In 1971, Mexico mobilized a grassroots campaign to skirt around dismay from FIFA in order to host the first-ever Women’s World Cup (outlined in James Erskine’s electrifying documentary “Copa 71”). Fifteen years later, similar manipulations were employed, this time to earn the association’s favor and make the nation the first in history to host the World Cup twice. Gabriel Ripstein’s satirical sports drama, “Mexico 86,” takes boardroom conversations and depth-of-pocket contests and relays them with irreverence, levity, and a wired energy (helmed by its lead).
Martin De La Torre (Diego Luna) is a pencil pusher with ambitions for something greater, and a boundless audacity that motivates him to meet his potential by any means necessary. He finds his opportunity in Colombia’s forfeiture as host city for the 1986 World Cup. With the tournament’s site now in limbo, Martin utilizes a few key connections and his own limitless verve to pull political strings within the business and media empires that govern the decision.
The beginning of the film finds him begrudgingly married and enthusiastically adulterous with his downstairs neighbor, Susana (Karla Souza). He’s an overworked office cog who busts his tail only to stay stuck in the mud. When he gets the opportunity to double-cross his boss and wind up with his job, it’s hard to balance the scales to determine if he’s more motivated by Mexican pride or having his name stamped in its honor.
“Mexico 86” isn’t really a movie about soccer. It’s about power, pride, and perhaps even more so, ambition. It’s about the chasm between what is and what can be. This applies not only to the Mexican soccer team, which volleyed between dead last finishes and a lack of qualification in the three cups preceding the film, but also to Martin himself, who commands the film’s true attention. “Mexico 86” is plotty, technically, but the chicanery of nailing the tournament doesn’t compare to the electrifying mischief and exasperating ego of the film’s protagonist.
Martin, despite not qualifying for likability, is magnetic due to Luna’s performance. He’s perpetually revved up, arrogant, and the master of masks, donning whichever face will advance his self-interest. Luna embodies the depth of a skeezy self-confidence motivated by insecure desperation, allowing Martin’s character to feel whole. He’s somehow charming, despite the fact that his opportunism cloaks his persona in snakeskin. He’s enchanting and annoying.
Alongside Luna is a notable performance by Daniel Gimenez Cacho, who plays the real-life figure Emilio Azcárraga, the chairman of Club América. The two partners, constantly in a neck-and-neck battle of egos, but both vehemently in need of each other, create most of the film’s tension. The rest, of course, belongs to the will-they-won’t-they of Mexico’s battle to host the tournament, battling deeper pockets, bureaucracy, and under-the-table military deals the United States promises to loyal voters.
These political affairs are an underserved element of “Mexico 86,” offering an interesting glimpse into the inner mechanisms of international sports that would’ve provided a respite from feeling that this film is mostly Martin’s story. While Luna undeniably keeps this boat afloat, it’s difficult to proclaim that the script truly serves the story it sets out to tell. While Ripstein’s satirical approach lends an appealing bassline, his format fails to capture the victory’s emotional resonance.
