The intense blue of a cloudless sky, a calm sea, and sand like scorched copper provide a vivid backdrop for two young men frolicking on the beach, their bodies glistening with sweat. To enter the world of Motel Destino is a journey best made as a round trip: stay just long enough to be a hidden voyeur before it all turns suffocating or, worse, predictable. The return to his homeland by Brazilian director Karim Aïnouz, after the British production Firebrand, arrives as a shimmering example of a genre that has been resurrected in an unexpected way, this time as a tropical noir.

The film opens on the coast of Ceará, where two brothers, Heraldo (Iago Xavier) and Jorge (Renan Capivara), still play around like carefree children. However, Heraldo has plans to leave behind his childhood home and look for a new life in São Paulo. Both young men do jobs for the local crime boss and are drowning in debt with their gang. Their boss, Bambina (Fabíola Líper), is well known for her criminal dealings and her paintings. She is always surrounded by bodyguards, including a guard with a rifle slung across his body while wearing nothing but a swimsuit. You’ve probably never imagined a mafia on a beach in speedos, but here they are just as lethal as any other. Crime thrives everywhere, regardless of the climate.

The night before a planned hit, Heraldo takes a woman he meets at a bar to a nearby motel. A reckless night of drinking and sex, represented in red hues, ends with him waking up late, only to realize his one-night stand has stolen all his money. The hotel receptionist refuses to unlock the room’s door before receiving payment, only communicating through a small window. In this motel, each room feels more like a cell than a proper lodging. Heraldo promises to bring her the money, offering his ID as a guarantee. Dayana (Nataly Rocha), the receptionist, has probably heard promises like this before and won’t budge until things turn tense when Heraldo grabs her through the window and threatens to break her neck. Even after he lets her go, Dayana chooses to trust him, though she could easily have run for help and left him locked inside.

Heraldo arrives late to the meeting point and discovers Jorge has been murdered and Bambina’s target is still alive. He knows Bambina will soon be after him and barely manages to escape her henchman. Desperate, he returns to the motel once more with no money. Dayana takes pity on him and offers a handyman job, along with an unused room. The manager, Elias (Fabio Assunção), accepts his presence and quickly warms to the boy after Heraldo fixes an air conditioner that hadn’t worked in ages. Elias and Dayana are also husband and wife, co-owners of the motel. It soon becomes clear that Elias makes all the decisions and that Dayana is trapped in an abusive relationship. Both she and Heraldo are prisoners of the motel, a pleasure-prison with a soundtrack of constant moans from the guests. As Dayana aptly puts it, “Some people moan so hard, you’d think they are getting chopped up.”

When Dayana and Heraldo finally give in to their mutual attraction, starting a relationship that is inappropriate given their circumstances, we immediately sense we’re in noir territory. While there are echoes of films like The Postman Always Rings Twice—especially in a scene where Dayana hints at how convenient it would be if Elias had a car accident—she’s not truly a classic femme fatale, nor is her husband someone who could be easily double-crossed. This dynamic complicates the usual noir setup. The temporary paradise will not last long, but the homoerotic energy between Elias and Heraldo occasionally suggests that perhaps other arrangements could satisfy everyone, further subverting genre expectations.

Motel Destino is constantly elevated by the masterful cinematography of Hélène Louvart, who has worked with everyone from Varda to Wenders. Her camera is in tune with the film’s most titillating moments, re-creating an environment where sex and desire are more urgent than any committed or intended crime. The film is at its most exciting when its sweaty erotic encounters give a new purpose to the claustrophobia of its setting or when Heraldo’s hallucinations hint that hell is about to break loose. And yet, perhaps tropical noir is an oxymoronic genre that can’t fully sustain itself. Once the sex ends in each neon-soaked scene, there isn’t enough urgency to believe the lovers are willing to do whatever it takes for promises they can’t keep. Unlike classics from Double Indemnity to Body Heat, danger in Aïnouz’s film only spices things up—it doesn’t poison them.