Among the Hollywood stars of her generation, Jessica Chastain has been uniquely selective about the characters she agrees to embody, resulting in a filmography that empowers women (from “Molly’s Game” to “The Eyes of Tammy Faye”) and centers on social issues (“Miss Sloane,” “Woman Walks Ahead”). Her characters are not always good people, but there’s always a good reason for the kind of role models she’s willing to put out into the world.
That makes the incredibly destructive force Chastain depicts in “Dreams” — who could be read as an incorrigible hypocrite or a dangerously self-delusional femme fatale — an edgy choice for a star who so carefully curates her filmography. It should be said, this isn’t the first time Chastain has crossed over to the dark side (see 2021’s “The Forgiven”), nor is it entirely surprising, given writer-director Michel Franco’s reputation for notoriously confrontational work. Building on the trust established during their 2023 collaboration, “Memory,” Chastain and her director deliver a provocative social critique with an extra-sharp sting in the tail.
“Dreams” dares to question the ethics and motives behind liberal activism, presenting Chastain as Jennifer McCarthy, an elite San Francisco philanthropist whose arts foundation sponsors Mexican dancers in their home country. Sounds admirable enough, right? The movie opens with one of these prodigies — a young man named Fernando (Isaac Hernández) — risking his life to cross the border. ”Dreams” is as much his story as it is Jennifer’s, poking holes in the long-shot promises that compelled Fernando to make this pilgrimage. What future really awaits him in the U.S.?
His illicit passage is an upsetting process, the horrors of which are depicted without comment in Franco’s cold observational style (he’s a product of such austere European auteurs as Robert Bresson and Michael Haneke, resisting the touches — like a musical score or manipulative camerawork — others might use to trigger an emotional response). The director’s neutral gaze makes it hard to know what to make of this undocumented immigrant, and nearly impossible for anyone to guess that he’s not a “bad hombre” but a gifted ballet dancer, unless you happen to recognize the performer.
In real life, Guadalajara-born Hernández has achieved a version of Fernando’s dream, becoming the first Mexican principal dancer at the American Ballet Theatre. In theory, something similar could happen to Fernando, who finds his way to San Francisco, where he lets himself into someone else’s mansion. By withholding key information from the start, Franco lets audiences’ prejudices influence how they interpret his actions: Is Fernando someone to be feared or a potential asset to the U.S., obliged to enter in a roundabout way?
It’s more complicated than that, of course. The mansion belongs to Jennifer, who’s surprised to find Fernando sleeping nude in her bed. Instead of throwing him out, she initiates sex (an activity that’s never been simple in Franco’s films, sometimes downright violent, but here appears to be fulfilling for both parties). Little by little, we learn of this couple’s history: The affair started in Mexico City, where Jennifer clearly would have preferred it stayed. She maintains a place there and can fly back and forth as she pleases. The logistics of crossing are harder for him, since he was detained and deported in New York years ago.
She seems to have most of the power in this dynamic, but Fernando has surprised her once (by showing up unannounced) and he does so again by walking out and trying to establish a foothold in the U.S. without her support. When he disappears, Jennifer taps her seemingly limitless budget to find him. Part of what makes Chastain’s character so perverse is the way she operates the McCarthy family foundation with the same resources that she presumably used to ensnare this younger man. Jennifer’s so good at this routine that she doesn’t even realize the irony that her selfishness has corrupted her philanthropic efforts. And yet, as a high-profile socialite, she doesn’t dare take the relationship public. That may as well be proof she knows it’s inappropriate.
While there’s an undeniable romantic dimension to “Dreams” — recall that it begins with Fernando traveling 2,000-plus miles to reconnect with the woman he loves — Franco can’t be bothered with anything so bourgeois. Instead, the film’s kinky control games and unapologetically graphic sex scenes are electric (they may well shock arthouse crowds), but it’s the subtext that makes this clear-eyed and detail-focused moral drama so compelling: There’s the age difference, the wealth gap, the lure of opportunity in the U.S., the constant threat of arrest and the way some Americans sexually exoticize foreigners. But more important than all that is the agency Fernando manages to reclaim by demonstrating his own talent.
At times, the dramatic tension is so strong, “Dreams” could almost be a thriller. That’s true of the scene where Jennifer, who’s been desperately searching for Fernando, finds him dancing for a ticket in front of the San Francisco Ballet. Until this point, Jennifer has worked so hard to hide her relationship from her father (Marshall Bell), she must be cunning now. Trying to keep up as she maneuvers to get what she wants — which is basically this relationship, back in Mexico, where Dad and her brother Jake (Rupert Friend) can’t pull the plug — is like watching a chess master at work. When the last move comes, it’s at once entirely unexpected and unbelievably cruel. In dramatic terms, it’s also inevitable: the snap that jolts these dreamers back to reality.
