Mark Reviews Movies: THE INFILTRATORS

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Review by Mark Dujsik | April 30, 2020

Directors Cristina Ibarra and Alex Rivera combine documentary and dramatization with decidedly mixed effect in The Infiltrators. We understand and, to a certain extent, even admire the creative choice, for sure, but the end result is ultimately hollow as both documentary and drama.

The reason for the necessity for the movie's copious amounts of dramatic re-creations is obvious. This is the story of a group of activists, undocumented immigrants, who are intentionally detained in an effort to obtain legal help and visibility for other detainees. There would have been no possibility of getting actual footage from within the detention facility, so the filmmakers have hired actors to portray their real-life subjects.

The casting is mostly effective, if only because, in each case, we're mostly seeing either the real person or the actor. One activist, named Marco Saavedra, spends most of the movie's story in the euphemistically named Broward Transitional Center, a for-profit detention center—painted bright pink like a tacky, touristy motel—for undocumented migrants in Pompano Beach, Florida.

Maynor Alvarado plays Saavedra over the course of the movie's centerpiece re-creation. In it, the movie documents how the activist learns the ins and outs of the facility, finds detainees who need and are willing to obtain help to secure their release, and navigates the process of getting documents in and out of the unofficial-but-actual prison—without alerting the guards or talking to any detainee who might snitch.

The real Saavedra, meanwhile, appears near the start and at the end of the movie, and while the physical differences between the actor and the real-life subject are somewhat jarring, the real disconnect comes from the distinction in attitude. We can tell Saavedra is both sincere in and dedicated to his mission: to help people who have been living in this country for years, in fear and with a determination to make life better for themselves and their families, have a chance to continue to do so—hopefully, with at least a little less fear.

That's a big part of the National Immigrant Youth Alliance, the group to which Saavedra belongs. Fear keeps undocumented immigrants from speaking out and protesting the political maneuvers and machinations associated with immigration. The story here is mostly set in 2012, as President Barack Obama used a long-gestating bill in the United States Congress as a way to stop deportations of people who fit certain criteria (e.g., coming to the country before a certain age, receiving a certain level of education, and having a clean criminal record).

The fear all but disappeared for young activists like Saavedra, Viridiana Martinez (who later infiltrates the side of the detention facility reserved for women), and the group's leader Mohammad Abdollahi, whose possible deportation to Iran could mean a death sentence. Before coming up with the plan to embed themselves at the Broward County facility, the group protested publicly, emboldened by the changing political landscape, the shift in government policy, and the realization that getting public attention could be a shield from retaliation by law enforcement.

Now, though, we have to go back to the re-creations, especially the one featuring the semi-fictionalized version of Saavedra. From them, we certainly get the details of the group's process within the detention facility. We watch Marco, as we'll refer to the dramatized character, testing the waters with various detainees. We watch him make friends with people like Claudio Rojas, who has been living in the U.S. for years and has a family from whom he would be separated if he were to be deported (The real Rojas—whose story is the movie's final, enigmatic, and hauntingly elliptical note—appears near the end, and in the re-creation, he's played by Manuel Uriza). We watch as Marco actually helps his fellow detainees, getting them the necessary documentation to appeal their detention and probable deportation.

The passion of the mission, though, is missing in these scenes, because Ibarra and Rivera are so focused on the procedural details. It ultimately feels like a generic sort of prison-break story (It is strange, considering the establishment of the facility's reputation for abuse and mysterious deaths, that there's little reference to such things in the dramatized sequence). Because these scenes are more concerned with facts (They are part of a documentary, after all) than with characters, we miss out on the human element of what is, fundamentally, a very human story. The basic backgrounds of people such as Rojas are explained, but their fictionalized counterparts are just going through the motions—from one idea, one challenge, one victory, and one setback to the next ones.

Some of the legitimate documentary scenes (i.e., those that have the filmmakers following the real people doing real work) give us a better sense of the passion behind the group's work. Abdollahi is engaging and thoughtful, and while Martinez's story becomes about the preparation for her infiltration of the facility (more details, more challenges, and more straightforward presentation of the facts of what happened), we can sense her determination and courage, too.

The combination of observational documentary and event-focused dramatization never gels, and each side of Ibarra and Rivera's formal approach feels as if it's never quite living up to its full potential. The Infiltrators undoubtedly tells a story that should be seen and heard, but the movie's questionable narrative approach is doubly lacking.

Note: The Infiltrators is receiving a "virtual cinema" release. You can rent the film for home viewing, with part of the cost going to participating independent theaters. For more information and to purchase access to the film, click here. Participating theaters are listed on the page. A traditional digital/on-demand streaming release will follow on Tuesday, June 2.

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