October 13th
Most Beautiful Island (2017)
Dir. Ana Asensio
31 for 31 is a curated film program for the month of October. Conceived of as a compilation mixtape, the program explores the historical and cultural legacy of Horror cinema. Consider this my billet-doux to the genre.
When watching a horror film, there always comes a moment where you ask yourself: how would I survive this situation? While good old common sense can often save you from most of the genre’s death traps — maybe just leave the house with the creepy voices — it’s not so obvious what to do if you’re poor and living in America. That’s the gist of what director Ana Asencio presents in her debut film, Most Beautiful Island.
Ascencio, who also wrote and stars in the film, presents a voyeuristic tale of survival. She proves that the struggle of everyday living can be just as harrowing as escaping a chainsaw-wielding cannibal. Who needs Leatherface when you have Manhattan? The film’s title underscores a dark irony for many in the City of Dreams. Beautiful for some, but unforgiving for most. Luciana, as played by Ascencio, discovers just how ruthless this city can be.
Our introduction to Luciana is a grueling portrait of the immigrant experience in America. Undocumented and scraping by on odd jobs, she balances babysitting with dressing like a chicken to peddle off-brand Popeye’s: cash gigs just to sustain herself. Her existence is a perpetual state of treading water where if she stops kicking, poverty will swallow her up. It’s a shitty life with few prospects. An intrusion of cockroaches disrupts even the brief respite of a warm bath. Nevertheless, Luciana manages to eke by: just barely. When overwhelming bills threaten her fragile stability, a shady offer of 3 grand for undisclosed services becomes irresistible.
Asencio is spectacular as Luciana and gifts the film with the necessary purchase. Ascencio was Luciana, so this story never rings false. Even as the film’s back-nine ventures into more traditional horror, its pulp fiction is a worrying plausibility. The exploitation of the bottom class is the all-encompassing theme, so when Luciana realizes the rules of the sick “game” she is forced to take part in; it comes as no surprise. It’s just the end result of her status.
This story would fail without our involvement, and Ascencio forces us to endure every painful setback. If I drop an ice cream cone on the ground, it’ll elicit a “goddamnit” from me, but otherwise, I’ll carry on with my day. Ascencio makes that blunder feel world-ending. It takes a unique filmmaker to depict mundane tasks like paying cab fare to feel downright traumatic. Its frank depiction of life on the bottom will make those adverse to anxiety want to barf. While some may be disappointed by the tempered payoff after 90 minutes of tension, I walked away depressed. While Luciana may be Ascencio’s story, that story is the reality for millions. And that’s horrifying.
