Property. // Courtesy Loco Films
This is part of our coverage of local horror/sci-fi’s biggest event of the year, Panic Fest 2024. For more from the fest, click here.
What happens when good people are pushed too far? Or when people struggling with past trauma are forced to face a world in which they don’t belong? Writer-director Daniel Bandeira crams both these ideas together in the tense and brutal Property. The thematic balancing act works on the surface, only to be held back from greatness by a lack of commitment to its own message.
Tereza (Malu Galli) is a survivor of a high-profile kidnapping. While some people feel sympathetic for her, she’s struggled to move on from her ordeal, withdrawing from the world in her home by the sea. When her husband Roberto (Tavinho Teixeria) asks her to accompany him to deliver some bad news at a farm he owns, Tereza fears she’s being used as a prop to soften the impact of Roberto’s announcement that the land is to be converted into a posh hotel. Little do they both know the trip will spell doom for anyone involved in the coming mayhem.
Just as the action feels like it’s ramping up, Bandeira rewinds to show us things from the farmworkers’ perspective. We get a sense of their daily life, community and authoritative elders. The main force is Antonia (Zuleika Ferreira), the matriarch of the workforce. She knows no other way of life, and when her future becomes uncertain, she fights for what she cares for, no matter the cost.
Immediately on their arrival, Tereza and Roberto discover their employees are staging a revolt, taking one of the owners hostage. When chaos erupts, Tereza makes a beeline for Roberto’s new armored, voice-activated SUV. Unfortunately, only Roberto set up the voice prompts, making the veritable tank a prison, even as it shields Tereza from the horrors outside.
For how fraught things eventually become, there’s an eerie serenity to it all thanks to stunning cinematography from Pedro Sotero. He deftly swaps between the tight confines of Tereza’s relative safety within the vehicle while also capturing the beauty of the farm and the land it’s nestled upon. That sense also incorporates Nicolau Domingues’ sound work, which finds a balance between all the voices and the trauma inflicted on Tereza at every turn.
As compelling as Property is, however, it’s difficult to suss out Bandeira’s intentions. Tense set pieces, humane characterization and tight cinematography is one thing. Straddling a murky line of “good people on both sides” is another. The more the film digs into Bandeira’s socioeconomic commentary, the more the larger view falls apart.
As the film begins, Tereza’s PTSD from her previous trauma is essentially exploited to make us feel for her. At the same time, Bandeira validates the struggle of Antonia and her fellow workers, who have indeed been wronged by Tereza’s husband, but who also continue to make one bad decision after another in their pursuit of justice. The muddle is what keeps the film from becoming something truly exceptional.
Most of Property’s plot points boil down to every character’s poor decisions, most of which spring from human strife or the result of wrongdoing to someone else. Often they’re presented as acts of survival. The third act of the film escalates to wild levels before ending on a gut punch.
Bandeira creates a living, breathing world where things are difficult for everyone, only occasionally missing the mark. It all adds up to a movie that’s easy to recommend as discussion fodder, though not so strong it moves the needle from “like” to “love.”
