underbelly of the restaurant industry—a world that thrives on the labor of undocumented immigrants yet seldom acknowledges their sacrifices. Here, amidst the rhythmic chaos of chopping, frying, and plating, we encounter a kaleidoscope of human lives, particularly those of Latin American migrants who form the backbone of this world.
The narrative first introduces us to Estela, a reserved and enigmatic young woman whose sparse English marks her as an outsider in more ways than one. Estela’s entry into the kitchen brings her face-to-face with a volatile world where personal dramas simmer alongside culinary creations. At the heart of the story, however, is Pedro, a mercurial and somewhat hysterical chef from Mexico. Pedro’s relationships and decisions are a constant source of tension, most notably his romance with Julia, a white waitress. Accusations of exploitation and ulterior motives—such as dating Julia solely for visa purposes—place Pedro at the center of suspicion when $800 mysteriously goes missing from the restaurant. The stakes escalate further when Pedro is blamed for allegedly stealing the money to fund Julia’s abortion, an act that conflicts with his own beliefs. These simmering conflicts soon reach a boiling point, erupting into chaotic confrontations that threaten to derail the fragile equilibrium of the kitchen.
Director Alonso Ruizpalacios masterfully stages these high-stakes dramas with a flair for exaggeration and visual excess. In La Cocina, no detail is too small to be amplified for effect. The kitchen floor isn’t merely wet—it’s flooded with Cherry Coke, the syrupy liquid lapping at the ankles of harried employees. When Pedro’s frustrations explode, they manifest not in mere words but in an all-out physical altercation, leaving the kitchen in a state of utter disarray, with walls and counters painted in culinary debris. These moments of heightened drama, though bordering on the absurd, underscore the intensity of the characters’ lives and the precarious balance they struggle to maintain.
Beneath the chaos, however, lies a quieter but equally powerful driver of the film: its focus on language. La Cocina is a study of communication in its many forms, from the eloquence of body language to the cacophony of spoken dialects. The film captures the tactile poetry of cooking without descending into cliché or fetishization. The slicing of vegetables, the clatter of pans, and the unspoken camaraderie or tension among kitchen staff serve as a non-verbal symphony that speaks to the unifying yet isolating power of labor.
The spoken word, on the other hand, is a rich tapestry of Latin American dialects, English phrases, and Spanglish exchanges, creating a linguistic ecosystem as layered as the dishes being prepared. These linguistic nuances—some sharp and biting, others tender and hesitant—infuse the film with authenticity. For viewers fluent in these dialects, the film offers an added layer of depth; for those less familiar, it mirrors the challenges of navigating a multilingual space where understanding is often incomplete and miscommunication abounds.
For me, the experience of watching La Cocina in Havana without subtitles was uniquely resonant. While my knowledge of Spanish allowed me to grasp the general flow of conversations, I often missed the finer details, finding myself in a position akin to that of Estela or other non-native speakers in the film. This partial comprehension felt deeply intentional, echoing the themes of alienation and fragmented communication that underpin the story. The absence of subtitles heightened my engagement with the physicality of the performances and the emotional weight carried by intonation, gesture, and context. It reminded me that language is as much about what is felt as what is spoken.
In the end, La Cocina is a feast for the senses and a probing examination of the immigrant experience. It captures the simultaneous beauty and brutality of life in the shadows, where survival often hinges on adaptability, resilience, and the tenuous connections formed in shared spaces. By blending exaggerated visual storytelling with an intricate exploration of language and culture, the film crafts an unforgettable portrait of a world that is as chaotic as it is deeply human.
By Steffen Moestrup
© FIPRESCI