On IMDB, Beatriz at Dinner is listed first as a comedy, then as a drama. When I noticed this, I was completely floored. There is nothing funny about this movie. It doesn’t even seem to make an attempt at being funny, This is the least important reason why Beatriz at Dinner fails as a movie. Beatriz is played by Salma Hayek, whose acting talent is already a bit questionable. Best case scenario, she has a shitty agent. Beatriz lives in what looks to be an only mildly seedy neighborhood in the city with her beloved animals. She has a few goats, and her neighbors have been complaining about the constant bleating. One night, one of her neighbors decides to take justice into his own hands, and slaughters one of Beatriz’s goats. Now, she keeps her animals locked in cages inside, so her psychotic neighbor can’t reach them. First of all, if you live in a densely populated city, don’t have goats. It really is that simple. It’s a shitty thing to do to your entire neighborhood, and this is our first clue as an audience that Beatriz may not be too bright in general.
So why am I going on about goats when these particular events only last for the first few minutes of the film, and mostly occur off-screen? Because it’s a downward spiral from here, and our protagonist only gets more ludicrously unbelievable.
You see, Beatriz is a healer. This movie really, really wants us to know she’s a healer. What kind of healer you ask? You know, the generic hippie kind. She works at some sort of “clinic” that practices alternative medicine. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, except that we gradually find out that she’s nothing more than a glorified massage therapist (which is not a revelation that the audience is intentionally supposed to have), and this brings up two very important issues with the rest of the film.
1) Alternative medicine is usually lucrative as fuck, especially in Southern California.
This movie constantly tries to remind us just how poor Beatriz is. Her car is in poor shape, her home is located in town rather than inside a gated community, and most importantly (to this film), she is from Mexico. When we see shots of the clinic where Beatriz works, the inside looks expensive, to say the least. The clinic itself is even treated by the characters as a place that wealthy people go for alternative medical care. So, why is Beatriz so poor, and why does the film so desperately want us to believe that she is? Because if we perceived her as a single woman living a life of semi-luxury, it wouldn’t serve the rest of the premise. It’s almost as if the film itself is frowning upon Beatriz for being middle-class, which is ironic given the fact that, for the rest of the film, Beatriz is berated for this very reason.
2) Beatriz is magic
When Beatriz came from Mexico to America, she brought with her a host of special Mexican powers that allow her to be more in-tune with plant and animal life than these misguided white folk. This is, of course, the reason she is so good at her job. I’m sure there’s a vault at the clinic that contains the Magic Mexican Panacea, derived in some way from KFC’s special recipe. I’m sure this recipe is written in Spanish, for security reasons.
One day, Beatriz visits one of her regular clients at a McMansion inside a high-security gated community. Predictably, she is questioned on her way in, because she appears poor and is definitely not white. After finishing up her magic massage, she tries to leave, but her car won’t start, because she’s poor. Beatriz tells her client that later this evening, a friend of hers will arrive to fix the car. She also indicates that she is happy to wait in the car for the duration, because she knows her place as an impoverished Mexican woman. This client, in an effort to be generous and not seem like a racist, insists that Beatriz wait inside instead, and eventually that she join them for dinner. Beatriz resists, but eventually gives in.
Soon, the other dinner guests arrive. They are obviously wealthy, because they’re dull, stupid, and generally insufferable. They are absolutely appalled when Beatriz greets them with a hug rather than a handshake. The entire middle section of the film consists of Beatriz following around these vapid guests, trying desperately to fit in, and simultaneously voicing her disgust at their actions.
There is a revelation late in the film that John Lithgow’s character is not stupid, but rather a psychopath and a damn good businessman. He built a hotel in Beatriz’s hometown, and it failed miserably, putting thousands out of the job, and destroying the precious nature that her magical people held so dear. This angers Beatriz, understandably, so she gets plastered and plots to kill him. It’s vaguely implied that she’s so drunk because she can’t handle her wine, and she can’t handle her wine because her people are better suited to tequila, or whatever magical Mexican potions her people consume on a regular basis. If that sounds racist, that’s because it is, and Beatriz at Dinner revels in reminding us of this.
At this point, the film has the opportunity to at least provide us with a satisfying ending. She corners the scumbag Lithgow, and goes in for the kill, stabbing him. He falls to the ground, and then we learn that we’ve been duped. Beatriz is daydreaming, and ultimately decides that killing him is a bad idea. She leaves, and that’s it.
Beatriz at Dinner is a deeply cynical film made by seemingly well-intentioned people. It’s very apparent that this is supposed to be about an impoverished but strong woman who clashes with the evil, racist rich white people. However, it has no understanding of poverty, and serves to unintentionally strengthen stereotypes rather than dispel them. Beatriz is basically the Mexican equivalent of the ancient and highly offensive “magic negro” trope.
Beatriz at Dinner knows its audience, and has absolutely no respect for their intellect. Its disgusting attempts at being “socially aware” make the film both infuriating and boring. Don’t waste your time.
1/10