The Dystopian Feast: When Insects Rule and Rebellion Brews
There’s something eerily familiar about Charlotte Zhang’s Tycoon, and it’s not just the cockroaches. Set in a 2028 Los Angeles where a megacorporation controls the protein supply—yes, through powdered insects—the film feels less like science fiction and more like a distorted mirror held up to our present. Personally, I think what makes this particularly fascinating is how Zhang roots her dystopian vision in today’s anxieties: corporate monopolies, food insecurity, and the creeping paranoia of surveillance. It’s not just a story about the future; it’s a warning about the systems we’re already living under.
A City of Insects and Inequality
One thing that immediately stands out is the irony of Ootheca Inc.’s dominance. A company named after an insect egg case controls the food supply while actual cockroaches overrun the city. What this really suggests is a world where the line between salvation and infestation blurs. From my perspective, this isn’t just a clever plot device—it’s a metaphor for how corporations can both sustain and suffocate us. Ootheca’s monopoly isn’t just about protein powder; it’s about power, and how easily it can be weaponized.
What many people don’t realize is that the film’s focus on insects isn’t just a dystopian gimmick. It’s a commentary on our own food systems, where sustainability and profit often clash. If you take a step back and think about it, the idea of powdered insects as a primary protein source isn’t far-fetched—it’s already being discussed as a solution to global food shortages. Zhang’s genius lies in taking this plausible future and showing us its darkest corners.
Rebellion in the Margins
The heart of Tycoon beats through its protagonists, Lito and Jay, two hustlers navigating this chaotic world. Their petty crimes—stealing protein powder, drifting through the streets—aren’t just acts of survival; they’re acts of defiance. What makes this particularly interesting is how Zhang frames their rebellion. It’s not grand or heroic; it’s small, messy, and deeply human. In a world where the system is rigged, their refusal to play by the rules feels like a victory in itself.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the film’s use of DIY aesthetics—handheld cameras, Super 8, Xerox art. It’s not just a stylistic choice; it’s a political statement. By using these formats, Zhang democratizes the narrative, giving voice to characters often marginalized in mainstream media. Lito and Jay, as Latino men, are already on the fringes of society, and the film’s visual style mirrors their precarious existence.
The Politics of Survival
Beneath the surface, Tycoon is a sharp political critique. Lito and Jay’s struggles aren’t just personal; they’re systemic. Living under constant surveillance and economic precarity, they’re forced to game the system just to survive. This raises a deeper question: What does it mean to resist in a world that’s designed to crush you? Zhang’s answer is both empowering and bittersweet. Their rebellion isn’t about overthrowing the system; it’s about finding moments of freedom within it.
The text intertitles, while occasionally awkward, serve as a manifesto of sorts. They’re a reminder that Zhang isn’t just telling a story—she’s making a statement. In my opinion, this is where the film truly shines. It’s not afraid to be explicit about its politics, even if it means sacrificing subtlety. After all, when is a better time to deliver a manifesto than in your debut film?
A Symphony of Chaos
What sets Tycoon apart is its visual rhythm. Zhang’s attention to blocking and composition turns scenes of chaos into a stunning city symphony. House parties, twilight rides, and street drifting all harmonize into a cohesive whole. What this really suggests is that even in a broken world, beauty can emerge from disorder. It’s a hopeful note in an otherwise bleak narrative, a reminder that humanity persists even in the darkest times.
Looking Ahead: The Future of Dystopia
If Tycoon teaches us anything, it’s that dystopia isn’t always about flying cars and AI overlords. It’s about the systems we’re already building—the monopolies, the surveillance, the inequality. Personally, I think Zhang’s debut is a call to action, a reminder to question the structures that shape our lives. It’s also a celebration of the small rebellions that keep us human.
As we watch Lito and Jay drift through the streets, protein powder in hand, we’re left with a provocative idea: Maybe the future isn’t about surviving the system, but about finding ways to outsmart it. And in a world where cockroaches and corporations rule, that might just be the most revolutionary act of all.
