The Beasts review – tense, terrifying drama of xenophobia in the Spanish countryside

The title of Goya-winning filmmaker Rodrigo Sorogoyen’s fourth feature says it all: men are beasts. No “can be” or any other conditional clause – just a terrifying affirmation lingering as the credits of The Beasts begin to roll. The film stars Denis Ménochet as Antoine and Marina Foïs as Olga, a French couple in their 50s, who seem to have been living in rural Spain for some years now. The place is a village in inland Galicia and some of the neighbours can be outright xenophobic, even if Antoine and Olga speak their language, farm the land, and sell veggies at the local market for a living. Even so, the Anta brothers (Luis Zahera and Diego Anido) have a bone to pick with Antoine, who has turned a vote against some industrialised development which would have brought the brothers some extra cash.

If this premise sounds a bit naive and you're wondering what the big deal is, you should know that The Beasts takes precisely that thought and gives it a horrific spin. What if there was no big deal, but some embittered villagers really wanted to kill you for overstepping your right as a migrant in their homeland? The besieged couple finds themselves in a sticky situation where every counter move seems the wrong one and the way the Spanish filmmaker portrays this growing fear intertwined with an urge to resist on the screen is wildly fascinating.

Co-written by Sorogoyen and his regular scriptwriting partner Isabel Peña, The Beasts wears its convictions on its sleeve. The film deals with the issues of immigration, belonging, and the hardships caused by these two conflicting notions in a way that seems to depart from the European film festival norm. By doing so, it transcends the mediocrity of the “mobility troubles” genre, which may be praised by festival audiences and critics, but receives noticeably less appreciation from the “regular” cinema-goer.

Another thing which sets the film apart is its devotion to sensitivity and genre in equal measure, especially since it was inspired by true events. The task of turning a real story into its cinematic, fictitious double while staying truer to cinema than to an abstract notion of reality can be tricky, but The Beasts is respectful and, at times, wildly fascinating as a standalone piece of art.

It’s possible that what holds the film back from delivering a raw, devastating experience from beginning to end, is the same thing which governs its narrative: the script. Even if Sorogoyen and Peña make the case for a major shift in the film’s second half, there is a point where the slow-burning tensions become a lag, and the power of female strength in the last act dwindles. Yes, the decision to give Olga more screen time is justified and works for us as viewers, because she has already been introduced as a deep, thoughtful alternative to her equally deep, though more impulsive husband. But since it’s up to us to decide who the real protagonist is, it may be neither Antoine, nor Olga, nor their abusers. It’s that unsettling feeling that no one feels a sense of belonging anymore – not in the way that the European ideal has promised us.

In a way, The Beasts insists on making this abstract problem concrete through its characters. While this is a laudable approach, it may end up being too traditional for someone like Sorogoyen and his directorial sensitivities. Though the visual style is clean, seamless, and almost objective in its medium shot distance and disembodied camera, there is one aestheticised scene at the very beginning which misleads on purpose. In retrospect, that opening shot of a ritualistically performed cutting of the manes of wild horses – called “rapa das bestas” – aligns more with all that is left unsaid in the film: the idyllic home forever lost. Pride, poisoned water, and land disputes may suggest a western, but what’s at stake in The Beasts is “Europeanness” as a deceitful construct.

The Beasts is released in UK cinemas on 24 March.