In a divided border town, a Mexican woman escaping violence and an ICE agent find themselves drawn together. The Absence of Eden is unflinching in its portrayal of human trafficking and the exploitation of undocumented people — as well as the different reactions from those in charge of keeping order. In his feature debut, writer/director Marco Perego uses poetic and religious metaphors to heighten the plight of those seeking safety and better lives, but he comes off too heavy-handedly at times. He lacks subtlety on a divisive issue that’s anything but black-and-white.
Esmeralda “Esme” Rojas (Zoë Saldaña) performs a lap dance on a sleazy cartel member at a seedy Mexican strip club. She pushes back against his advances for something more until he won’t take no for an answer. Across the border in Texas, Shipp (Garrett Hedlund) ignores phone calls from his dad — with whom he’s been estranged — while going through training to become an ICE agent. Shipp meets his new partner, Evans (Chris Coy), who is a hardened veteran that hates all undocumented immigrants and takes the rookie under his wing.
In Mexico, Esme tearfully kisses her abuela goodbye after collecting all of her belongings; she hopes her life savings will be enough to pay the coyote. Esme has to leave right now before the cartel finds her. In Texas, Shipp drinks by himself at a bar while thinking about Evans’ behavior and attitude on their first day together. He then sees beautiful raven-haired Yadira (Adria Arjona) dancing with another man; there’s an instant spark between them.
Esme’s journey through the desert starts off on a scary note: The coyote “wants to wet his beak” with an extra payment for his services. A terrified Esme hides among the group huddled together. The disgusting coyote starts moving closer to a young girl (Maeve Garay) clutching her scared mother (Morningstar Angeline). Esme pleads with him to stop; he’s impressed by her bravery. Does she speak English? Esme shakes in fear, but answers yes. He gives her a card with a number on it — if she makes it across the border, his cousin will have a job waiting for her. In Texas, Shipp gets ready for his first raid alongside Evans; even so, his mind is still on Yadira when Evans unleashes violent action.
Perego — who is Saldaña’s husband and producing partner — shows the terrible risks faced by women and girls as they attempt illegal passage into America: They’re at the mercy of rape, robbery and possible murder. Yet the terrors don’t stop if they succeed. Esme becomes more indebted to the gang that got her across; she’s their servant, forced to do whatever they want. Where can she go? Who will aid her? The American police aren’t coming to save her; they’ll only send her back to the cartel’s revenge.
As an officer of the law, Shipp battles with his conscience. He doesn’t know Yadira’s immigration status; their growing relationship could be completely opposed to his sworn duty. Every Mexican is an enemy in Evans’ eyes — so what’ll he do if Yadira turns out to be undocumented? Shipp knows he could ruin his career by making the wrong decision. Love isn’t all-conquering for either Evans or the US government.
Right from the beginning, The Absence of Eden makes its position known. Undocumented individuals desperately need assistance while ICE are heartless brutes in their merciless duties. This is a black and white distinction that is entirely unfair. Evans is not called a bad apple spoiling the bunch. His ruthlessness mirrors the evil Mexican cartel and drug dealers controlling Esme. That’s one step too far.
Every day they go to work, border patrol agents risk their lives at ground zero of a human catastrophe. They do not make immigration policy. To lump their tactics together with those of deplorable criminal organizations is a false and wrong comparison. ICE agents are not raping and murdering undocumented people en masse. The sad truth is that people come to America because they think better lives exist here — that is not always true — Esme serves as a good example; she would have been worse off had she stayed in Mexico.
Perego marries astronomical imagery of space and stars with Esme’s religious belief in God will provide salvation – but that’s just me guessing; Perego has no clear intention here, it seems like. One could assume the title refers to Earth as paradise lost for the illegal aliens; this is an intellectual part of the movie which only serves to confuse more than anything else.
The Absence of Eden evokes such strong emotions because you care about Esme’s story being so terrible. It’s all true, every last bit — what she goes through is honest, real life at its most viciousness — however there should’ve been equal time given on both sides: protectors being mainly honorable; border workers shouldn’t be universally condemned for doing their jobs but instead treated fairly
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