Nahuel Prez Biscayart (BPM) stars as a troubled jockey whose identity shifts radically after a serious accident on the track in Kill the Jockey (El Jockey), a Venice Film Festival entry by Argentinian director Luis Ortega (El Angel, Drommanos). Visually lush and full of playful mystery, this equestrian-themed psychological thriller-comedy-whatsit strikes plenty of poses that may tickle the fancy of viewers with a taste for camp, surrealism and/or the absurd. However, others might feel underwhelmed by the films strenuous efforts to charm and find it slows to a trot by the end. Ortegas knack for nifty needle drops has been noted before, and Kill the Jockey, partly financed by Warner Music Entertainment, stays true to form with a killer soundtrack mixing Latin pop, synth-heavy EDM, local tangos and original music by Sune Rose Wagner. Paired with the saturated color palette, boxy 1:85 aspect ratio and deliberately still and stilted performances, the vibe recalls the work of Aki Kaurismki no surprise, given that the director of photography here is the Finnish auteurs longtime collaborator Timo Salminen. Kill the Jockey The Bottom Line Heavy on style, light on character. Venue: Venice Film Festival (Competition)

Cast: Nahuel Pérez Biscayart, Úrsula Corberó, Daniel Giménez Cacho, Mariana Di Girolamo, Daniel Fanego, Osmar Núñez, Roberto Carnaghi, Luis Ziembrowski, Jorge Prado, Adriana Aguirre, Roly Serrano

Director: Luis Ortega

Screenwriters: Luis Ortega, Rodolfo Palacios, Fabián Casas

1 hour 36 minutes

That retro aesthetic is further buttressed by production and costume design choices that evoke the 1950s or 60s, especially in the cut of the mens suits and the peculiar getup Biscayarts lead character sports for much of the film: a full-length mink coat with dainty bracelet sleeves and a tightly wrapped, padded bandage around his head that evokes the shape of a snug pillbox hat.

But before we get to that ladylike look, our hero, Remo Manfredini (Biscayart), mostly rocks the traditional silks that identify professional horse riders a uniform hes hardly ever out of for the first third of the movie. Remo is first met drinking hard in a Buenos Aires bar full of unsmiling staff and patrons who look on as hes hauled off by the henchmen of his employer, Sirena (Daniel Gimnez Cacho). The gangster, who controls gambling in the region, has his own distinctive accessory: Hes never seen without his baby actually a series of infants, all less than a year old, whom Sirena or one of his men tote around like tommy guns. Why hes always packing baby heat is never explained.

As Remo prepares for a race, it becomes clear his drinking is out of control. At one event, he barely gets out of the starting gate. The rider of the winning horse is Abril (rsula Cober, Money Heist) his professional rival but also his lover. Together, they celebrate their victory with a delightfully herky-jerky disco pas de deux thats like to be the moment viewers will remember best long after the film is finished. We soon learn that Abril is pregnant with Remos baby, though her stony expression suggests shes not all that bothered with whether the permanently sozzled Remo is involved in the parenting. Meanwhile, another jockey, Ana (Mariana Di Girolamo) makes her romantic interest in Abril very clear, adding a sweet sapphic dimension to the story.

Despite the fact that Remo is a total screwup, Sirena insists he rides his latest acquisition, a stunning chestnut stallion named Mishima imported from Japan, in the next big race. This time, Remo manages to make it out of the gate. But just after he takes the lead he veers off and, based on the horses POV camera, rides right into the fence, severely injuring himself. (And probably poor Mishima, although the horse is sadly never mentioned again.) Remo wakes up in the hospital with amnesia, barely able to say a word at first, let alone his own name. After stealing the aforementioned fur coat and a pocketbook belonging to another patient, he walks out into the streets of Buenos Aires.

The rest of the film evolves into a picaresque of semi-comic encounters as Remo, who renames himself Dolores and adopts she/her pronouns, discovers his feminine side. Presumably, this is all meant to illustrate the plasticity of gender identity or the fragility of modern masculinity. Or maybe its all just a lark. The screenplay, by Ortega, Rodolfo Palacios and Fabin Casas, is light on queer theory or even character motivation. But the comely cast, who contribute admirably athletic, physical performances across the board, have enough charisma and vigor to keep this not-especially-long film jaunty. In the end, it all feels a bit like a fashion film or some other branded exercise in style except that the brand is Ortegas peculiar and unique vision.