The Wonderful Ice Cream Suit 1998

In East Los Angeles, Jose Martinez is a poor, hopeful young man who adores the girl next door. One tense night, a strange man eyes him, and in a panic he discards his wallet, leaving only a last $20 behind as he bolts away. Cornered in a shadowed alley, that same man returns the money and measures Martinez’s build, revealing himself as Gómez. This encounter pulls Martinez into a strange, dreamlike plan.

Gómez leads him to a dim, rundown bar where two other similarly sized Latinos—Dominguez, a wandering guitar player, and Villanazul, a budding philosopher and street-level voice for the people—are waiting. The trio learns they share the same measurements, height, and weight, and Gómez unveils a bizarre vision: a one-of-a-kind, vanilla-ice-cream-white summer suit priced at $100. Alone, none of them can afford it, but by pooling their money they could own the suit together. Each has only $20, leaving $80 short of the goal, and they decide to recruit one more person to complete the venture.

Enter Vámonos, a shabby, forgotten man on the street, who siphons in the final $20 they need. With the purchase secured, the four form a plan: every partner will wear the suit for an entire week, but on the first night each will don it for just one hour before returning to the bar. Dominguez goes first, and his guitar conjures a burst of energy, prompting a parade and a call to move: the crowd shouts to go with the music, and the moment is punctuated by the exclamation of urgency and joy, as the crowd erupts with a sudden, shared rhythm. > “¡Muévete!”

Villanazul follows with a bold, urgent performance of his own—a poem delivered from a politician’s soapbox that stirs the energy of the street, and then Martinez climbs to the balcony where he first noticed the girl next door. With his glasses on, the bright suit finally helps Celia Obregon notice him, and she reveals her name in a moment that feels like a first spark of possibility.

Gómez, suspicious but curious, urges them: go with God. The plan to leave town with the money seems to fade as they glimpse a mural of five men resembling their own group, implying fate might have bigger plans for them. Gómez decides not to vanish after all and chooses to stay, his earlier suspicions tempered by a reluctant sense of belonging to this odd, shared venture.

When Vámonos gets his turn, Gómez grows furious that the unwashed man hasn’t even washed up, and the group imposes strict rules to keep the suit pristine: no spicy tacos, no wine, no cigars, and no standing under trees where birds might nibble at him. They warn him to avoid Ruby Escadrío, whose boyfriend, Toro, could ruin the suit in a fight. Vámonos heads to a club, the others following closely, watching as he ignores every edict.

Ruby Escadrío, played by Ruby Escadrío in the scene, arrives and dances with Vámonos, igniting Toro’s fury. The friends shield him, even urging Toro to strike Vámonos instead of Gómez’s crew, and the confrontation escalates until Toro crashes into Vámonos with his car, severely injuring him. Yet, in a desperate move to protect the suit, the group pulls it off before the ambulance arrives, fearing the paramedics would cut the fabric and ruin the one treasure they have left.

In the final stretch, Dominguez irons the suit and places it on a mannequin, a quiet symbol of the fragile, shared life they’ve built. The four lie atop a rooftop, few hammocks between them, staring at the night sky as their world shrinks to this singular garment and the bond it represents. The leg of Vámonos is in a cast, but the group remains together, with Martinez quietly considering what they have gained from their unlikely, collective dream. Villanazul finally urges him to rest, and the night ends with the sense that their improvised family might be enough to carry them forward, even without money or fame.