The characters’ lack of direction seems to infect the movie itself. Like Calvin and Ras, it may be that Los Hongos is too aimless to really leave its own mark.
Los Hongos crafts its meandering, unobtrusively utopian worldview in such all-enveloping fashion that it feels almost incongruous once actual violence does rear its head, particularly when it's depicted with so little of the subtlety that went before. And once the cozy, inclusive spell has been broken, both Ras and Calvin's endeavors and the film itself begin to look a little naïve in retrospect.
The film is lyrical, not especially linear. Ruiz calls it a documentary dream, a poetic rendering of realistic raw materials, aiming for a “daydream” rather than naturalistic effect. We get a nice tour of assorted sections of the city — rich, middle-class, and impoverished — while we accompany Calvin on his bike. There are other digressions, some more successful than others.