Jockey Movie Synopsis: In Madurai’s traditional goat fighting circuit, two rival trainers wage war through their four-legged champions.Jockey Movie Review: The goats in Jockey settle their differences more decisively than their owners, though not by much. Director Pragabhal’s film enters a world Indian cinema has seldom documented: the kida fighting tradition of the Madurai belt, where men stake reputation and honour on horned athletes trained to butt heads until one relents. It took over three years to capture these sequences on camera, and the effort shows. Getting real goats to perform convincingly is no small feat.Ramar (Yuvan Krishna) arrives late to a fight in Usilampatti, riding a share-auto that gets him mocked before he even enters the arena. His black goat Kaali faces off against Anugundu, the champion belonging to the arrogant Ghabra Karthi (Ridhaan Krishnas). After seventeen fierce rounds, Kaali breaks one of Anugundu’s horns, earning Ramar the title of Madurai’s Jockey. Karthi doesn’t take the loss well. What follows is a cycle of humiliation, revenge, and escalating violence, with Karthi resorting to increasingly dirty tactics to reclaim his standing: a hidden hook during a rematch, a midnight threat to Ramar’s sister, destroyed trophies. The rivalry consumes both men, even as Ramar tries to step away from the circuit after inadvertently causing Anugundu’s death.The goat fights themselves are where Jockey earns its keep. Raw, intense, shot with real animals in a way that makes you equal parts curious and queasy. NS Uthayakumar’s cinematography captures the dust, the sweat, the older Madurai gangster energy that pulses through these arenas. The climactic battle was a definite standout, with the live sync-sound adding a powerful edge. This is a film built on blood, sweat, and tears, and you sense Pragabhal’s sheer labour behind every sequence, days of coordination to align animals, cameras, and actors into something coherent.The humans, unfortunately, don’t match their four-legged counterparts. Yuvan and Ridhaan are cut from the same cloth: hotheaded, impulsive, ready to throw fists at the slightest provocation. One’s just two shades darker than the other. Their supporting casts function as cheerleaders rather than characters. Madhu Sudhan Rao plays the peacemaking elder who shows up to break up confrontations, delivers the same lecture, watches them part ways, then repeats the routine three more times. The romance with Meenu (Ammu Abhirami) feels grafted on to break the monotony rather than woven into the narrative. You can tell when the script was assembled around the spectacle rather than through it. Sakthi Balaji’s music is dependable.Jockey works best as a window into a tradition most viewers won’t know exists. The curiosity factor alone carries it.Written By: Abhinav Subramanian

A “brujo,” a “magician,” “a social arsonist” and the “father of Chicano Theater” — these are just a few of the monikers that have been bestowed upon Luis Valdez over the course of his decades-long career. The 85-year-old filmmaker and playwright is responsible for “La Bamba” and “Zoot Suit,” films that raised a generation of Latinos and are now upheld as classics — both were inducted to the National Film Registry of the U.S. Library of Congress.

Valdez awakened a movement, bringing Chicanos from the California fields he grew up working in to stages and screens all over the world. His stories shifted the frame, placing us at the forefront of the American story, allowing us to see our dreams, anxieties and struggles reflected back at us. In David Alvarado’s upcoming documentary, “American Pachuco: The Legend of Luis Valdez,” it’s the celebrated storyteller’s turn to be on the other side of the lens.

The film traces Valdez’s beginnings as the son of migrant farmworkers in Delano, Calif., to his early days in theater helming El Teatro Campesino — a traveling performance troupe who worked alongside Cesar Chavez to mobilize farmworking communities, raising awareness about strikes and unions through skits and plays. Incorporating folk humor, satire and Mexican history, their work later evolved to include commentary on the Vietnam War, racism, inequality and Chicano culture more broadly.

Narrated by Edward James Olmos, who broke out as the enigmatic pachuco with killer style and a silver tongue in 1981’s “Zoot Suit,” the documentary was awarded the Library of Congress Lavine/Ken Burns Prize for Film last year.

De Los spoke with Olmos and Alvarado ahead of the film’s world premiere on Thursday at the 2026 Sundance Film Festival.

This interview has been lightly edited for clarity.

David, what was your introduction to Luis’ work? And how did it influence you as a filmmaker?

David Alvarado: I grew up watching things like “La Bamba” with my dad, and it made a huge impression on me, but at the time, as a kid, I didn’t really know the name Luis Valdez. Then in 2006, I was an undergrad at the University of North Texas, and I got a Hispanic Scholarship Award. At the celebration, Luis gave a speech and I was just blown away. I was a young wannabe filmmaker trying to learn how to make movies, and somebody like me was up there onstage telling a story about how he got there. I felt really inspired and I always carried that with me. Then in 2021, I was at a juncture in my career where I had told these science and technology stories, and I loved it, but I wanted to do something more personal. I thought back to Luis Valdez. Where was his story? So I reached out to him and that’s where this all started.

Mr. Olmos, your breakthrough came from playing El Pachuco in “Zoot Suit,” first in the play and then the film. What was your first impression of the story?

Edward James Olmos: I remember I had been doing theater for years, and I was walking out of an audition for another play at the Mark Taper Forum when I heard someone say, “Hey, do you want to try out for a play?” And I said, “Excuse me?” And she said, “Well, do you or don’t you?” And I said, “OK, what do you want me to do?” I didn’t know who she was, or what the play was about, but the next day, I was standing there with 300 other guys getting handed a little piece of paper with the opening monologue [for “Zoot Suit.”] I knew from reading it that this was serious, really serious, so I just became the character immediately.

I remember when they called me and asked me to do the role, it was on a Friday night, around 8 o’clock, and they were going to start rehearsals on Monday morning. I hadn’t gotten any phone calls, so I thought [the part] was gone. Then all of a sudden, the phone rang and they asked me if I wanted the role of El Pachuco. I said it would be my honor, my privilege. I hung up the phone and I slid down the side of the wall crying. I just completely lost it.

DA: Eddie really stole the show. I mean, it’s just undeniable. What he brought [to the production] was exactly what Luis was looking for, and I think it’s what Chicanos wanted to see and hear at the time. He really struck a nerve, and that was a huge part of the success of “Zoot Suit.” What Luis tapped into with this collaboration with Eddie, with the Teatro Campesino, or later with “La Bamba,” that was his gift: finding people who could represent the true nature of what it means to be Chicano.

There’s so much incredible archival footage here from the Teatro Campesino. What was your reaction to seeing some of that early work?

EJO: That footage is priceless, and that’s one of the reasons this movie is really important, because Luis is truly someone that has given our culture a voice. He gave me my voice. When you want to learn about a culture, you try to study what’s been written about them, any documentation or books, but nothing compares to their art. Right now, I’m working on a piece with Luis called “Valley of the Heart,” a play that he wrote over the last 12 years. It’s a never-been-told love story between a Mexican American and a Japanese American in an internment camp during World War II. It’s been difficult to make, but once people see it, they’re going to be thankful because it doesn’t matter what culture you are, the humanity of it comes through. That’s how people will feel after seeing David’s documentary, too. It’s inspiring.

DA: I think people are ready for the real story of America. I mean, the documentary and “Valley of the Heart” are part of American history, they talk about a real American experience, and it’s not the kind that people hear anymore. People are thirsty for that kind of authenticity, and to re-evaluate what the American story really is.

One of the core themes within the documentary is how we as Chicanos view the American Dream: Can we achieve it by being ourselves, or do we have to assimilate? We see that identity struggle play out as Luis and his brother, Frank, take different approaches in their lives, and it’s later paralleled in the story of “La Bamba.”

DA: That’s such a core pillar of the film. We all want the American Dream, but what that dream is confusing to a lot of people. The quest to get there through assimilation is something that Chicanos, Latinos and other immigrants have tried at the expense of their own heritage and identity. They give it all up and lay it at the altar of the American Dream. They try to fit in, and be this other thing, and so often, that doesn’t work. In his own life, Luis’ answer to that was if America is supposed to be this multicultural beacon of democracy, then let’s have a space for Chicanos to play a role there. I’ll retain my culture and be an American.

He and his brother tried to make it together, but they weren’t taking the same approach. In Frank’s story, that caused him a lot of pain, and he never quite made it that way. Luis, in very important ways, did make it. The fact that his work speaks to those themes, and was part of his personal life, I couldn’t leave that on the editing room floor.

In the documentary, we see the triumph of “Zoot Suit” being the first Chicano production on Broadway, and then the crush of it being panned by critics who didn’t seem to get it. Mr. Olmos, you say that the reaction wasn’t a loss for you all, it was a loss for America. What did you mean by that?

EJO: Well, because it wasn’t going to be spread around the country and understood. To me, the theater is magic. When it really works, it’s amazing. But [those negative reviews] stopped us from that growth process. There was one critic from the New York Times, Richard Eder, who said it was street theater on the wrong street.

I have to tell you, though, the people who were given the opportunity to see that play in New York, even after the critics panned it, always gave us a cheering standing ovation at the end. They burned the house down every single night. Even in L.A., that play was monumental. But that criticism hurt Luis badly, it hurt us all. I think if we’d gone through Arizona, Texas, Chicago, Miami before hitting New York, we would’ve been a powerhouse that would still be running today. It’s one of those stories that deserves to be revived over and over again.

The story of “Zoot Suit” is set in the 1940s, during a time of intense scrutiny and discrimination for Mexican Americans. How did the story resonate in the 1980s, and what do you think it has to tell us now?

EJO: People came from all over the world to watch the play, but Latinos kept coming back. Some of them had never been to a theater before in their lives, and they were bringing in family, friends to come and see it every weekend. It was a beautiful experience, one that was like giving a glass of water to somebody in the middle of the desert. They cherished us for giving them the opportunity. Now, we’re needed more today than we were even then. Today’s time is uglier than almost any time.

DA: It’s ugly, and it’s crass. We’ve had so long to try to figure out racism and get the American experiment back on track, and yet it just feels so depressing. Like when is the cycle going to end? At the same time, I hope that there’s a little bit of optimism in the film that the community can come together, and that we can find a way through this.

The documentary does a great job of showcasing the power of art. The performances from the Teatro de Campesinos allowed the farmworkers to really see themselves in a way that helped build a movement and made for a successful collective action. What do you hope this documentary can teach a new generation of Latinos today?

DA: For me, it’s to understand who you are, and to do what it takes to make it work here in America. When Luis spoke to me from that lectern, the thing that really got me going was that he said, “Whatever it is that you’re trying to do, whatever your project is, just stop doubting yourself and do it.” I remember thinking, “Oh my God. Maybe I can be a filmmaker. Maybe I could tell stories for a living.” So I hope that that’s clear in the film: that if you believe in yourself, you can fit into America, you can make a place for yourself.

But also, know that creation is an act of joy, and that the whole point of life is to find happiness and share it with other people. Despite all the heavy things we’ve talked about so far, I do want to point out the film is a joyful one of exploration. Luis has his moments when the world pushes back on him so hard, and it’s painful, but he just has so much love to give, and that’s the point of making art. I want people to walk away thinking that they can do it too.

EJO: David nailed it. That’s it exactly.

It’s a bold filmmaking choice to have a countdown clock on the screen for most of your movie.

In the best-case scenario for a movie like “Mercy,” in which a Los Angeles detective has prove his innocence to an artificial intelligence judge within said time limit, it heightens the tension. Who hasn’t gotten sweaty palms in, say, a “Mission: Impossible” movie when the bomb is ticking down and Tom Cruise still hasn’t cleared the building? Why not just extend it for the duration?

Perhaps in a better movie it might have worked. Sadly in “Mercy,” in theaters Thursday, it’s an ever-present reminder of just how much longer you must endure until you too are free of Chris Pratt, Rebecca Ferguson and that chair.

In “Mercy’s” near-future Los Angeles, AI has been adopted by law enforcement and the judicial system to more efficiently clean up the city’s crime and blight problem. It’s a potent and not too far-flung idea that might have been a fascinating and provocative premise for a movie attempting to grapple with the implications of so-called progress that had the potential to be a worthy companion to another Cruise movie, “Minority Report.” But that would have required a more serious script than screenwriter Marco van Belle’s and more vision than filmmaker Timur Bekmambetov managed to muster.

When Pratt’s character, Chris Raven, wakes up, barefoot and strapped into an electric chair sitting in the middle of an oddly large room that looks a bit like the holodeck, he’s informed by an IMAX-sized AI judge (Ferguson) that he has 90 minutes to prove he didn’t kill his wife (Annabelle Wallis). In this world, the incarcerated are guilty until proved innocent. They’ve cut lawyers and juries out of the equation as well. Instead, the accused have everyone’s digital footprint at their disposal to help build their own case. For Raven, that means everything from ring cam footage to his teenage daughter’s secret Instagram account.

Unfortunately for Raven, he woke up with some gaps in his memory between angrily busting into his home to confront his wife about something and being arrested and bludgeoned at a bar later that day. Raven was also one of the original champions of the AI judge system, which in a more curious script might have resulted in some real stakes. This story is more hung up on increasingly tortured plot contrivances, however, including Raven’s drinking problem following the death of a partner killed on the job. To its credit, the story does really keep it ambiguous as to whether Raven did it or not, but to say that it earns any sort of investment in the outcome is a stretch.

One of the most confounding choices is to have a real actor playing the AI judge. Wouldn’t it have been more interesting and provocative to use an AI creation as the impartial Judge Maddox instead of stripping Ferguson of all emotion and charisma in the role? At times, it feels as tedious as watching a stranger’s increasingly frustrating call with a robotic customer service representative play out in real time.

For how reliant this movie is on screens and keeping Pratt alone, one might assume that “Mercy” was a socially distanced, COVID-era leftover instead of something made in 2024. Kali Reis, playing another LAPD agent named Jaq who decides to help Raven investigate on the ground is the one that gets to be out in the real-world chasing leads and hunches. But for the most part, she’s seen only through FaceTime and bodycam footage. Like Raven, we’re largely stuck in the chair watching things play out on multiple screens, acutely aware of just how much time is left.

“Mercy,” an Amazon MGM release in theaters Thursday, is rated PG-13 by the Motion Picture Association for “drug content, bloody images, some strong language, teen smoking and violence.” Running time: 101 minutes. One and a half stars out of four.