
‘Gutierrez Is Mai Neim’ Review: Petty Corruption Meets International Intrigue
When the Russian ambassador is murdered, two crooked Argentine cops tackle the investigation despite defying authorities, logic and their own incompetence. Starring Darío Barassi and Yayo Guridi.
The conduct of Argentina’s Buenos Aires Province Police Department —known locally as La Bonaerense—isn’t exactly a laughing matter. At the same time, though, much of the force’s mythology lends itself to comedy: rough, abrasive, perhaps even uncomfortable, but potentially very funny. The protagonists of Gutiérrez Is Mai Neim are perfect examples of that tradition: shady, corrupt, barely presentable cops who nevertheless come across as oddly likable. Throwing a pair of these Bonaerense officers into an internationally sensitive case—the murder of the Russian ambassador to Argentina—is an ideal setup for comic situations. And it’s from those situations that this occasionally charming comedy, starring Darío Barassi and Yayo Guridi, draws most of its laughs.
The two make up a classic duo straight out of the mythology of policing in Greater Buenos Aires. They survive on petty corruption, they’re bored with their jobs, they never take anything seriously, and they’re far more interested in finding somewhere to eat—for free, naturally—than in solving crimes. «Pork sandwich or high-speed chase?» Rubén Torcoletti (Yayo) asks Roberto Gutiérrez (Barassi) as they cruise around in their patrol car. «Pork sandwich,» his partner predictably replies. That pretty much sums up the pair’s moral code. The rest of the precinct isn’t exactly cleaner: after discovering a shipment of 17 kilos of cocaine, they later watch the evening news report that the seizure has somehow shrunk to just eleven.
Soon enough, the pair stumble into a case that’s far beyond their usual neighborhood hustles. A dead man is found in their district and is quickly identified as the Russian ambassador to Argentina. Gutiérrez insists on taking charge—not because he’s eager to work, but because of the attention it might bring him. The higher-ups, however, immediately realize that neither he nor anyone else in the precinct is remotely qualified for the investigation—they don’t even have anyone who speaks English—so the CIA, foreign embassies and a team of international investigators step in.

Of course, Gutiérrez and Torcoletti refuse to be pushed aside. With the help of Sergeant Ventura (played by popular influencer Juli Savioli), they launch their own parallel investigation. The last people who want them poking around are the international authorities and, just as much, their own boss: the equally disreputable Commissioner Capote (a hilarious Abián Vainstein), who finds it hard to believe that two cops with such questionable ethics and even more questionable methods could possibly crack the case. But they know the streets, and they have friends, informants and regular «customers» everywhere. And in some of the rougher corners of Greater Buenos Aires, that gives them a considerable advantage over the «gringos».
Barassi and Yayo have an easy comic chemistry, and while the humor rarely strays far from what the premise and characters promise, it often lands very well. The scene in which they have to talk a suicidal man down from a rooftop is particularly successful, as is the one in which Torcoletti has to spend the day with his teenage daughter tagging along, witnessing the less-than-edifying routines of life at the precinct. As with most shows of this kind, the mystery itself is almost beside the point. It’s really just an excuse to create funny situations. And those moments do arrive. Maybe not constantly, or quite as often as one might hope, but they’re there—and they work.
Gutiérrez Is Mai Neim is an easygoing, likable series, the kind that’s easy to binge (its eight episodes all run under half an hour) and even easier to enjoy. It features some effective visual gags—not least its sharply cynical portrayal of Argentina’s police and judicial institutions—and a script that includes contributions from writers well versed in crime fiction, among them Leonardo Oyola (Golgota, Kryptonite). The latest series from the creator of Barrabrava is ultimately exactly what its premise promises: an absurd, dark comedy about the misadventures of a group of hopelessly disreputable, yet strangely endearing, officers from the Buenos Aires Provincial Police.



