When Fernando (Isaac Hernandez) survives a baking hot box truck full of fellow undocumented immigrants before crossing into Texas, he seems lost. He walks, almost in a daze, into a nearby diner and begins chugging the used pitchers of water at empty tables. But Fernando isn’t lost. He knows exactly where he’s going. Hitching a ride into San Francisco, he makes the uphill climb into a posh home and makes himself comfortable. The home belongs to wealthy socialite and philanthropist Jennifer McCarthy (Jessica Chastain), and she is quite happy to see her man again. Michel Franco’s erotically-charged and provocative Dreams may look like a steamy romance between a have and a have-not, but it’s a deeply cynical, violently angry comment on the liberal elites who assuage their white guilt by giving to artistic endeavors and sponsoring immigrants looking to become citizens. But their charity only goes so far, and in Franco’s telling, can only lead to cruelty and shocking acts of brutality.
Jennifer’s “work”, if you can call it that, is funding various projects through the considerable endowment set up by her father (Marshall Bell), and overseen by her uncouth and borderline brother (Rupert Friend), who sneers at the troubles of the Mexican immigrants in their employ. We rarely see Jennifer without her various attendants, and always riding around in luxury vehicles and sporting the most fashionable outfits and accessories. But she is also quite obsessed with Fernando, a talented ballet dancer at the school she funds in Mexico City. It was there that the two met and began a steamy sexual affair. She gives him lots of money, which he used to pay his way across the border.
It’s clear right away that the class disparity between them is a gulf that can never be closed, no matter how much they might want to. Franco posits that self-involvement and social demands will always stand in the way of lasting love. Jennifer barely acknowledges Fernando’s existence when in public, and he won’t stand for it. On the other hand, she’s incredibly jealous of the conversations he has with other Mexicans in Spanish, feeling ignored and unappreciated. The power dynamic becomes toxic quickly when he leaves her high and dry. It’s humiliating the way she grovels to win back his affections.
Is it that embarrassment which compels Jennifer to take steps to relcaim the upper hand? The question of Fernando’s need for a green card, and Jennifer’s seeming unwillingness to help him, hangs over Dreams like a dark thundercloud. You’re just waiting for the storm to hit, and when it does after a shocking revelation on Jennifer’s part, the film takes a decidedly sinister turn that I won’t spoil here.
Dreams reminded me a lot of Laurent Cantet’s 2005 film Heading South, in which well-to-do white women travel to Haiti for the excitement of sexual escapades with the poor Black boys who feed on their generosity. It’s unclear whether Jennifer truly loves Fernando or if she just loves the idea of having him under her control. There’s a kind of perversion to the way she condescends to him, then gives herself utterly to him physically. But there’s always a barrier. Her family is content to see someone like Fernando as a talented serf, someone to be hired and even promoted, but heaven forbid he rise above that station. For his part, Fernando’s pride proves dangerously thorny, too.
Franco has never been one to pull punches, especially in matters involving gaps between the underclass and elite, as in his tremendous thriller New Order. With Dreams, it seems that Franco has only grown more cynical and jaded over the years. The shift in tone is a bit too abrupt, but there’s a lot of truth in the inhumanity that Franco sees out there in the world.
Dreams opens in theaters on February 27th from Greenwich Entertainment.
