Millonario a go-go

Dream Note

Jibaro Machuchal, a man whose name alone sounds like it deserves its own theme music, inherits a piece of land in Condado Beach. Now, in the real estate world, inheriting beachfront property is the sort of thing that makes people weep with joy and immediately start shopping for yachts. It's the golden ticket, the lottery win, the kind of windfall that makes you believe the universe has finally noticed your existence and decided to reward it. Jibaro presumably has visions of tropical paradise dancing through his head—sun, sand, the gentle lapping of waves against his very own shoreline. He arrives at his inherited paradise, practically vibrating with anticipation, only to discover that someone has had the audacity, the sheer unmitigated gall, to construct an entire hotel on his property. A whole hotel. Not a small shed, not a modest lean-to, not even a slightly aggressive gazebo—a full-service hospitality establishment is sitting on land that legally belongs to him, operating with the confident authority of someone who has no idea they're trespassing on a monumental scale. What follows is the kind of David-versus-Goliath showdown that makes for spectacular entertainment, because there's nothing quite as satisfying as watching a regular person take on a corporate entity that didn't even have the decency to check the property records before pouring concrete. The film milks this premise for every drop of comedy and righteous indignation it contains, and frankly, it contains quite a lot. Jibaro's journey from bewildered heir to reluctant activist is the sort of underdog story that makes you want to stand up and cheer, or at least vigorously shake your fist at the general concept of unchecked development. It's a film about property rights that somehow manages to be genuinely funny, which is a sentence I never expected to type but here we are.