The plot of this Mexican black comedy is a doozy of mistaken identities. Two lowlife thugs kidnap an asshole business tycoon named Cabos—the chief baddie is doing it for his father, who worked for Cabos for years as a janitor and never got any respect. Only thing is, the crooks wind up snatching the wrong guy. Meanwhile, one of Cabos' employees, Jaque, and his buddy, Mudo, wind up with the real Cabos unconscious in the trunk of their car. (Don't ask ...) Other only thing is, they can't get the trunk open.
There are funny bits—a genial former pro wrestler who goes Hulk whenever he's called by his stage name; the inability of the kidnappers to successfully communicate to the Cabos family that he has been kidnapped—and there's a nifty stunt involving an Audi and Mexico City's Estadio Azteca. It all plays a bit like Mexican Tarantino. The characters aren't as self-consciously cool and dark—these folks are more bumblers and stumblers, The spirit is mildly irreverent, which is, I suppose, better than so-hip-it-hurts rammed down one's throat for two hours.