¡Que viva México! The country had a remarkably strong presence in the Latin American Film Competition at the 40th Mar del Plata Film Festival – the only A-class festival in the Americas. Three notable Mexican titles were included. Espina, the debut feature by Daniel Poler and winner of the Audience Award at the Miami Film Festival, is an electrifying road movie following three unusual characters. The second, Life Is, by Lorena Villarreal, made with an international cast (including the great Chilean actress Paulina García), is a somewhat chaotic yet ambitious attempt to capture millennial dilemmas. But the most important Mexican title in the competition – which already premiered at this year’s Berlinale, where it sparked heated discussions – was of course Michel Franco’s Dreams. Unsurprising, considering that the director’s previous films, especially New Order (2020), have also been controversial.
This is Franco’s second collaboration with Jessica Chastain, who is becoming something of a muse for him, shining once again in a role crafted by the Mexican filmmaker. After their joint project, Memory, the American actress is not only the star and protagonist of Dreams, but also its executive producer. Yet the Oscar winner for The Eyes of Tammy Faye, despite a magnificent performance, was largely ignored during awards season. Franco’s films seem too troublesome, too confrontational in their critique of relations in the Americas to win the applause of a broader audience. Nevertheless, Franco remains one of the most captivating voices in contemporary world cinema – and one who uses his voice with sophistication, tackling major, sometimes even existential questions, as in The Guardian or Sundown.
It is no different this time. In Dreams, we again encounter many of Franco’s recurring themes, including love. However, while his previous film, Memory, which explored a romance between two outsiders, was the most tender in his filmography, Dreams tells a story about the abuses we are capable of committing in the name of love. Chastain plays an anagram of her Memory character, who was difficult and wounded, yet fundamentally decent. In Dreams, by contrast, she plays a schwartzcharacter named Jennifer – even if she masks her true colours with makeup and expensive perfume. The film’s arguments, presenting various shades of violence – not only male, sexual, or physical, but also economic and psychological – are cleverly distributed. Therefore, there will surely be viewers who defend the luxurious heroine. Although the number of Louis Vuitton outfits she wears is hard to count, Jennifer sees herself as a victim. A victim of love.
Her material status evokes characters from Succession or perhaps even more from Dynasty – her gowns would have fit right in at the Oscars in the 1980s. Instead of earning a living (her wealthy father makes that unnecessary), Jennifer devotes her time to cultivating her image and boosting her well-being, running a foundation that supports young artists. But her real fixation is emotional intensity: like a teenager, she is overwhelmed by how much she loves, by the depths of her longing, by what she would do for love. We learn the extent of this later. First, we meet the object of her affection.
In the opening scenes, he gets out of a truck filled with undocumented migrants which somehow manages to cross the US-Mexico border into Texas. Fernando is dirty, poor, and beautiful. He still has a long journey ahead before reaching San Francisco, where he will break into Jennifer’s house. As it turns out, they were already lovers in Mexico, where she used to travel on vague “business” trips (there, Fernando belongs to the middle class; it is only in the United States that his social status collapses). Yet Jennifer does not seem pleased that her once discreet lover now stands before her. The differences between them quickly become burdensome: she is alluring and rich; he is young and gifted. But even though he is a brilliant ballet dancer (and lover), without papers he is seen primarily as cheap labour – someone who can be deported at any moment. At least by Jennifer’s circle.
Does their relationship stand a chance? Fernando seems disadvantaged from the start. But perhaps not – after all, she is the one who “loves more”. Yet once toxicity crosses a certain threshold, signalled early by Jennifer’s stalking, can we still speak of love? Or is it already violence? The relationship is anything but symmetrical; the transgressions simply take different forms and intensities. Dreams is a pleasure to watch – not only because of Franco’s characteristically intricate screenplay (there are twists!) but also because of the superb performances. Chastain, of course, is in a class of her own, but she is exceptionally well matched by Isaac Hernández as Fernando – discovered by Franco after a dance-theatre performance, and even bearing a slight physical resemblance to the director.
The erotic scenes are also striking (the one on the stairs is fantastic!) and the tension is palpable, both in dialogue and in glances. Passion is the driving force here, at least for Jennifer. For Fernando, it fuels a fragile pursuit of the titular dreams: a ballet career, a better life, and ultimately independence – something his lover (and patron) refuses to grant him. This is perhaps why Dreams hits so hard: how many of us have had to abandon our ambitions? How many have watched our illusions collapse? Therefore, pleasure mixes here with pain—emotional, social, and, in its final scenes, even physical. But it is well worth experiencing and reflecting on.
By Adam Kruk
Edited by José Teodoro
Copyright FIPRESCI