Time can move pretty slowly in dreams, but seldom as slowly as in the consistently interminable, periodically risible new movie Dreams. In an unlikely melding of genres, the movie seeks to combine the genres of an immigration expose, an erotic thriller, and a behind-the-scenes ballet drama. Jessica Chastain stars as Jennifer, a well-heeled San Franciscan who dabbles in running her family’s foundation, usurping U.S. immigration laws, and pursuing really unhealthy personal relationships. Isaac Hernandez plays Fernando, the Mexican dancer who, upon entering the country illegally, falls into Jennifer’s high-toned orbit. 

This might sound like a provocative or at least so-bad-it’s-good mixture, but the result is deathly dull. The problem is that writer-director Michel Franco is intent on sapping any vitality from his material in what is for him the holy name of artiness, which for mere civilians is synonymous with tedium. Consider the opening image of a semitruck parked beside railroad tracks in what looks like the American Southwest. This shot comes before we have been introduced to any characters or even have a hold on the story. We discern, however, that the truck is in the Southwest because we have time to take in the arid surroundings and listen to the wind rustle the vegetation. In fact, we have plenty of time. The shot probably does not go on for more than a minute, but even 60 seconds of nothing still seems to go on forever. Because the prolongation of the shot tells us nothing, what point can it have but to show off its own studied deliberateness?

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