Rodrigo Moreno’s The Delinquents operates under an air of preternatural grace. The story of two bank workers inextricably linked when one steals just enough money to sustain two people until retirement age and entrusts it to his compatriot while he serves a three-and-a-half-year stint in prison (reasoning that it beats the grind of twenty-five more years of work), it is a rare specimen: a film equal in its digressiveness and its focus. Unlike, say, the equally brilliant films by the Argentine’s compatriots at El Pampero Cine (La Flor and Trenquen Lauquen), which also run over three hours, feature multiple protagonists and a nested narrative, and have Laura Paredes in a key role, this film poses and extrapolates upon a simple, single question: is it possible to have a life free from work? From the initial, near-impulsive decision by Morán, an entire galaxy of consequences and possibilities open up for him and Román — the anagrammatic names, extending to a love interest named Norma, only underline the odd, almost Rohmerian Moral Tale-esque quality to their circumstances. Flitting between Buenos Aires, a prison, and the countryside in the province of Córdoba, Moreno fully commits to the contrasting emotions of each locale, to stifling investigation and gorgeously delicate scenes of leisure, frequently using dissolves and split screens to blend and complicate the bond between these ultimately very different men. Where the film chooses to end is fully in keeping with The Delinquents‘s heartfelt dedication to the act of searching, an ever-vital openness to choice and chance.