‘The Match’ Cannes Review: Maradona, Myth and the Politics of Argentina vs England 1986

The film’s title may sound a bit grandiose. Which match could possibly stand above all others? Even if we limit the discussion strictly to football, can any single game be called the most important in history? Opinions will inevitably vary—shaped by nationality, personal experience, generation, even taste. Still, many would point to the 1986 World Cup quarterfinal between Argentina and England as one of the most significant.

It wasn’t the best match ever played, nor the most entertaining, thrilling, or high-scoring. In that sense, Argentina’s 2022 World Cup final against France surpasses it with ease. What this game has is something else: it’s one of the most iconic, a match that came to represent—at least for the nations involved—the point where football intersects with life, passion, politics, national conflict, and, in this case, the lingering shadow of war.

The Match is fully aware of that dimension and builds itself around it. Directors Juan Cabral and Santiago Franco place the game on a pedestal from the outset, turning it into a historical—almost cosmic—event. This is not a film for those who see football as “just a game,” but for those who read it as a metaphor not merely for the world, but for the universe itself. Whether or not one buys into that idea, this particular match certainly contains the necessary ingredients: beauty, passion, deceit, national identity, stubbornness, anger, cunning—and a painful history that inevitably plays its part.

To tell this story, the filmmakers rely on Jorge Valdano and Gary Lineker—two surprisingly similar figures, both articulate, media-savvy, and broadly progressive—as their central narrators. Alongside them, several former players are invited to watch footage of the match and other elements of the film on a large screen, reacting and commenting in real time. The result is a layered narrative that, before even reaching the 90 minutes of play (91, to be precise), carefully reconstructs the broader context of what was at stake.

And the film doesn’t shy away from going all the way back. It traces a line from the British landing in the Falklands/Malvinas islands, to the invention of football, to the long-standing rivalry between the two nations (with the infamous 1966 World Cup episode rightly featured), to unexpected cultural intersections—like Queen’s visit to Argentina—before arriving at the 1982 war and its painful aftermath. A look at the years leading up to Mexico ’86—both teams under scrutiny, both coaches questioned—and the earlier matches in the tournament set the stage for the game itself.

When the film finally gets there, it revisits what everyone already knows: Diego Maradona’s two goals, above all, and England’s late strike that brought tension to the closing minutes. But it also lingers on lesser-known details—elements familiar mostly to devoted historians of the game, such as Andrés Burgos, whose book serves as a key source here. Without spoiling anything, the film delves into superstitions, Bilardo’s obsessions, specific moments within the match, and other circumstances that deepen its significance. Still, the two defining moments remain “The Hand of God” and the “Goal of the Century,” with all their ethical and aesthetic implications.

Featuring John Barnes and Peter Shilton alongside Lineker for England, and Oscar Ruggeri, Ricardo Giusti, Julio Olarticoechea, Jorge Burruchaga, and Valdano for Argentina, The Match builds its narrative through memories and reactions rather than tactical analysis or expert commentary. And in those exchanges—between former rivals now bound by time—emerges the film’s most resonant and grounded idea: telling a story shaped by tension, rivalry, resentment, and distrust, only to arrive at a present defined by mutual respect and admiration. Football may not entirely be “just a game,” but when it is, it has the power to make us better.