Sympathetic portrayals of kids who’ve fallen into a life of crime have been commonplace in the arthouse circuit since at least the days of Italian neorealism, and, if we broaden our purview away from cinema to art itself, likely time immemorial. Chaplinesque tramps, Dickensian orphans, and Huck Finns of every country have encouraged us to see crime as an all-too-human byproduct of history rather than an all-powerful malevolent force. There are no depictions of Satan as a mere pickpocket or even a murderer, and, hell, sometimes we just love little scamps breaking the law if the law is thought to be restrictive to life itself (Bonnie and Clyde, or Les Misérables’ Gavroche). If Harmony Korine’s contribution to cinema could be reduced to one thing, it’s the complicating of this archetype into a being not entirely likable, not entirely reduced to the usual liberal socioeconomic explanations, but still far from a conservative’s cartoonish depiction of a lay criminal. His robbers and murderers are both relatively well-adjusted white teenage girls (as in Spring Breakers) and homeless poets (The Beach Bum), and their wanton crime sprees are hardly ever met with third-act reversals of fortune. Korine’s characters, rich or poor, ask for no sympathy. For some, that makes them worthless nihilists; for others, that makes them the best mirror for contemporary Americans.
Though Harmony Korine only produced Barrio Triste (through his skateboarding/music video-directing/AI slop-embracing/video game-producing creative factory EDGLRD), his particular brand of naughty neorealism flows throughout the picture. This story of teenage Colombian criminals who rob a jewelry store and spend the rest of the day as Thrasher Magazine versions of flâneurs is instead directed by the very young artist Stillz (Matías Vásquez). Known for directing popular music videos for Bad Bunny, Rosalía, Arca (who scores this film), Wifisfuneral, Katy Perry, and many more, the Colombian-American’s shoot-from-the-hip style and skate-video look easily fit EDGLRD’s ongoing mission of supporting new talent who simultaneously maneuver the worlds of the internet, street culture, and traditional art.
Barrio Triste (literally “sad neighborhood”) takes place in the titular sordid barrio of Medellín, Colombia, though conditions were so rough in the real Triste that the film was actually shot, with mafia permission, in the nearby Barrio Paraíso. These are the barrios bajos — similar to the favelas of Brazil in their hastily-built shanty town look — that scale the outlying hills on the outskirts of Colombia’s second-most-populated city. While Medellín has continued to be a major industrial center for Colombia (and Latin America in general) since the time of Spanish colonialism, by the late 1980s, a combination of urban expansion and political strife made it one of the most dangerous cities in the world. This is when Barrio Triste begins.
The film itself only barely moves past its initial setup. The Triste kids steal a local reporter’s Betacam, interrupting her coverage of mysterious alien sightings in the area, and keep the camera rolling if only because they can’t figure out how to turn it off. They rob some diamonds, they semi-accidentally shoot a guy, they rush back to the safe house, and they roam the barrio. Eventually, the camera operator breaks off from the pack and goes exploring on his own, occasionally pointing the lens at the caustic yet mundane elements of the neighborhood. A punk band plays in the hollowed-out second story of a crumbling building, and some teenagers set fire to a car. Abandoned buildings are adorned with graffito’d depictions of well-endowed stick figures and warnings that evil is afoot. It’s all a little casually dangerous and all a little funny. Later, a little supernatural light-creature breaks up the mundanity of penis pictographs by poofing the troupe to an abandoned mansion, and a little scraggly Cimmerian monster kills a few folks. Just another day in Barrio Triste.
As a feature-length music video for Arca, the film works well. The musician’s unsettling droning score fills the cameraman’s journey with a sense of dread, especially when punctuated by digital screeches and harsh noise during the getaway sequence. Otherwise, the film’s biggest moments retread ground from the found-footage genre’s pioneers, such as the suspenseful or supernatural reveals in Cloverfield, REC, and even The Blair Witch Project. But the overall style apes mostly from Korine himself, such as the MiniDV-shot Julien Donkey-Boy, the rollicking shorts Umshini Wam and Snowballs, and especially 2009’s Trash Humpers — another film about a walk around a neighborhood that makes the mundane both uncomfortable and funny. Even the supernatural good and evil forces at play in Barrio Triste mimic Aggro Dr1ft’s hilariously over-the-top kaiju boss battle. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as Stillz’s pastiche is better than most and promises some aesthetically adventurous work in the future. But, like parodies of Wes Anderson or Federico Fellini or any other artist with a striking personal style, the Korine elements here manage to distract from the film, no matter how well they’re imitated.
That being said, Stillz does take these kids’ casual suffering seriously, affecting a tone that Korine would never attempt. Intermittently, the found footage format is abandoned for intimate interviews with the kids who often discuss suicide and feeling worthless, despite their violent machismo. The confessional is an ode to newsreel-inspired neorealism that blended real settings or real people with an “artificial” production, even if there’s no indication that these particular conversations aren’t scripted. Korine’s prankster attitude and humorous depictions of the excessive lives of Miami crypto kings and gangsters works well for the richest country in the world, but Stillz knows that mimicking this would feel out of place in the poverty-riddled, mob-controlled barrios of Medellín. Instead, here’s a neorealist portrait of troubled Colombian youth that’s nevertheless routinely punctured by Korinian antics and the supernatural. It’s a mess, sure; it’ll likely inspire a tawdry Balenciaga ad campaign, yes; but it’s so self-assured in its motley attitudes that it can’t help but impress.
Published as part of NYFF 2025 — Dispatch 5.
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