Most Beautiful Island

Ana Asensio's directorial debut, Most Beautiful Island, begins with an understated narrative, seemingly destined for the Sundance Film Festival circuit. Produced by Larry Fessenden and his indie-horror distributor Glass Eye Pix, this film initially appears to be a poignant portrayal of multicultural strivers in New York City. The story centers around Luciana (Asensio), a determined immigrant from Spain, who has fled her past and is struggling to make ends meet in Brooklyn's bustling neighborhoods.

At the outset, Most Beautiful Island follows Luciana through a typical day, marked by moments of vulnerability: visiting an underfunded doctor without insurance, navigating the cramped confines of her apartment shared with her roommate. The camera captures her daily routines, including picking up rowdy children from school and escorting them home, as well as donning a provocative yet whimsical costume to promote a local event.

As the narrative unfolds, Luciana's life intersects with that of Olga (Natasha Romanova), an acquaintance she meets while handing out flyers. Olga proposes a tantalizing opportunity: for a handsome sum of $2,000, Luciana will attend a high-stakes cocktail party, donning a sleek black dress and stilettos – no explicit content required, just her captivating presence.

Prior to this pivotal moment, Most Beautiful Island assumes the guise of a meandering, ethnographic quasi-documentary, showcasing New York City's hidden corners: from dilapidated back rooms to bustling streets. The film is set against the backdrop of a thriving immigrant community, where women hustle to survive amidst an economy that seems perpetually out of reach.

Luciana relies on the charity and understanding of her fellow immigrants – shopkeepers who offer flexible payment terms and cab drivers who turn a blind eye to her financial struggles. However, others espouse a more rigid ideology: they believe in making one's own luck and reaping what one has sown. This dichotomy sets the stage for the film's striking second half, where Asensio employs a biting metaphor that will leave viewers reeling.

As Luciana (no actor name provided) descends into a foreboding cinderblock-lined basement along Manhattan's West Side Highway, she's drawn into a surreal atmosphere of calculated manipulation. The air is heavy with tension as women stand in rigid clusters, their faces etched with anxiety and resignation, marked by numbered chalk circles. Elegantly attired onlookers sipping champagne mingle alongside stern-faced individuals in black, who seem to exert a malevolent control over the proceedings. As Luciana waits among them, her apprehension builds, fueled by the ominous sense that she's about to be inducted into a twisted game where women are objectified and exploited.

The moment of truth arrives when Luciana is summoned into a dimly lit "party room," where the well-heeled revelers have retreated. The experience is nothing short of nightmarish – a stomach-churning blend of primal fear and despair. Yet, as she's forced to confront her own vulnerability, Luciana realizes that many of these women have voluntarily submitted themselves to this ordeal, motivated by desperation and the promise of financial gain. The dehumanizing nature of their situation is nothing short of appalling, akin to a sexual assault in its psychological brutality.

In stark contrast to many genre films where victims fight back with valor and defiance, Luciana's story takes a more jarring turn. Instead of mustering resistance or exacting revenge, she – like the others – accepts the payoff and exits the nightmare, leaving behind a trail of emotional devastation. The film's narrative eschews traditional heroic tropes, opting for a hauntingly realistic portrayal that mirrors the darker aspects of our society.

The story concludes with a jarring juxtaposition: a sweeping shot of New York City's iconic highway, accompanied by the faded graffiti "BIG APPLE BIG DREAMS." This seemingly innocuous phrase takes on a grotesque irony in light of the film's opening disclaimer: "Inspired by true events." The result is a haunting commentary on the darker aspects of our world, where exploitation and desperation can thrive behind the façade of glamour and glitz.