‘Dreams’ sizzles before devolving into a nightmare
“Dreams,” Michel Franco’s follow-up to his forgettable “Memory,” has been languishing in distribution limbo for more than a year. This, despite the timeliness of subject matter that closely relates to the current administration’s crackdown on illegal immigration, as well as its involvement in the Epstein files.
The mystery behind its delay only deepens as you swiftly get swept up in the writer-director’s provocative probe of the lopsided power dynamics fueling a heated affair between Jessica Chastain’s predatory philanthropist and her sexually motivated exploitation of a considerably younger, and undocumented, ballet dancer portrayed by the smoldering Isaac Hernández. The two actors literally let it all hang out, bumping uglies in a handful of graphic displays that threaten to set the screen ablaze.
So why was the movie shelved for so long? Got me. Although I suspect it has something to do with the mood of a divided populace groomed to believe that all folks from south of the border enter the Land of Plenty with evil intent. And that’s precisely the backward thinking the Mexican-born Franco seeks to dispel by introducing us to an “illegal” who just happens to be one of the world’s most gifted dancers. But Hernández’s Fernando Rodriguez hardly receives the welcome bestowed upon famed Russian defectors Nureyev and Baryshnikov. But then, their skin was white.
Franco isn’t what you’d call subtle in making that point, but he also doesn’t smack you over the head with it. Just as slyly, he plays upon the stereotypes assigned to folks like Fernando, whom we initially know nothing about, and instinctively deem a penniless border jumper with no discernible skills beyond an unquenchable thirst to escape poverty. And he’s greeted as such after being set free from a sweltering tractor-trailer truck filled with other “browns” who’ve given thousands to heartless coyotes to smuggle them into California.
From there, Fernando hitches his way to San Francisco, landing on the doorstep of an opulent townhouse. He enters as if he owns the place and quickly makes himself at home. When the owner arrives a few hours later, it’s almost like we’re conditioned to fear for her when she encounters a naked Fernando supine on her bed. You assume she’s about to flee and call the cops. But no, Chastain’s Jennifer McCarthy promptly disrobes and joins him in the sack.
From this moment on, Franco has your undivided attention, as you crave to understand what’s going on. I won’t spoil it for you, but it turns out Jennifer and Fernando have a history, one in which what they began in Mexico City was to remain in Mexico City. But when an intruder is as handsome as Fernando, a woman 20 years his senior isn’t about to kick him out of bed.
There are even vague indications that Jennifer, in an odd way, loves the guy. But not enough to introduce him to her friends, and especially to her duchy brother, Jake (Rupert Friend), and judgmental father, Michael (Marshall Bell). At first, Fernando bites his tongue whenever Jennifer, visibly ashamed, attempts to pass him off as either her chum or one of the many underprivileged artists her father’s foundation tirelessly champions.
Eventually, Fernando feels he has no choice but to ghost Jennifer and pursue his American dream alone. And, to a degree, he succeeds, getting noticed by the San Francisco Ballet, which only heightens Jennifer’s puzzling desire to wield control over him at any cost.
Chastain is superb at communicating the desperation fueling Jennifer’s increasingly irrational behavior, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the people closest to her. You also admire the Oscar-winner’s bravery in so thoroughly embracing the explicitness of the film’s red-hot sex scenes. I can safely say you’ve never seen her this uninhibited before.
Her chemistry with Hernández is off the charts. You’d never guess the young Guadalajaran, a principal dancer with the American Ballet Theater in New York, had never acted before. He’s a natural. But it’s his beauty and grace as a ballerino that amazes most. It would have been easy for Franco to go with a seasoned actor, doubled by a professional dancer. But he wisely takes the opposite tack, lending his film a level of realism that’s invaluable. And for the first 75 minutes or so, it works splendidly.
Then, Franco threatens to throw it all away with a third-act twist that is as ugly and cruel as it is wrong-headed. It also betrays his characters, who, up until that point, had displayed cunning, for sure, but nothing as dark and merciless as what they become. The sudden shift in tone and tenor is jarring, instantly breaking the spell. But then, that’s nothing new for Franco, who called on Chastain to undergo a similar metamorphosis in “Memory.”
It made no sense then and makes no sense now. It’s as if Franco has no idea of how to land the plane and opts to merely nosedive it into the ground. Is it a reason to negate the insight and intelligence on display in the first two acts? Not quite. But it does leave you feeling cheated and a bit miffed, as “Dreams” succeeds only in cheapening its contempt for monied elites who view relationships – both personal and professional – as purely transactional.
Movie review
Dreams
Rated: Not rated
Cast: Jessica Chastain, Isaac Hernández, Rupert Friend and Marshall Bell
Director: Michel Franco
Writer: Michel Franco
Runtime: 98 minutes
Where: In theaters Feb. 27 (limited)
Grade: B-
