I have often thought that the future of science fiction isn’t in tales of first world nations like the United States. The future stories we should be exploring and contemplating more are the ones involving (and told by residents of) life on the fringes, in the favelas and the border towns, in the developing world, where raw humanity bumps up against the shiny and antiseptic American capitalist way.
Most do not live the lives of relative luxury we do, but one of the promises of globalism has been said to be an elevation of those who are in poverty. Will those living in Brazil, Mexico, Kenya, or China one day know lives with better amenities,health care, and basic nutrition? Or will the same web of post-colonialism, transnational banking dealing from decks stacked against the poor, and corrupt government regimes keep third world countries rooted in poverty?
The Sleep Dealer is an examination of American globalization as it impacts our lives today, where resentment to illegal immigration in America is as high as it ever has been, but where there are still jobs to be had for those who brave the crossing (at least, prior to our economic woes). The world of the Sleep Dealer is not so different from our own, except in a few very important ways.
The United States of the sleep dealer is mostly seen indirectly, through the lenses of telepresence drones, or in the cramped confines of virtual operator stations where soldiers pilot drones to protect corporatized water in places like Mexico. America appears to be sealed off completely to immigration, at least from Mexico. A wall has been built, and it’s guarded by remote-controlled cameras with heavy machine guns. A future that seemed much less implausible 2 years ago when the anti-immigration sentiment seemed to reach its peak.
The U.S. of this future still requires cheap labor, even if it cannot abide the physical presence of immigrants, legal or otherwise. In this near future, virtual reality technology, portrayed in a way that would fit in with any cyberpunk novel (a series of plugs along the arms and shoulders that allow a kind of neural interface), allows the poor to work within the States. It’s best not to think too hard about the portrayal of the equipment here, which seems more tailored toward a particular visual aesthetic than making logical sense. What was with the gas masks piping in oxygen? Nevertheless–
The backdrop of the world in the Sleep Dealer feels lived in, well worn, and not implausible. Our protagonist is an intelligent young man with an interest in escaping his tiny, water-impoverished farmstead. He tinkers with hacking telecommunications satellites as a means of escape, but soon he overhears something that he should not, and the events of the story are set into motion.
In the aftermath of a tragedy, Memo (a very Gibsonian name, I thought) travels to Tijuana to receive the implants that will allow him to work in the virtual labor factories. He meets a woman, a writer who sells her memories uploaded to the network, who takes an interest in his painful past and whose stories about Memo are funded by a mysterious buyer.
I’ll say no more about the plot, except to say that while this is a science fiction film, it is also an independent film in that sense that it is not the tightly shot, leave-nothing-unanswered big studio style of storytelling. The cinematography is often dreamlike, and the story’s gentle narration reinforce this. The story in some ways feels like a character’s lucid dream.
It’s a contemplative film in its pacing as well. Those expecting a tightly plotted thriller or action film should look elsewhere. This is a film that is more interested in letting the audience come to its own conclusions than lecturing morally (or otherwise).
This was something different than what we are used to seeing. While some of its ideas may not seem so fresh to long-time readers of science fiction, I don’t think this is something we’ve ever seen portrayed this way on the silver screen. It’s worth picking up on DVD or renting at the very least.
