In the cinematic adaptation of the true crime story, Carlos is a disaffected teenager living with his parents in Buenos Aires. They are a humble working class family teaching their only son the values of working hard and staying in school. He cares to do neither. Instead, Carlos starts his criminal career as a petty thief, sneaking into big mansions and helping himself to jewelry, cash and a motorcycle. His parents are on to his lies, but he’s just getting started.
After he befriends another handsome classmate, Ramón (Chino Darín), Carlos meets his first criminal mastermind and mentor, Ramón’s father, José (Daniel Fanego), who shares the boy’s taste in stolen goods. Carlos develops a possessive crush on Ramón, and the defiant teen pushes everyone’s boundaries to their disastrous conclusions. Carlos’ interest in stealing has never been about money, and his appetite soon outgrows Jose’s plans and Ramón’s rejections. Eventually, his crimes become so heinous, the media christens the young man, “The Angel of Death.”
Although the film’s premise is based on a true story, Luis Ortega’s “El Angel” is not a faithful biopic. Somehow, the facts are darker than their fictional counterparts. There’s also the matter that the director took the liberty of reimagining Carlos as a gay psychopathic killer although no official version of Carlos’ story hints at any queer identity. Although the film does dips into the old trope of a bloodthirsty queer villain, Ortega’s version plays it serious so that Carlos can pass as straight (for a time) in the homophobic underworld of ‘70s Argentina. However, the camera spends a lot of time close to Ferror’s face—so the audience can see Carlos’ longing, jealous gaze on the character’s solemn face—and it’s painfully obvious what Carlos wants to control the affections of another person. It’s something he can’t steal for himself.
Like Patrick Bateman in “American Psycho,” Carlos fools people around him with his charm and good looks. People just don’t suspect the worst of him, even when the movie is making his bad intentions visually obvious. Ferror’s performance is eerily hollow and effectively scary, almost as if you were looking at a shark head-on and seeing nothing reflected back; Carlos moves lithely through darkened homes and stores like he’s in his natural habitat. His “shoot first, ask questions later” approach gives him his first taste for blood by accident, and once he’s hooked, his regard for life diminishes rapidly.
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