Set in a near-future, militarized world marked by closed borders, virtual labor and a global digital network that joins minds and experiences, three strangers risk their lives to connect with each other and break the barriers of technology.
- IMDb.com

Gorgeous, intelligent, and intensely imaginative, Alex Rivera’s stunning first feature, Sleep Dealer, is set in a near future marked by airtight international borders, militarized corporate warriors, and an underground class of node workers who plug their nervous systems into a global computer network that commodifies memory.

Memo Cruz is a young campesino who lives with his family in a town fighting for its life, the small, dusty farm village of Santa Ana del Rio, Oaxaca. A private company has hijacked control of the area’s water supply and is selling it back to the village at outrageous prices, provoking the mobilization of aqua-terrorist cells. But Memo couldn’t care less about Santa Ana. He loves technology and dreams of leaving his small pueblo to find work in the hi-tech factories of the big cities in the north. He dreams of becoming a node worker and learns how to build his own transmitter, which he uses to hack into the lives of others and live vicariously. One night, he stumbles across a transmission destined to pave the way to the city of the future, but in a way Memo could never have expected.

Burning with visual energy and originality, Sleep Dealer is a fascinating and prescient work of science fiction that is as politically engaged as enjoyable to watch.
–Sundance Film Guide

ExP: Guy Naggar, Peter Klimt
Pr: Anthony Bregman
Ci: Lisa Rinzler
Ed: Alex Rivera
Mu: Tomandandy
VisEfSup: Mark Russell

Sleep Dealer Injects Sci-Fi Into Immigration Debate

PARK CITY, Utah -- Tech will not set you free. At least that's the message of Sleep Dealer director Alex Rivera's impressive, eye-opening debut. Set in a futuristic world of have-nots, where 21st-century gadgetry sucks resources from the world's poor and channels them to its wealthy, the film premiered to enthusiastic response Friday at the Sundance Film Festival.

In Rivera's film, Mexican villagers are forced to buy water for their crops from an armed, English-speaking robot. Most of the village's healthy men have bolted for Tijuana to look for work in cyberfactories. And the multinational imprint is seen almost everywhere.

It's a timely message, deftly delivered by a self-described "digital media worker" and immigrant's son who has become a fixture on the experimental video scene.

"We are being sold a false bill of goods, that the more connected we become the more equal we will be," Rivera said during an interview from Sundance's headquarters in Park City. "Statistically speaking, that's not what's happening. The more connected we become, the more we are divided."

Sleep Dealer is remarkably topical for a film set in the future (albeit one described by Rivera as taking place "five minutes from now"). Central themes include outsourcing, corporate ownership of water, remote warfare, confessional internet diaries and military contractors who are accountable to no one. It's the rare political film without any reference to contemporary politics; like Blade Runner and other big-brained sci-fi flicks, it's about ideas, not selling merchandise.

"I love gnomes and goblins and elves," said Rivera, who's made a name for himself touring museums and festivals with his award-winning shorts. "But what I'm really interested in is speculative fiction. I wanted to use this film to ask the question, 'Where are we going?'"

Sleep Dealer tells the story of a young campensino named Memo whose DIY radio draws unwanted attention from a U.S. military contractor. Fleeing to Tijuana, Memo has implants placed in his body in order to become a "node worker" -- a Mexican laborer who, from south of the border, taps into a vast network that operates robots located in the United States.

Memo's robot welds girders on a skyscraper. Other node workers perform housework, watch the kids and keep the yard neat. The film's title refers to the node workers' exhaustion as they work 12-hour shifts to build, clean and maintain cities they'll never visit.

In Tijuana, Memo becomes entwined with a Latino military contractor, who operates drones around the world from his base in San Diego, and an aspiring journalist who sells her memories -- the blogs of the future -- online.

Rivera said the inspiration for the film came from a Wired magazine article about the emerging "global village." It was published around the same time that the U.S. government began building walls along the country's border with Mexico.

That ironic juxtaposition started Rivera thinking: What if technology could extract the life force from the Mexican population and send it north?

"The problem is that the worker comes with a body," Rivera said. "That body needs health care, and gives birth to children that need to go to school. So keep the body outside of the United States. Suck its energy and leave the cadaver or the problematic shell out of the picture."

He began writing Sleep Dealer in the late 1990s, collaborating on the script with former Sundance award-winner David Riker. As the years passed, real life began making gains on Rivera's dystopian vision.

"Films like Star Wars use terms like empire and rebellion, but they are bandied about in bland ways -- powerful words used to describe nothing," Rivera said. "One of the original propositions of my film is that we (create that sense) of a world divided between wealth and power."

Despite being shot on what Hollywood producers would consider an impossibly miniscule budget (the Los Angeles Times pegged the film's price tag at a mere $2 million), Sleep Dealer looks like a real sci-fi movie. It includes 450 effects shots, and was filmed on evocative locations throughout Mexico.

Its weighty subject matter is leavened by Rivera's trickster-like sense of humor. At a party, elders in village garb dance to "old-fashioned" techno music. A booth at a seedy bar advertises "Live Node Girls." And back-alley node jobs are provided by "coyoteks," a pun on the coyotes who smuggle today's undocumented workers into the United States.

Sleep Dealer serves up a radical vision of a troubling tomorrow, injecting viewers into a high-tech, developing-world future.

"Science fiction always tells outsider stories, with people coming into conflict with the system," Rivera said. "But I wanted to create a science-fiction point of view that we've never seen before. We never see films about the future of Mumbai or Mexico City. Just yanking the point of view out of London, or New York, or Los Angeles and dropping it somewhere else is a powerful gesture."

Park City coverage sponsored by BE KIND REWIND.

True originality and artistic verve push filmmaker Alex Rivera's future drama "Sleep Dealer," above other films in Sundance's dramatic competition. Comparisons to popular sci-fi fare like "The Matrix" are understandable but "Sleep Dealer" has more in common with the utopian politics of Fritz Lang's silent epic "Metropolis." Rivera is not content to simply dazzle with "Sleep Dealer," although he and his crew have crafted the most beautiful of films. "Sleep Dealer" is a film with lofty dramatic aspirations, an ambitious visual palette and a folksy heart. To their credit, Rivera and co-writer David Riker have come up with something unique and yet engaging; the nervy combination of social politics with future shock storytelling. While "Sleep Dealer" sometimes skips a narrative beat, it's a fantastic journey.

Memo Cruz (Luis Fernando) lives with his family in the rural Mexican town of Santa Ana del Rio. He hates the idea of paying a large corporation high prices for small amounts of drinking water. He also wants to relocate to the mega cities he dreams about in the far corners of the world. One means of escape can be found in the workers who plug into a Tijuana-based computer center in order to remotely operate worker robots in far away factories. These node workers connect via glowing cables into a vast computer network. It's not long before Memo ends up in Tijuana although his journey becomes somewhat revolutionary in spirit.

Futuristic fantasies are well-tread genres but not the way Rivera tells the story. "Sleep Dealer" is humanist science fiction with a political manifesto at its core. Early into the film, an expansion of Rivera's short film "Why Cybraceros," it becomes clear that Rivera studied political science and media theory. While the politics behind Memo's actions may not always be crystal clear, his hope for a better life brings welcome drama to the film's expansive storytelling.

"Sleep Dealer" is a big film - a reported 450 visual effects shots led by visual effects supervisor Mark Russell. Cinematographer Lisa Rinzler uses color to full effect and animation and digital effects play a big part in the film but its standout features remain its bare bones effects of old cables and dusty computer equipment. Rivera's background is digital art and his experimental background is evident throughout "Sleep Dealer." He clearly reaches with every scene and while he sometimes fails to keep the story coherent, his artistic bravery is impressive. Rivera also edited the film so whatever "Sleep Dealer" lacks in coherence falls on his artistic shoulders. Yet, thanks to Fernando's likable screen presence, "Sleep Dealer" also retains a homespun charm and an approachable story.

"Sleep Dealer" belongs in the footsteps of Darren Aronofsky and Andrei Tarkovsky, two filmmakers who also successfully combined science fiction and human stories. But the spirit of political novelist Upton Sinclair hovers over the film and that's extraordinary. "Sleep Dealer" is a film with something to say about humanity and its relationship with technology. This sense of humanity, more than its numerous mind-blowing fantasy images is what ultimately sets "Sleep Dealer" apart.

Please introduce yourself.

I'm a filmmaker and digital media artist. Before working as a filmmaker, I worked as an editor, and before that I worked as a part-time shepherd at Hampshire College, where I studied media and political science. I was born in New York City, raised in Wappingers Falls, NY, and now live in Brooklyn.

What initially attracted you to filmmaking?

I became a filmmaker, in some ways, to avoid writing papers. While I was studying political science, I was searching for a way to make dynamic and accessible arguments about what I saw happening in the world. I found video and film, and convinced my professors at Hampshire to let me make videos instead of writing final papers.

The theme of immigration has always been central to my work. I'm interested in immigrant stories as windows into urgent realities: global economics, labor politics, border policy, identity, nostalgia, and the search for 'home.'

Have you made other films? How did you learn about filmmaking?

I didn't go to film school. I was brought into visual storytelling by an assortment of friends, media theory professors, arts institutions like the Sundance Institute, and old-fashioned trial and error.

One unique thing about my storytelling is that digital imaging has been central to my work -- from my first short film all the way up to "Sleep Dealer." But I don't use technology simply to add 'flare' to my stories. I use technology because I believe that the camera alone cannot capture many aspects of our lived reality.

I've found that, to depict political realities, I sometimes need to use the tools of fantasy. In my work, animation does as much to represent an immigrant's mind-space as the documentary camera does. Sometimes laughter opens an audience to reflection. And pop-culture genres like science-fiction are repurposed, forced to look at realities at the margins of our world. I try to let my thematic objectives drive my digital experiments.

I am committed to telling new Latino stories, and specifically new immigrant stories, through a visual language that busts down borders.

What prompted the idea for this film and how did it evolve?

The first seed of an idea came to me in 1997. I was living in New York City, working as an editor, and the dot-com economy was booming. The cover of WIRED magazine prophesized the coming of a "Global Village." At the same time, the Clinton administration was executing "Operation Gatekeeper," and building a wall on the border with Mexico. Governor Wilson in California was supporting a series of propositions that attacked immigrant children. Something odd was going on -- as the world was connecting through technology, it was becoming more divided by borders.

It dawned on me that the "Global Village," seen from the other side of the giant border wall, must look pretty strange.

So I started a process of thinking about the future from that point of view. Over the years, I mapped out a near-future world of open technology and closed borders, and I slowly began to imagine a few characters who would live in this world, and give us access to a different points of view on it.

The longest struggle, for me, was getting to know the characters, and how their lives intertwined. Working with my co-writer, David Riker, I found three characters: Memo Cruz -- a migrant worker in Mexico who works in a futuristic sweatshop, Rudy Ramirez -- a soldier in America who uses remote control drones to protect corporate assets around the world, and Luz Martinez -- a futuristic 'blogger' who sells her memories, using technology to let her audience see what she sees.

Please elaborate a bit on your approach to making the film.

My earliest films were inspired in part by the 'found-footage' movement, and outlaw filmmakers like Craig Baldwin, Dee Dee Halleck, and Guillermo Gomez Pena, who make visual work by using old footage, copyright or copywrong, and asking no questions. Like them, I made my first films in large part from borrowed footage that I took from old industrial films, Hollywood blockbusters, TV news, and the web.

Without knowing it, this strategy let me do important work: write, edit, hone my voice, and, most importantly, not wait for anyone's permission or budget to start making movies. On these early films, I went straight from the script to the edit room. I skipped production entirely, and replaced it with a trip to Blockbuster Video, and repositories of old images like the Prelinger Archives.

I still believe that it's something like a human right to re-use imagery that surrounds us in any process of making new visual work - even if it's technically illegal.

To make "Sleep Dealer" we had to do everything legally, and we had a budget. But I once again relied on a strategic use of "found-footage" (from the web, from my previous films, and from archives) to realize visual sequences that would have been impossible otherwise. "Sleep Dealer" is a unique science-fiction in that its futuristic visuals are interwoven with archival visuals. The effect is a sci-fi that, hopefully, has a dynamic and permeable relationship with our present and our past.

Alex Rivera, director of "Sleep Dealer." Image courtesy of the Sundance Film Festival.

What were some of the biggest challenges you faced in developing the project?

It's hard to know what was the 'biggest challenge' on "Sleep Dealer." There are a lot of contenders. We shot in three regions of Mexico, on fifty locations, with fifty actors, and with over five hundred extras. We had over four hundred visual effects shots. On one set, we blew up a building. We filmed aerials on a hang-glider. We shot in a shantytown on the U.S./Mexico border at night and had glue-sniffers stowing away in the grip truck. On my previous film I had a crew of one. "On Sleep Dealer" I had a crew of one hundred.

I fainted.

Most of the challenges radiated from an insanely ambitious script written by maniacs (myself and David Riker), limited resources (no budget would have been big enough), and the fact that I'd never even been on a real film set before I showed up to direct this one.

What are your specific goals for the Sundance Film Festival?

* Sharing "Sleep Dealer" with an audience.

* Finding the right distributor.

* Sparking a little conversation about the possible role of sci-fi film in imagining a global future.

* Not hurting my back when I do "the worm" on some Park City dance floor.

Are there any upcoming projects you can reveal?

As soon as the strike ends. :(

What are your thoughts on the state of independent film today.

For me, the answer starts with acknowledging the state of the world. Between nightmarish never-ending wars, ever more vicious attacks on immigrants, and impending environmental doom, I can't help but feel like we're on the screwed side of the spectrum these days.

I think it's not an exaggeration to say we're living in a state of emergency.

So, for me, to evaluate the state of independent film, I need to first answer a question: should independent film address this emergency in a different way than studio-driven film?

I believe so. I believe for "independent film" to be a meaningful phrase, it needs to refer to a terrain of independent critical thought - thought that is not possible, or much less possible, within the confines of the market-tested world of the studios.

If "independent film" refers only to a question of financing, and the unique challenges of making and distributing films outside the studios, then I guess, independent film is doing fine. It seems that every year there are a few films made outside the studios that make an impact.

But if 'Independent Film' has a higher meaning - a unique role in responding to the emergency we live in - then the evaluation needs to be more complicated.

I feel like the world of independent documentary is clear in its purpose, and has a track record of success: documentaries get made, they find huge audiences, and they impact the public discourse on crucial issues time after time. In recent years, films such as "Trembling Before G-d," "Supersize Me," and the power-point driven powerhouse "An Inconvenient Truth" have all shown that independent documentary is playing a clear and crucial role.

Independent fiction is in a more slippery zone. There are certainly many filmmakers who are making fictions that address 'the emergency.' To me, some recent examples would be "Children of Men, "The Road to Guantanamo," "Syriana," and "Maria Full of Grace" to name a few.

But it seems like in many cases, most notably in the recent crop of Iraq-war fictions, the films struggle to find an audience, and the films somehow don't make the impact on the public discourse that they could.

I don't have any answers - or even a really precise sense as to why I feel this way.

But I do feel like independent fiction film is at a crossroads. There are huge global audiences are deeply unhappy with the status quo. New imaging technology lets independent makers put images on the screen that would have been impossible a few years ago. Technology is warping the ways in which films get distributed.

All of this together, makes me feel like this time of great crisis is also a time of great opportunity for independent filmmakers. If there ever was a perfect time for storytellers who want to push the limits, who want to tear away at old habits and assumptions, who want to use powerful imaging tools in tandem with a critical consciousness, if there ever was a time to create new, urgent, film fantasies, this is it.