"beatriz at dinner"

Roadside Attractions

Whether or not you can suspend your disbelief long enough to subscribe to the wraithlike, Japanese art of Reiki, a timeworn Eastern technique designed to treat anxiety and promote restorative healing, there will always remain a small subset of the population which swears by that which it cannot see; channeling a form of dogged, physiological connections to the body, mind, spirit, and soul. So vociferous in fact, that even if these particular facets cannot be observed with the naked eye, the acknowledgment alone renders sound Western judgments obsolete. Yoga, alternative medicine, gluten-free substitutes, all anathema to so many westerners' choices of lifestyle, exist in a paradigm which aims to peel back specific American doctrines — why exercise when you can work? why eat plants when you can eat meat? why get a second opinion when you have a perfectly good prescription for Oxycontin? Ideologies which govern many aspects of our so-called "democratized civilization." Manifest destiny, colonialism, imperialism, and expansionism espouse counterintuitive ways of inhabiting the world, conforming to a set of backwards values, aspersions, and moral contradictions where few, if any, are invited to hash out such lofty disagreements. Social media has also driven our species to be more partisan than ever — look no further than the recent U.S. Presidential race, an election so polarizing not even a D.C. assassination attempt could yield an end to congressional deadlock — and while it feels like our ship for a consensus hasn't quite sailed yet, it's surely left the docks. Puerto Rican director Miguel Arteta (of "Cedar Rapids," "The Good Girl" and "Chuck & Buck") teams with writer/ collaborator Mike White ("Nacho Libre," "School of Rock" & "Year of the Dog") to imagine what these uncomfortable conversations might look and sound like, not just between liberals and conservatives, but between healers and killers. Arteta and White illuminate these differing attitudes and opinions with innate precision, knowing all too well they can fall on deaf ears if not communicated properly, putting it upon our fearless heroine Beatriz (played by Salma Hayek) to be the film's fateful messenger, a woman who cannot bear to hold her tongue another thousand, reckless years.

As a lauded Mexican American actress of Spanish and Lebanese descent, Hayek herself has suffered a long slog to attain venerable status in the U.S. as a "Hollywood leading lady." She has played every role imaginable with enduring grace, even if she's had to relegate herself to stereotypical fare (think Theresa Taco in "Sausage Party"), oftentimes pigeon-holed as the "feisty Latina you don't wanna mess with." Here however, there are remnants of that fire, dampened by some tragic plot points in Beatriz's backstory. In some not-so-subtle expository dialogue, we glean from longtime frenemy Cathy ("Friday Night Lights" alum Connie Britton), that her father may or may not have been murdered back in Mexico, that her husband in America was either kidnapped or deported, and in a series of flashbacks, learn her pet goat was smothered to death by an impetuous next door neighbor. It's a quiet, unnerving tension which lends itself to Hayek's stark performance — superseding her measured and calm disposition, a veil not even three glasses of wine can properly fend off. Beatriz's fiery temperament is not only borne out of her lost heritage and homeland, but of the injustices inflicted upon her once she re-settled in America — a land she still hasn't quite got figured out, whether for its insatiable appetite for money, addiction to bovine, or dominion over those it deems fit to extort harm. Enter John Lithgow's Doug Strutt, a professional death dealer who's game to chip away at Beatriz's modicum of success, what she considers a worthy, dignified life anyway. Hence "Beatriz" prevails for its ambitions to ask some big, broad questions without coming across as pedantic or ardently political. It's as much about the balance of good and evil as it is the yins and yangs which define good and bad, and whether a healer's purpose is to rid the world of its cancerous agents.

At the alternative end of the spectrum, Lithgow's Doug grandstands as a titan of industry, a so-called "job creator" as he gleefully puts it, simultaneously ribbing Beatriz for her simple-minded world views, yet the two never go at it quite as forcefully as one would hope. At one point Strutt admits climate change is a real and looming catastrophe — but even as Beatriz warns her fellow dinner guests that they too are no more immune to the horrors of the world than their future grandchildren — he rebukes, "The world is going to end. What are you gonna do?" His carpe diem approach to life, which has garnered him riches, a trophy wife, and a slew of 'yes men' following him around at every conceivable turn, is still no match for Beatriz's desire to protect the world from toxic males like Strutt. Beatriz isn't your typical Mexican immigrant either, her small stature (pronounced by conspicuously low camera angles), and Leninist attire, even her hairstyle, all evoke a semi-nuanced "indio" aesthetic, for she clearly represents the displaced men, women, and children captains of industry like Doug have cornered into ruin. This realization however, comes much too late as she actually considers killing Strutt, her mind reaching its darkest depths as she grips with her goat's unexpected passing, struggling to make sense of the evil on display passed off only as light, frothy "dinner talk." Strutt is so comfortable in his own skin that Beatriz actively begins questioning her own, and whether or not she follows through with stabbing Doug's neck, she inherently knows it won't end all of the suffering in the world either. Her only salvation it seems, is to challenge the patriarchy, and to speak on behalf of those who will never be invited to one of these fanciful parties for many (lost) generations to come. 

"BEATRIZ AT DINNER" Rated R. Running time: 1 hour 22 minutes.