Rejtman's follow-up to Silvia Prieto continues the director's amiable chronicling of a lost generation, its peculiarities and passivity embodied here by Alejandro, a genially downtrodden car-service driver who's moving mapless and ever so slowly into his late thirties, his only comforts being his beloved, beat-up Renault and touchingly ungroovy sashays onto the dance floor. A random encounter with a cheerfully communal businessman and amateur rocker named Piranha brings a wave of changes for our middle-aged slacker, and before long Alejandro (played by the real-life leader of Argentine rockers Los Fabulosos Cadillacs) is but one member of a community of pill-poppers, dog-walkers, yoga lovers, flight attendants, and Canadian porn stars, all holding on, barely, in a Buenos Aires about to be hit by weather cold enough to help Piranha's get-rich-quick “magic gloves” scheme succeed. Maybe. Rejtman's love for his battered but still standing characters is palpable, and gives The Magic Gloves a warmth as memorable as its dry absurdities.