Netflix’s ‘7 Prisoners’ Is a Harrowing Tale of Modern Slavery

The fingerprints of producer Ramin Bahrani are all over Alexandre Moratto’s 7 Prisoners, a positively Dickensian social realist drama set in the urban underbelly of contemporary Brazil. Fans of the Iranian-American director’s works like 99 Homes and The White Tiger will find themselves rapt by this searing variation on the ruthlessness required to rise in today’s cutthroat, corrupt economy. It’s a searing indictment of the systems that govern upward mobility – or lack thereof – as experienced and felt through the fully human experience of protagonist Mateus (Christian Malheiros).

Moratto, like Bahrani, finds the perfect vantage point for the brokenness of global enterprise: the middle manager’s false consciousness. Mateus leaves his rural home for contract work in the sprawl of São Paulo with the intention of sending back monetary support for them. He’s not alone in this pursuit of prosperity, joining a handful of other strapping young men to chase employment opportunities. The garage stripping cars and wires run by the iron fist of Luca (Rodrigo Santoro, familiar to non-Brazilian audiences from Love Actually and TV’s Lost) offers them work, food, shelter … along with a crash course in labor exploitation.

At the first sign of questioning over the timing of their pay, Luca cracks the whip and flexes his draconian power to stifle any dissent in the ranks. He holds the purse strings and, thus, all the power. Like a contemporary Fagin, Luca squelches their will for rebellion by reminding them just how much of their livelihoods – and that of their families – he holds in their hands. The threat is both physical and psychological. And when the boys try to escape, he does not hesitate to flex the muscle of how the police are on the side of business interest rather than justice.

While the brutality and barbarism of the opening act of 7 Prisoners might appear to set the stage for a parade of miserabilism, Moratto has something else in mind for Mateus. It’s here when he begins to zoom out a bit and expose the mechanics of the economic game. Luca seeks to maintain control over the group by pitting them against one another, convincing them that their flourishing can only come at the expense of the others. Mateus accedes, determining that the only way to beat the game is to join it.

He quickly observes the benefits of complicity, instantly gaining preferential treatment and rising up to lord over the very people he entered the garage alongside. Soon enough, he even gets to select some dubiously sourced laborers for the business himself. The villainous Luca even begins to show a different side of himself to a newly compliant employee, showering new privileges, responsibilities, and even some kindness upon his apparent protégé.

7 Prisoners is not out to excuse Luca, but Moretto does try to understand what drives a former product of the slums to exercise such hostility towards these young men attempting a similar trajectory. As the film sheds greater light on the structural dynamics of the garage’s operation, the incentive structure becomes clear – and it rewards their unblinkered pursuit of profits over the well-being of people. Even Luca has a boss to whom he must answer, and that feeling of possessing some modicum of power within a dehumanizing system is an alluring illusion of control that can rot away at one’s empathetic senses. The message is unmistakable: submit to the system to be rewarded with success.

The city of São Paulo begins a shining beacon of hope to Mateus; when he’s up making repairs on a rooftop, he stares up at the sprawl of skyscrapers in wonder. But it begins to take on a more complex sheen when he learns what really powers the population’s opulent lifestyle. “Look at your work, all through the city,” Luca tells Mateus as they drive under the vast patchwork of wires connecting the masses. In a film defined by an unwavering social realist aesthetic, Moretto breaks his own rule and indulges in an expressionistic montage of the city’s arterial framework. The invisibility of exploitation that makes urban life possible becomes undeniably present thanks to this sequence, a startling visualization of the themes brought to light by 7 Prisoners. For a genre mostly defined by prioritizing content over form, this metaphor marks a welcome change of pace.

While Moretto might not possess the visual or narrative mastery of his benefactor Bahrani, the film is a notable leap forward from his well-intentioned if clunkily executed debut Socrates (also starring Malheiros). He’s clearly got a knack for observing the way institutions imprint themselves on individuals, constricting their decisions and limiting their dreams. But most importantly, he never loses touch with the humanity at the center of the story – a focus without which the film might seem just as cold and unsparing as the systems it so damningly indicts. Moretto is clear-eyed about the compromises Mateus must make to stay afloat and compassionate enough to see the full range of his character throughout.

Marshall Shaffer is a New York-based freelance film journalist. In addition to Decider, his work has also appeared on Slashfilm, Slant, Little White Lies and many other outlets. Some day soon, everyone will realize how right he is about Spring Breakers.

Watch 7 Prisoners on Netflix