Before directing Fruits of Labor, Emily Cohen Ibañez (Bodies at War) met Ashley Solis Pavon when the Mexican American high school student was just 15 years old. When she saw the burden children in Ashley’s community carried, it struck Ibañez how hard they worked for their families, fearing their undocumented parents’ deportation.
It’s unsurprising that Ashley is the subject Ibañez chose to reveal this tension between teenagers’ dual commitment to their families and to their own personal dreams. Ashley is a relatable teenage girl with stunning initiative in times of incredible stress. She has a poetic way of speaking, often quipping lyrical pearls of wisdom inspired by her grandmother. You’ll root for her from the very first scene, where she resolutely picks strawberries with no company but the rustle of fields surrounding her.
Ashley lives in a small house in California with her mother, brother, sister, and 12 other families. Like many of her peers, she wants to find the perfect prom dress, spend time with her boyfriend, get her nails done, and be the first in her family to go to college. But all of these things feel hampered by reality. She holds down a night shift at a factory while also working at a strawberry farm and attending high school. She’s carrying not only her own but her mother’s dreams on her shoulders. We see her struggle under all this weight of responsibility, which is exacerbated by the fear that her mother will be deported and that she will become the sole caretaker of her siblings.
Fruits of Labor is ultimately character-driven, giving special emphasis to Ashley’s relationships with her mother, siblings, boyfriend, and classmates. But it doesn’t fail to deliver on the atmosphere, which often sheds more light on Ashley herself. The stark contrast of the farmscape and cityscape, both Ashley’s work environments, make her look incredibly small. However, she blooms to be larger than life in her home, where she supports her family, or with her friends and boyfriend, where she’s a beacon of light to those around her.
Every scene feels intentional, even the quiet ones that highlight simple actions. The camera often focuses deliberately on hands: pulling on gloves, picking strawberries, brushing hair, doing homework, painting nails. This hyperfocus makes every action intimate and weighty with significance to Ashley’s life.
While the film could stand to give a fuller picture of Ashley’s food security work for her community, it accomplishes its major purpose by giving viewers a better sense of the ongoing struggle and resilience of American children of immigrants. Ashley comes into herself throughout the course of the documentary—an embodiment of the film’s “blooming flower” motif—and viewers are privileged to witness the process. Highly recommended for foreign language, agriculture, and social justice shelves. Aud: J, H, C, P.