Berlinale 75: "Dreams" is sure to be controversial

by Elia Giudici 

After the Emilia Pérez affair, Dreams by the Mexican director Michel Franco presents a portrait of the Mexican population that is sure to spark intense debate. Even as the audience left the theater, groups of journalists were already engaged in animated discussions among themselves. This is because, at the film's conclusion, Franco makes a bold choice that inevitably compels one to take a firm stance. His hand, clearly visible, is that of the director of Nuevo Orden, a filmmaker who, when confronted with violence and cruelty reaching almost unbearable heights, approaches them with the cold detachment of a surgeon...

Dreams begins as a typical immigration story at the American border—an existential Russian roulette where the line between life and death is razor-thin. Fernando is one of the fortunate ones, making it to San Francisco relatively unscathed, where his lover—white, American, wealthy, and older than him—awaits. For some inexplicable reason, she is obsessively drawn to him. To call the relationship between the two toxic would be an understatement, especially considering the rash decision that opens the film. To define it as a romantic relationship would be even more offensive. Both are unable to stay away from each other, constantly drawn together, their hands rarely in check.

Yet Jessica Chastain portrays a woman as passionate as she is cold, setting firm boundaries on what is deemed permissible. She loves Fernando within the limitations of what she considers acceptable, which predictably excludes being seen as a couple in public. With his precise and controlled directorial style, at times chilling and clinical, Franco uses this toxic love story to illustrate two relationships: the one between the protagonists and the one between America and the Mexicans—who, over time, are eroded, altered for the worse by dealing with the gringos, their exploitation, and their tolerance.

The film's progression also intensifies in its treatment of sexuality. What starts off as a rather chaste and restrained approach (I noted "Franco struggles with sex scenes") gradually shifts into a prolonged negotiation of who will do what to whom—a subtle contest of who is more desperate and submissive. It culminates in a truly masterful sex scene, set in a hurry, on a flight of stairs, where the individual steps partly cover the increasingly daring crescendo between the two. This crescendo ultimately veers into the territory of dominance and brutal violence, perpetrated by a character initially introduced in romanticism, meekness, and purest artistic expression. 

It'll be controversial, and it's certainly not a scene for the faint of heart. Personally, I appreciated it. Partly because it strips the Mexican people of the mysticism of eternal sacrificial lambs and servants, those who are so good and patient with their white masters that one is left wondering whether they even realize they are so exploited. And partly because it serves as a bitter reminder at the film's close, a powerful memento of how the color of one's skin—and more importantly, the color of one's money—ultimately determines who bows their head and who laughs last. Chastain delivers a brilliant performance, embodying a character that is both domineering, manipulative, cold, and obsessive in her need for control and physical contact.

Berlinale 75 coverage: 

• Opening Film: DAS LICHT 
• HOT MILK and LIVING THE LAND