Sundown

Should you somehow find yourself dropped into a Michel Franco film, tread carefully; the man’s a bit of a sadist. Through a half-dozen films, the Mexican writer/director of New Order has displayed a fondness for putting his characters through the wringer of some of the more unpleasant aspects of life in the 21st century: O. Henry by way of Michael Haneke. Franco’s narratives tend to unfold obliquely, and formally, he employs conventional techniques to subvert audience expectations. This can make for gripping, unpredictable cinema that rewards active engagement. It can also feel like a senselessly cruel joke. Your mileage may vary. I would hazard that the filmmaker enjoys this polarization.

Sundown, Franco’s seventh feature, is his second collaboration with Tim Roth, after 2015’s brilliant portrait of a palliative care nurse, Chronic. Here, Roth plays Neil, an aloof Brit vacationing with family members at a high-end resort in Acapulco. Lazy days of infinity pools, margaritas, and haute cuisine are interrupted by tragic news from home. A misplaced passport at the airport prevents him from immediately returning with the others, however, we soon discover that it was just a ruse. Neil immediately checks in to a dingy motel and subsequently checks out of everything else, except how to acquire his next beer. As he placidly watches the tourists around him frolicking on the beach, the questions compound. Why is Neil ignoring his family and hooking up with local shopkeeper Berenice (Larios)? What’s going on with this pushy cab driver who seems to be his new best friend? And what, exactly, is driving Neil’s inertia?

Roth delicately captures the weight of weariness that burdens Neil, as he shuffles the streets in his Birkenstocks, briefly showing signs of life in the company of Berenice. We are locked on to Neil for those signs, and Roth’s performance is utterly absorbing. Invariably, Franco lays down his unsparing hand of fate, the slight tremors from Neil’s ennui triggering seismic shifts for everyone. Except perhaps, for Neil. The trouble is, once Sundown reveals the mystery of Neil’s unmoored behavior, the film loses the resonance it has patiently spent its time accruing. It’s a letdown that goes beyond its soap-opera origins to strip away the impact. Maybe this is a new type of punishment Franco is dabbling in, but for once I wish he would have remained deliberately obtuse. Sometimes the why-s are a lot less interesting than just sticking with the be-s.