El Presidente, review: Amazon's soapy drama about the Fifa scandal lays bare the ugly side of the beautiful game
Football governing body Fifa loftily describes itself as “a non-profit organisation”. An arguably laughable claim considering that during its deeply dodgy Noughties pomp, this morally flexible fiefdom largely did what the heck it wished. And what it wished to do was make frankly obscene amounts of money.
The ugly side of the beautiful game is entertainingly laid bare in El Presidente (Amazon Prime Video): a docu-drama where silky skills come a distant runner-up to filthy lucre. As is spelled out early in this giddy, gossipy romp: “It’s not about who plays best, about who pays best.”
The eight-parter tells the true story of “Fifa Gate” – the 2015 scandal which rocked the world of international football, seeing a dozen of the sport’s disgraced bigwigs put behind bars or slapped with lifetime bans. Cue a mix of Mafia caper and corporate corruption exposé.
The series is created by Argentine screenwriter Armando Bó, who won an Oscar for genre-bending 2014 film Birdman. He presents the stranger-than-fiction story as a stylised comedy-drama, which perfectly suits the subject matter. After all, the shameless antics on display are so outrageous, they’re blackly comic.
The belief-beggaring tale is told through small-time Chilean club president Sergio Jadue (Andrés Parra), who almost by accident rises from provincial obscurity to the top of the country’s football association (ANFP). From here, Jadue gains a foothold at continental confederation Conmebol and then Fifa itself, where he becomes a key player in a $150m bribery conspiracy.
Colombian actor Parra is best known for portraying the titular role in Pablo Escobar: El Patrón del Mal. Here he’s more hapless anti-hero than fearsome crime lord. His bird-like face and social clumsiness have shades of Mr Bean or Gru from Despicable Me.
At first he’s a naive, nerdy interloper into this elite world. However, Jadue soon has his head turned by the trappings of ill-gotten wealth: private jets, lavish parties and cash-crammed briefcases routinely used as deal-sweeteners.
His mentor in the dark arts is the infamous president of the Argentine football association, godfather figure Julio Grondona (the hangdog Luis Margani, who resembles a well-upholstered Gene Hackman). His growling, world-weary narration adds an extra layer of satire.
Drunk on new-found power and egged on by his far smarter wife Nené (Narcos’ Paulina Gaitán), Jadue convinces himself that high-rolling luxury is “the life we deserve”. For the first few episodes, you’ll be rooting for these scrappy underdogs against the fat cats. Like football, however, the series is a game of two halves.
It gradually becomes clear that someone is ahead of the game. The friendly, flirtatious Rosario (How to Get Away with Murder’s Karla Souza), a waitress at Conmebol HQ’s on-site hotel, turns out to be an undercover FBI agent, leading the sting operation which becomes football’s own Watergate. She turns Jadue into her insider mole – despite him being, according to her impatient spymaster, “a dumbass who does everything wrong”.
Indeed, it’s women who possess most of the brain power here. There's the formidable Rosario, the Lady Macbeth-esque Nené, the hilariously stern spin doctor she hires to overhaul Sergio’s slobbish image or his wily grandmother Fátima (Anita Reeves), through whose travel agency he launders the dirty money.
Populated by seedy old men and abused young women, the show’s gender politics have a strong whiff of the imminent #metoo reckoning. Rosario tells a fellow waitress who’s been roughly manhandled: “They think they can do what they want. But there is something I know and it’s that all this will end some day.”
The nitty-gritty details are eye-opening. We hear how Fifa has more members than the UN and arguably more power. “Bomb my country if you want but don’t leave it out of the World Cup,” deadpans Grondona. Fifa bosses nickname the globe-conquering tournament “the Ker-ching Box”.
TV and sponsorship rights aren’t sold to the highest bidder but the provider of the biggest bungs. The Chileans use a “cold balls” trick to fix the Copa American draw. American agent and Concacaf official Chuck Blazer, “Mr 10 Per Cent” on a mobility scooter, has a talking parrot in his office, trained to squawk “Money!”.
The chasm between working-class fans and the superannuated executives who exploit their passion is powerfully portrayed. “The difference between us and a thief is that a thief takes your money against your will,” smirks Grondona.
As Jadue fails upwards, there is an increasing role for Abián Vainstein as unctuous Fifa president Joseph “Sepp” Blatter, ringmaster of the whole circus and a human embodiment of hubris. It’s gloriously satisfying to watch such grasping villains get their comeuppance.
The time-hopping structure becomes confusing at times. On-screen captions identify the key players and you’ll need them, because there are a lot of moustachioed men in suits. Most of them, pleasingly, wind up convicted of fraud, bribery, racketeering and money laundering. Or, if they’re lucky, dead.
The three leads – Sergio, Nené and Rosario – form a tug-of-loyalty triangle. Their soapy journey and its jaunty tone make this series as addictive as a Latin American telenovela.
Fans with withdrawal symptoms shouldn’t come to El Presidente expecting much on-field action. Football itself takes a back seat, only seen at the periphery of the boardroom machinations, or when playful graphics and classic World Cup clips fill in narrative gaps. As Grondona explains: “In soccer, the real match is played outside the pitch. This is the story of all those who take advantage.”
The final whistle might have blown for his cronies but the suspicion, sadly, is that the Fifa gravy train rumbles on. El Presidente means we can enjoy the ride too.
El Presidente is available on Amazon Prime Video now
