Venice 2024: "Kill the Jockey" and "One to One: John & Yoko"

by Elisa Giudici

KILL THE JOCKEY © Rei Pictures, El Despacho, Infinity Hill, Warner Music Entertainment) 

KILL THE JOCKEY by Luis Ortega
There is a certain aesthetic in the self-destruction of genius. In El Jockey (or Kill the Jockey), this is encapsulated in a visually seductive scene where Nahuel Pérez Biscayart prepares his signature cocktail: a base of horse medicine in a glass of whiskey, drowned in a cloud of cigarette smoke. He downs it in one gulp and then mounts his horse for a race that ends sooner than expected.

Kill the Jockey has an explosive first half-hour...

We follow the legendary jockey Remo Manfredini—winner of every competition, so out of it he can barely stay in the saddle—through the stylized backstage of horse racing, just above the line of illegality. This is not a realistic portrayal, mind you. In the dressing rooms jockeys change and pray before kitschy religious icons and seduce each other, and Ortega combines the aesthetics of 1970s porn films with a strong trace of South American magical realism. Nahuel Pérez Biscayart and Mariana Di Girolamo share the hottest dance scene of the competition, confirming themselves, along with their director, as names to absolutely keep an eye on. With its teasing dance choreography, latex riding boots that flirt with kink, and the manic gaze of the protagonist, Kill the Jockey is absolutely exhilarating... at first.

KILL THE JOCKEY © Rei Pictures, El Despacho, Infinity Hill, Warner Music Entertainment, Exile)

Unfortunately, El Jockey shares the flaws of its jockey protagonist. Ortega has an absolute disdain for safe choices and linear narrative, so the film's undeniable brilliance gallops wildly toward its own self-destruction. His previous film El Ángel was more successful with Ortega on a tight more conventional leash, whereas El Jockey is infinitely more personal and auteur-driven—a bareback ride that turns into a rodeo. Ortega desperately tries to keep the film afloat without a story. After yet another accident, even Manfredini's gender identity becomes blurred and diluted, but there’s no organic discourse within or behind it. We must wander through the city with the protagonist, made-up and fur-coated, following the footsteps of strange, never-growing babies, of past loves born in illegal races, of a complex present love story with a jockey now more successful than him, who will love him again when he "dies and is reborn."

El Jockey is suspended between life and death, between ailure and redemption, just like its protagonist. After all, "if it were easy to commit suicide, everyone would have done it already." In its digressions and excesses, the film conveys the urgency of a filmmaker with already marked themes and influences ("we must return to violence," says the boss Sirena, spotlighting Ortega's lively fascination with crime), who saves his film in the final sprint. It’s the kind of admirable film that doesn’t quite succeed for an excess of all the right reasons: ambition, vision, boldness. 

ONE TO ONE: JOHN & YOKO by Kevin Macdonald and Sam Rice-Edwards
Film after film, I'm increasingly convinced that Brad Pitt's true legacy to cinema may lie more in his work as a producer than as an actor. His name appears once again on a project that confirms his impeccable taste in selecting and backing high-quality films. It wouldn't be surprising to see Kevin Macdonald's One to One: John & Yoko in the running for a Best Documentary nomination at the 2025 Oscars.

ONE TO ONE JOHN & YOKO

One to One: John & Yoko is a surprisingl gem of storytelling, crafted without a narrator or direct guidance. Instead, the narrative unfolds entirely through the juxtaposition of seemingly unrelated footage. We see clips from John and Yoko's last concert, aptly titled "One to One," interspersed with intimate phone conversations between the couple, their gallerists, agents, friends, and journalists. One particularly charming thread involves their attempts to find live flies for one of Yoko’s art exhibitions, which becomes a running inside joke.

The documentary also features rare Super 8 films shot by the couple during their early years in New York, after Yoko convinced John to trade the grandeur of their vast Ascot estate for a modest New York apartment. Through these scenes, we witness John’s political activism and Yoko’s insecurities—insecurities that only surfaced after the U.S. press labeled her as "ugly," transforming her in the public eye "from bitch to witch." Yet, the film also beautifully captures the deep emotional and human connection that bound them together.

However, the true protagonist of the film is America itself. The documentary delves into the nation's complex relationship with the couple, exploring how the United States was both enchanted by their non-violent, pacifist activism and simultaneously drawn to President Nixon's conservatism. One to One is less about John and Yoko as individuals and more a reflection on the United States during the period when the couple made New York their home. It captures the contradictions of a nation that both adored and despised the English musician and the Japanese artist.

The film also includes dozens of clips from television shows of the era, shows that John and Yoko avidly consumed, often leaving the TV on at all times. This zapping through TV content, much of it seemingly unrelated, instead weaves together a portrait of a contradictory, belligerent, pacifist, and confused America. By the time we arrive at "Imagine," the cause behind the "One to One" concert, everything falls into place.

One to One: John & Yoko is an excellent documentary, offering an intriguing historical perspective that often overshadows the music.

Comments

[Sophia Sophiam]

Your article is so well-organized and structured that it makes it easy to Drift Boss follow along and understand.