Rotterdam Review: Tycoon is an Impressive Depiction of a City in Flames.

      In a brief moment from Charlotte Zhang’s *Tycoon*, a young man reveals that he stopped reporting the cockroaches infesting his Los Angeles apartment to his landlord for fear of the entire building being condemned—an outcome shared by numerous other buildings in the city, which are then sold off to greedy property developers. The film is set in the future, specifically 2028, as L.A. prepares for the Summer Olympics. Deadly livestock viruses have turned genetically modified insects into the nation’s main protein source, while a massive cockroach infestation sparks waves of property disputes. However, Zhang’s dystopian vision reflects a historical backdrop that echoes what Thomas Pynchon described as the “long, sad history of L.A. land use”—a city that rapidly transforms, continually displacing the poor to accommodate the wealthy in an ongoing cycle of upheaval. *Tycoon* captures some of this urgency without succumbing to it; a fierce anger permeates the narrative, mirrored by the film’s dynamic characters as well as its vibrant style. Blending elements of coming-of-age and political thriller, *Tycoon* feels like it could explode at any moment. “Something’s about to happen,” a young woman predicts midway through, providing an apt summary.

      Zhang, who experienced an illegal eviction from her L.A. apartment due to a roach problem, has mentioned Charles Burnett’s *Killer of Sheep* as an influence. Her feature debut, which was filmed intermittently over weekends with friends, unfolds as a collection of vignettes instead of a traditional three-act structure. If *Tycoon* can be said to have a central narrative, it revolves around two young grifters from Los Angeles (Miguel Padilla-Juarez and Jon Lawrence Reyes) attempting to survive and earn money as modern-day pirates. We observe them hijacking delivery robots to enjoy stolen groceries, reselling insect powder ($60 per bag!), and plotting their escape from the city.

      Yet the film frequently diverts its focus, zooming out from their escapades to explore the city of L.A. itself. Ominous radio broadcasts accompany remnants of the city’s history. There are clips from August 1984, the last Olympic Games held in L.A.; a faded postcard of Mulholland Memorial Fountain; and black-and-white illustrations capturing pivotal moments in California’s 20th-century history, from the gold rush to labor strikes and the Great Depression. Throughout, Zhang introduces title cards, which act as political slogans and rallying cries rather than conventional chapter titles—“Rehearsing the Republic,” “Everyone’s A Winner,” “Spit Down the Cliff Once You’ve Made It Up and Call it Rain”—distributing *Tycoon* in a manner reminiscent of intertitles in Godard’s films. This approach sometimes lends *Tycoon* a quality of being more of a statement than a conventional film. It highlights the people L.A. displaces and their stories, intertwined with a long history of struggles for the right to remain: don’t let them perish.

      Like her aimless characters, Zhang is engaged in her own battle, forging a space for cinema that need not conform to conventional storytelling. *Tycoon* disregards deep character development; despite the shared thoughts of Padilla-Juarez and Reyes—some expressed to each other, some relayed to us via introspective voiceover—the boys remain purposefully enigmatic, embodying little more than their undefined fears and hopes. Without being preachy, *Tycoon* illustrates how people are inextricably influenced by their environments. It makes sense that Zhang presents the two friends as paranoid wanderers, driven not by aspirations but by an overwhelming desire for vengeance. But vengeance against what? The challenges they face are much larger than the familiar figures of local authority, and the film skillfully conveys that constant, unseen threat—the way the atmosphere is charged with ominous signs. *Tycoon* flirts with genre conventions only to eschew them, transforming into something more exhilarating: a tempestuous record of the city as viewed by those cast aside to its outskirts.

      The premise and Olympic setting evoke Carlos Mayolo and Luis Ospina’s influential *Oiga Vea*, which examines the 1971 Pan American Games in Cali, Colombia, through the eyes of those unable to access the stadiums. The film’s textures also reflect the intense ambiance and digital experimentation characteristic of David Lynch’s *Inland Empire*. Zhang’s portrayal of L.A. is starkly different from the typical picturesque representations of the city (much of the film’s action unfolds amid unremarkable warehouses, backyards, and rooftops far from its glitzy areas). Zhang—who wrote, directed, edited, and filmed *Tycoon*—weaves together archival, iPhone, Super 8, and MiniDV footage into a collage that prioritizes interrogating the anxious climate haunting its characters rather than fleshing them out.