The Crack: the Spanish noir Tarantino copied and the forum can't agree on

The Sustancia ilegal: masterpiece of film noir or a bore with bad dubbing

There's a scene in The Sustancia ilegal that, according to several film buffs, Quentin Tarantino copied almost shot for shot for the heist in Pulp Fiction. And yet, almost half a century later, Garci's film still divides people: for some it's the pinnacle of Spanish noir, for others a "so-so" film with jarring dubbing. The debate, open for more than two years, offers a curious portrait of how Spanish cinema is judged when the "subsidized" label is removed.

The starting point is a comparison many consider sacrilegious: Alfredo Landa playing a detective in the style of Charles Bronson. The actor, typecast in the "landismo" comedies, puts on Areta's trench coat and, to the surprise of friends and foes, comes out on top. "Landa is a great actor who runs circles around any of the Hollywood stars," summarizes one comment. Others go further: "If Don Alfredo had been 1.85 meters tall, been called Alfred Landis and been born in Maryland, who knows how far he would have gone."

Is The Sustancia ilegal a masterpiece or just an ordinary film?

The division is almost perfect. One side argues that we are before an absolute masterpiece, with three layers of reading: Spanish-style noir, a portrait of ex-police officers recycled into private security for big corporations —with a young Villarejo lurking in the background— and a multimillionaire with international businesses who enjoys parties, prostitutes and violence. "Garci tells a huge amount without telling," maintains that reading.

On the other side, the thesis of "wanting but not being able to." "To me it just seems like a very ordinary film for those years, the typical Garci wannabe that never quite is, who was always a fan of American noir." The underlying argument: if it seems good it's because it's compared to the garbage filmed later in Spain. Decent performances, a middling script and the absence of crudeness are enough to turn it into a masterpiece by acclamation.

Between both extremes, the most repeated stance: it's watchable, especially the first one. The second drops several notches and the third, The Sustancia ilegal Zero, divides even those who defended the previous ones. "I had to stop halfway through. A colossal bore," says one of those who declare themselves fans of the genre.

Dubbing and pacing: what has aged badly

One of the most concrete criticisms isn't aimed at the script or the direction, but at the technique. "It has aged badly, it lacks pace and has things like the dubbing of actors that was done at the time that are quite jarring." It's a problem of the era, not of intention, but it affects today's viewing experience.

The comparison with classic American noir is inevitable and, for some, devastating: "You're better off watching The Maltese Falcon or The Big Sleep." The defenders' response is that the comparison is unfair because Spanish noir of the 50s in Barcelona and Madrid already existed and had its own personality.

The cast, on the other hand, generates almost unanimous consensus. Landa and Bódalo are "two great actors," and Arturo Fernández, in Truhanes, "stands out even next to Alfredo Landa, who is no slouch." Areta's final scene, the one that sums up "the two types of men there are," is for many the high point.

The Sustancia ilegal as an economic portrait of a Spain opening up to capital

The most interesting reading that emerges is the economic one. The opening scene, according to a repeated analysis, shows "what the new structures were going to be": the subordination of politics to big capital, the absence of hydra heads to eliminate, the globalization of the economy based on corporations. "There are people now, 50 years later, who still can't see it."

That layer turns the film into something more than noir: it's a document about how economic power decouples from the State and leaves the investigator with no one to arrest. The real private detective, according to one testimony, was "short, ugly and bespectacled, with a slightly deformed torso," and worked as a civil servant in the morning to pay contributions while managing the agency from his post. "Alfredo Landa was an Adonis compared to him."

Paquismo, proge and the culture war of Spanish cinema

The political layer is not missing. Some argue that the last installment was trashed "because it has nothing proge about it" and that Miguel Ángel Muñoz is outstanding, proving that you can escape from Upa Dance. Another current dismisses the trilogy as "a pinnacle of paquismo" and "paquismo made into a film."

The cross-cutting consensus, beyond labels, is that good Spanish cinema is a rare thing and that these films are saved by their dialogue. "Any of them is better than anything Netflix has today," concludes one. The discussion, two years later, still hasn't resolved whether that's praise or condemnation.

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The Sustancia ilegal isn't the best film in Spanish cinema, but it's probably the one that best explains why Spanish cinema has the complex it has. With these ingredients, the basket will keep giving people something to talk about.