Drinking and driving is not an advisable act. It’s shockingly irresponsible, a killer. Why then has Sensei (Benecio Del Toro) and his coy confession of “a few small beers” to traffic cops in One Battle After Another struck a wholly positive chord with audiences?
For all the density of Paul Thomas Anderson’s blockbuster this interaction has persisted beyond any other, and while there is a modern tendency to rapidly isolate big-screen moments into digestible memes, there is a triumphant air to Sensei’s gesture which arguably encapsulates the surreal defiance found amidst a nation at war with itself. But where does Modelo fit into this?
Beer often makes an appearance in commercial American cinema under the remit of advertising a brand. Memorable examples, such as Bond’s beach-side Heineken order in Skyfall; sunny Corona saluds amongst La Familia in the Fast & Furious franchise; drinking Buds with the boys in Top Gun, have a recurring strategy of positioning their product as part of an aspirational, masculine lifestyle. Self-assurance, potency, glamour, all to be enjoyed after a long day being the master of your own destiny.
It’s the buzz of boozing with none of the comedown and a surefire means for action films to secure funds from advertising sponsors. An idiosyncratic actioner loosely adapted from Thomas Pynchon and budgeted for production somewhere upward of $130 million, One Battle After Another could do with the cash and, as a film often situated on the US/Mexico border, sponsorship from historically Mexican pilsner Modelo seems to provide the dual function of cultural contextualisation and brand synergy.
OBAA’s narrative draws from real-world parallels found in contemporary US life, centring the struggle between an oppressed, diverse population of Americans and the fascist, White supremacist elites that oppress them. With this conflict in mind, Modelo as a means of sponsorship is a shrewd one, with the lager being both a Latin-American cultural signifier but also the most popularly bought beer in the United States. A beer of the people. And like Dom Toretto or Maverick, Sensei is another figure with people to look out for. Running an underground migration network across the border (a “Latino Harriet Tubman situation” as he calls it) is a mountainous task, and the level of responsibility on his shoulders grows more apparent across the film’s runtime.
All the while, running from place to place, he sips on cans of Modelo, subtly managing his stress while presenting a cool calm. Eventually his role in the film closes, and he’s pulled over by police. Here, his wild-eyed drunken downplay could then be seen as a sly revision on the authoritative, cinematic value of an alcoholic status symbol. It's the end of the road, the master comes undone and does a funny little dance (improvised, according to Del Toro), freed in his capture.
Working in a bar myself, I sometimes encounter a conspiratorial tone from regular drinkers as they make their order, an unspoken acknowledgment that the pleasure taken in beer provides a sanctuary from their daily stresses. Consumption is by no means resistance and I don’t believe that either drinking or Hollywood blockbusters can provide any real freedom to anyone, but I can empathise with the chase as both products present liberation as a trick the mind can play on itself.
We can drink to this, maybe just get a taxi if you’re going to delude yourself.
Paul Farrell
Paul Farrell is a Film Curator based in Manchester, programming film events across the UK on behalf of Rat Depot and Fumetti Funnies. Paul also publishes a monthly newsletter and organises monthly meetings of Magic Lantern Film Club at Track Taproom.