LA COCINA (Alonso Ruizpalacios, 2024)
A new genre is emerging on our screens; anxious kitchen cinema. With Boiling Point and The Bear, a Bourdain biopic coming out soon, and good old Gordon Ramsay reality TV, it seems no one can get enough of being in the kitchen. La Cocina is a new entrant to this genre, and possibly, the best yet.
Based on the 1954 play, The Kitchen, La Cocina takes place in a tourist trap Times Square restaurant, The Grill, which serves a little bit of everything, with a focus on their suspiciously cheap “fresh” lobster tail. While other kitchen dramas seem to focus on passionate chefs trying to reach perfection with their food, La Cocina instead showcases the other side of restaurant culture, a long line of chefs trying to get food out as fast as possible so that their customers from around the world may make their broadway show on time. At one point a waitress is berated by a customer as it’s been twenty minutes for their chicken dish to come out, and I can’t imagine that any dish could be great quality if it’s expected to come out a few minutes after ordering.
The film is a masterclass of cinematography, with director of photography, Juan Pablo Ramírez, seamlessly gliding around the restaurant, perfectly capturing the full ensemble cast. From the dressing rooms to the winding corridors to the kitchen itself, the cinematography invites us to be part of The Grill, whether we want to or not. At one point, we join the bustle of the lunchtime rush in an unbroken ten minute shot, perfectly executed. The cinematography was the absolute highlight of the film, matched only by the performance of the cast.
The workforce of The Grill is a multicultural mini army, many who have a job have come on a recommendation from a friend of their mother, a place where they may find a job as an undocumented immigrant, with good pay if they work hard. The Grill keeps their staff by promising that soon they will help them get documented as a thank you for their hard work, but as some of the staff reach their eight and ninth year at the restaurant with no help, it’s clear these are empty promises, made to keep their staff happy and working hard.
The main focus of the film is on Pedro, an undocumented chef who seems to only have the task of cooking the chicken marsala, that’s how many chefs are working in this kitchen. It’s Pedro who has helped other chefs get their place in this battleground of a kitchen, and it’s Pedro who is the latest to have been promised to receive help in getting documented. Played by Raúl Briones, who is the driving force of the film, Pedro is possibly having the worst day of his life, in an almost After Hours fashion, nothing will ever go right. Eight hundred dollars has gone missing from the cash register, he’s the prime suspect, he’s gotten one of the waitresses pregnant, he’s on his final warning from work, three strikes and he’s out, and he’s late. The waitress in question, Julia, played by Rooney Mara, pretends as though Pedro does not exist, until he gives her money for her abortion, whilst also pleading with her not to have it. He begs her to move away with him, out of America, so they can raise their child. She agrees to rethink, they’ll go on a date on their lunch break, but the date never happens as Julia leaves for her appointment.
Pedro is just another cog in the machine of the restaurant, a faceless and nameless entity to the diners, and nothing more than a piece of the equipment to the managers. The film reaches its climax as Pedro is being accused of stealing the money, immediately after realising that Julia had gone to get the abortion. As someone rushes in to get a first aid kit during his interview, Julia has fainted at work, Pedro escapes back to the kitchen, receiving the final blow: he doesn’t know anything about Julia, as her son he had never heard of arrives to walk home with her. Finally, Pedro explodes. Getting in a fight with one of the only American chefs in the kitchen, who demands the rest of the chefs speak English, which escalates and escalates until Pedro is running through the dining room, covered in food, and being attacked by a maniac. Restrained and brought back into the kitchen, Pedro dumps the thrown out food over his head and himself, swimming in the mess. Finally, he destroys the ticket machine, stopping the constant printing and beeping, bringing the entire restaurant to a stop.
Pedro’s outburst is cathartic, everything has built up to that moment, but at the same time, you know this will be the end of the “American dream” for Pedro. He will be fired and probably deported with no job to support himself with, but maybe this is the true meaning of the American dream. Work constantly and if you can’t, you’ll have to get out. Pedro stopped the work, as the restaurant’s owner puts it, Pedro stopped his world. Therefore, Pedro will have to get out. At one point, the dessert chef Nonzo, played by Motell Foster, tells the rest of the kitchen staff about a dream he had of a poor man who came to America, with big hopes and dreams. He was a hard worker, ready to start a new life, but as he arrives at Lady Liberty, immigration notices he’s missing a hand. He’s thrown into a cage, ready to be deported, no matter how much he pleads he’s a great worker, better than most people with both hands, but it’s no use, until, a green beam of light shines into the room, and the man disappears. The rest of the kitchen staff aren’t impressed with this dream, but as Nonzo states, ‘You told us to tell a dream, it’s not my fault it turned out to be a nightmare.’
Unfortunately the American dream is a farce, and according to Nonzo’s dream, it may never have existed. It’s a country founded on the idea that all are welcome, the land of the free, a country where everyone has a chance to succeed, no matter what, but you better fit a tiny little box of specific requirements if you want to come in, and if you manage to get in you better work hard and keep your head down. America is also a nation of multiculturalism, founded by immigrants, whilst being deeply ashamed of this truth. La Cocina displays this perfectly, it’s the foreign-born chefs who make the food, who keep the restaurant afloat, but the diners only see the “true” American waitresses. La Cocina is a true portrait of America, a tribute to all those who are forced to the backrooms of the workforce, those who truly keep America going.
