Have you ever wondered what it would look like if the future of food was controlled by a single corporation, and that future wasn’t as far off as we might think? That’s the chilling yet captivating premise of Tycoon, Charlotte Zhang’s debut film, which paints a dystopian Los Angeles in 2028 where a megacorporation, Ootheca Inc., monopolizes protein distribution through powdered insects. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Zhang roots her sci-fi narrative in today’s realities—livestock diseases, corporate greed, and the fragility of food systems. It’s not just a story about the future; it’s a mirror held up to our present.
One thing that immediately stands out is the film’s visual style. Zhang blends handheld DV footage, Super 8, and Xerox art to create a raw, DIY aesthetic that feels both chaotic and intentional. But what many people don’t realize is how meticulously she crafts each frame. Scenes of house parties, twilight rides, and street drifting aren’t just background noise—they’re part of a larger symphony, a visual rhythm that emerges from disorder. Personally, I think this duality—chaos and order, amateur and artistic—is what makes Tycoon so compelling. It’s a film that feels alive, like it’s breathing alongside its characters.
At the heart of the story are Lito and Jay, two hustlers navigating this broken system. Their petty crimes, like stealing protein powder from Ootheca’s trailers, aren’t just acts of survival—they’re acts of rebellion. What this really suggests is that even in a world dominated by corporate power, there’s always room for human agency. Lito and Jay aren’t heroes; they’re just trying to get by. But their refusal to be crushed by the system, much like the cockroaches infesting LA, is deeply empowering.
What’s even more intriguing is the film’s political undertones. Lito and Jay, as Latino men, exist in a world of state-sanctioned racial violence and economic precarity. Their decision to game the system instead of waiting to be squashed by it feels like a manifesto in itself. Zhang doesn’t shy away from these themes, using text intertitles to make her points explicit. While some might find these moments awkward, I see them as bold—a first-time filmmaker refusing to let her message get lost in the visuals.
If you take a step back and think about it, Tycoon isn’t just a story about food or corporations; it’s a story about power, survival, and the human spirit. The cockroach infestation, the powdered insects, the corporate monopoly—they’re all symbols of a larger struggle. What many people don’t realize is how close we are to this reality. Livestock diseases, food shortages, and corporate control aren’t just plot devices; they’re headlines from today’s news.
This raises a deeper question: What happens when the systems we rely on fail us? Lito and Jay’s answer is to adapt, to find cracks in the system and exploit them. It’s a strategy born of necessity, but it’s also a form of resistance. From my perspective, that’s the most hopeful part of the film. Even in a dystopian future, there’s always room for ingenuity, for humanity.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the film’s use of insects—both as a food source and as a symbol. Ootheca Inc.’s name itself is a nod to the egg casing of insects, a reminder of the life cycles being exploited for profit. The cockroach infestation, meanwhile, serves as a metaphor for resilience. These creatures thrive in chaos, much like Lito and Jay. It’s a subtle but powerful connection that adds layers to the narrative.
In my opinion, Tycoon is more than just a dystopian film—it’s a wake-up call to the fragility of our food systems, the dangers of corporate monopolies, and the resilience of the human spirit. It’s a reminder that the future isn’t something that happens to us; it’s something we’re already living through. And that’s what makes it so compelling.
