Watching a friend be berated by his mother or witnessing a couple’s heated public argument comes with the uncomfortable feeling that one is intruding in a private matter. Those outbursts of emotion, often reserved for the eyes and ears of those involved, are magnified via a potent cinematic voice in writer-director Joel Alfonso Vargas’ impressively conceived and superbly acted social realist debut “Mad Bills to Pay (or Destiny, dile que no soy malo).” Expanded from the short film “May It Go Beautifully for You, Rico” which premiered in 2024, “Mad Bills” opens with a title card that warns “the working man is a sucker,” a succinct adage that encompasses the verité drama’s thematic essence: the tug of war between a person’s agency over their actions and their powerlessness in the face of socioeconomic forces preventing them from overcoming their precarious circumstances.
Nineteen-year-old Bronx native Rico (Juan Collado) earns cash selling “nutcrackers,” cleverly named, home-mixed, illegal alcoholic drinks on the beach (Kirby Punch for a bright red concoction, Lemonhead Pikachu for a yellow one). At home, where multiple Dominican flags showcase the family’s pride for their heritage, tensions flare up with his hardworking, understandably short-tempered mother (Yohanna Florentino) and his argumentative teen sister Sally (Nathaly Navarro) over Rico’s marijuana habit and irregular employment. The household turns even more hostile when Rico reveals his 16-year-old girlfriend Destiny (Destiny Checo) is pregnant. With no other option, the expecting girl moves in with them.
The characters in “Mad Bills” behave with the unabashed impulsiveness that people can only exhibit when cameras are not around. Though scripted, the charged scenes, whether combative, softhearted or romantic, create the impression of an observational documentary. That feat of authenticity resonates further considering the cast isn’t comprised of non-professionals, but trained actors whose onscreen behavior and exchanges comes across as almost identical to reality, rather than just a dramatic approximation.
Collado’s initial suave nonchalance as Rico blossoms into a layered mix of the unfounded bravado typical of young manhood: the comedown of disappointment, the false solace found in alcohol, glimpses of warped ideologies on masculinity and the fear of becoming a father while having grown up without one. The convergence of these difficult factors in Collado’s unflashy portrayal plays out organically in Vargas’ vignettes. An outdancing Checo, in turn, infuses Destiny with the self-respect and feistiness required to stand up to Rico, while Florentino, as the immigrant parent in this household, stuns with her vividly recognizable expressions of motherly frustration, expressed in a memorable Spanish-language performance.
That formidable naturalism that Vargas unaffectedly electrifying cast materialize exists within the consistent formal parameters that he and cinematographer Rufai Ajala’s employ to sustain an intimate perspective. Filmed largely in thoughtfully conceived static wide shots, the camera often observes from a corner as if it were trying not to be perceived. The compositions prioritize headspace for the sky to take over the frame during exterior shots, communicating Rico’s feeling of insignificance against the immensity of what burdens him. At one point during a confrontation, the camera is rattled, making us aware not only of its presence but of the in-the-moment quality of the acting.
In an effort to take responsibility, Rico gets a job with a restaurant cleaning staff, but that humdrum routine only highlights the daunting prospect of raising a child, putting a strain in his relationships. He’s trying, but the pathway to being a “better” man is far from direct as his worse coping mechanisms and emotional shortcomings flare up. The shrewd, parenthetical Spanish portion of the film’s title, “(or Destiny, dile que no soy malo),” is a hypothetical line of dialogue from Rico’s point of view imploring Destiny to intercede for him and tell their child that, despite it all, he’s not a bad guy.
Steeped in both unfaltering and pleasant humanity, Vargas’ characters are what some might deem “problematic.” But they ultimately depict complicated mentalities, with shades of true-to-life negative and redeeming traits. Vargas, himself Dominican American and raised in the Bronx, seems keen on exalting the so-called ordinary by forgoing facile judgements about men like Rico, caught between outside expectations and self-imposed aspirations. Vargas features the voice of popular Dominican reggaeton artist Tokischa in the track “Sistema de Patio” as sonic motif and transition. It follows Rico from one stumble to the next, as if it were a specter he picked up at a party that is now attached to him.
“Mad Bills to Pay” joins films such as “Raising Victor Vargas” or “Manito” before that, which depict New York from the perspective of young Latino men from marginalized neighborhoods trying to break out of the cycles of poverty and incarceration. The key distinction lies in that those previous examples, as compelling as they are in their own right, emerged from outsiders looking into a community they didn’t belong to. Vargas is not visiting with a curious gaze to mine a story, but instead doing vicarious self-portraiture through characters who are not strangers but could easily be living in the apartment next door to his. That kind of inherent understanding of a community in a specific geographical area, and the intricacies of their struggles, can’t be researched, only witnessed firsthand.