Vitalina Varela (2019)

Directed by Pedro Costa

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“It’s poison!”

[“É veneno!“]

Pedro Costa is in 2019 already a well-established auteur. His work since Casa de Lava (1994) has been consistent theme-wise, and at the same time its progress is clear throughout. With Vitalina Varela the director still manages to stay true to the work he has been developing since Ossos (1997), on elevating the everyday lives of impoverished and endangered people into the realm of cinema. At the same time, there is a sense of evolution, and character development in a way, in this new feature. It is a film about Vitalina Varela, the main actress of the film, and her mostly true story of coming to meet her husband in Portugal after a 40 year waiting call for a ticket, arriving too late, as his funeral had taken place three days before her arrival.

A film well worth noticing for its dark environments, captured as pristine as possible by Costa and his usual collaborator Leonardo Simões

As a standalone feature it is a great new way to introduce a new viewer to the director’s other films. In a way it’s one of the most linear narrative structures of the director, especially if we consider his last film Horse Money (2014) as comparison. In another hand, it is easily the most slow-paced of all of his films, making it the biggest chore to the casual moviegoer that wants to get in touch with his whole filmography. Nonetheless, Vitalina Varela has what is the most positive look towards the future of those depicted Cape Verdeans. It is at the same time, with the help of heavy stylization and immense technical care, a film that is as elevated and astray from reality as it is grounded, by its individual elements (real setting, non-actors, real stories, etc), on the truth surrounding these people’s social and economic lives.

Ventura

If we try and manage to contextualize Vitalina Varela in Costa’s full body of work, we can easily state as a fact that this is, as per usual when there is a new film by the director, the zenith of his career. If we consider the balance stated in the last paragraph, it is nothing new to the director’s other films. What is impressive is the development of the actor Ventura, the main character of his two last films Colossal Youth (2006) and Horse Money. It is the first time Ventura is not playing as himself, this is, as the character of Ventura. He plays a priest. This is the absolute next step on what we can consider as the big politics of Costa’s films. Ventura has now reached a new height, as a normal person being an actor playing himself, and now as a normal person being an actor playing a third-party character. The idea of cinema as proof of human potential in art, and of human potential in something that is transcendental, even transcendental of what may appear only as ethical, economical or political statements. This something is what makes these people worth much more than what the world gives to them, as every single person that suffers from similar conditions. This final goal is beautifully achieved in Vitalina Varela, and it presents us the in-depth story of a character that appeared briefly in Horse Money, a story that is tragic, but essentially true. The real truth, though, is not in these stories, it is not in these real people. The truth is their ability to make something great, a film, to be stars, even though that they were born in the dark side of Jesus’ face.

10 out of 10

Burning (2019)

(original title: Beoning)

Directed by Chang-dong Lee

“You burn down other people’s greenhouses?”

Burning is a 2018 film that unfortunately was only released in Portugal (where we are based) precisely a year after its premiere on the Cannes Film Festival. To worsen things, only a limited number of smaller cinemas decided to screen it. A sad resolution to a challenging and interesting film, a clear difference from the lack of creativity that plagued the commercial circuit in the last month.

Director Chang-dong Lee maintains the caustic and dramatic style that characterized most of his films. Lee tries on his works to access the darkness in the human nature, putting his characters in situations way beyond their comfort zone. Either by turbulent political scenarios like in his directing debut Green Fish (1997), or in Peppermint Candy (2000), a haunting tale of a man’s downward spiral to suicide; or finally and maybe his most well received film Oasis (2002), dealing with father and daughter relations amidst a debilitating disease. This last one ended up receiving the Best Director’s award and the Marcello Mastroianni Award for Leading Actress on the well-respected Venice Film Festival.

This time Lee brings to the screen an adaptation of a small story by the Japanese writer Haruki Murakami (“Barn Burning”, 1982). The film takes place on current day South Korea, having as the lead character Jongsu (Ah-in Yoo). A recent graduate of literary studies he finds it hard to get a job in his field of studies. A well-read young man, quotes William Faulkner as his favorite writer, mostly because of how relatable his writing is to him. During a walk in Seul he suddenly meets a childhood friend named Haemi (Jong-seo Jun). They both are from a countryside village outside of Seul. Haemi is now a grown woman and like most in Korea has done plastic surgery, making her almost unrecognizable to Jongsu. They have a dinner and afterward she invites him to her house, where they end up having sex. There Jongsu acknowledges her decision to go to Africa and accepts feeding her cat while she is gone. While she is away, he decides to take care of his family farm where he spent his childhood, dreaming of Haemi’s return.

This surely one of those films that the less we know coming to the cinema the better, because the second half sure takes an unexpected turn from the romantic drama vibe that characterized the first part (which ironically kind of renders this review a bad tool for the ones who haven’t watched it ). When Haemi returns from Africa, we are introduced to a new friend that she made named Ben (Steven Yeun). A very rich individual, he “steals” Haemi from Jongsu, but despite that she still invites him to hang around them both, acting like an awkward third wheel. Besides that, there’s a delicate class critique around Ben. Jongsu compares him to Gatsby from the famous Fritzgerald’s novel, wondering what his occupation is to grant him this luxurious lifestyle.

“Misterious people who are young and rich but you dont know what they do”

Haemi is this happy and naïve like figure, and doesn’t care for such things as Jongsu does, who from the start feels there is something off with Ben. One day her and Ben appear uninvited in Jongsu’s family farm. In a moment alone Ben confesses his love with burning greenhouses, leaving a sense of imminent danger in the air. Despite that, Haemi is totally clueless to this and Ben’s love for arson. In one beautiful scene (after Ben’s revelation) during dusk, with the North Korean montains in the background, Haemi dances half naked to the sound of Miles Davis soundtrack of Louis Malle’s Elevator to the Gallows (1958). The cinematography by Kyung-pyo Hong is gorgeous and adds a lot to giving a sense of dreamlike state, leaving the viewer more and more uncertain about what is happening.

The haunting Haemi dancing scene

Jongsu is a calm and introverted individual. Throughout the film we get clues about his past and childhood, especially the ones dealing with his mother. He is a lone wolf kind of person and starts to obsess with Haemi. There is a patent and ever-growing rage inside him against Ben, who despite always seeming uninterested in Haemi’s actions, she always tries to please him. This jealousy ends up hurting Jonsu’s relationship with her and leaving him with a lot of guilty caused by his behavior. But when he tries to amend things with her, she’s not there to talk to him. There’s a deep tension in this film but it is always invisible. The answers don’t seem to appear, but the rage grows stronger by the minute. In the end we can’t help but to feel if Jongsu’s obsession with Haemi and attempt to control her actions was part of the motivation for such a rageful and traumatic closure. As if he felt not only rage against Ben but also with himself.

8 out of 10

Ruben Brandt, Collector (2019)

Directed by Milorad Krstic

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“Art is the key to the troubles of the mind”

This week, for the first time on Camera Coverage, we’ll be taking a look at an animated feature. Coming from Hungary, Ruben Brandt, Collector is the first feature film of Milorad Krstic. A fairly unknown figure with only short movie credit (My Baby Left Me (1995) ), Krstic makes up a strong impression at the age of 66 years old. Regardless of its country of origin, the film is dubbed originally in English.

At the centre we have as the main character Ruben Brandt (voiced by Ivan Kamaras), a world-famous psychologist haunted by these weird and absurd dreams all connected with famous art pieces. The story advances between real life and dream sequences where famous paintings try to harm and kill Ruben. It is an extremely bizarre but captivating scenario to see; for instance, Velázquez’s Infanta Margarita Teresa in a Blue Dress (1659) trying to bite off his arm in a speeding train; or even a pistol duel against Andy Warhol’s Double Elvis (1963). These wonderful usages of famous art pieces from the western world redefine their meanings beautifully and with great taste.

The duel with Elvis

Ruben Brandt is himself an art lover. His methods for helping his patients all connect with art, as he is a true believer of self-artistic expression to exorcise one’s ghosts of the past. Asking for help dealing with her problem with kleptomania is Mimi (Gabriella Hamori), an art robber escaping from detective Mike Kowalski (Csaba “Kor” Márton). She and the other patients in Brandt’s luxurious clinic discover his problems related to his dreams and agree they all must help him. The problems that made them enter the clinic are all related to crime and stealing so teaming up to rob to steal Manet’s Olympia (1863) is not that big of a deal. When they show this painting stolen from the Musée d’Orsay in Paris to Brandt, his nightmares with the woman portrayed suddenly disappeared. He then joins the group to steal the rest of the paintings that still haunted his dreams. The gang raids numerous museums all around the world like the Louvre, MoMa, the Uffizi Gallery or the Art Institute of Chicago, ending up getting the attention of both authorities and gang members alike.The above-mentioned detective Kowalski tries to catch Mimi and the rest of the group before other criminals get to them, attracted by the huge bounty on their heads.

The storyline ends up emulating the classic Hollywood spy and cop movies genre, being a somewhat disappointing experience especially in the last third of the film. This is a film that is to be appreciated more by the originality of the embedded details rather than the narrative itself. There are plenty of heist films clichés, and the personality of the characters is not that deep or original, maybe except for the protagonist. Regarding the plot, points go certainly to the importance given to art and its relation to the well being of an individual. The connection between psychology and art is an interesting and refreshing one, especially in a world dominated by scientific thought.

Velazquez’s Infanta Margarida attack

Aesthetically this film leaves the viewer in awe by the gorgeous detail to both the characters and the world around them. People are portrayed as these cubistic with surrealistic undertones like a Picasso met Dali kind of style. Some have three eyes, others two heads, and, in a brilliant play with perspectives, there is a character that is bidimensional like a sheet of paper. It is an astonishing world completely filled with subtle references to all kinds of art, that goes from Soviet propaganda to American Realism painting. Besides that, a brilliant homage is also given to cinema, portrayed in the home collection of detective Kowalski. Filled with film memorabilia from Weneger’s Der Student von Prag (1913) poster to the small detail of ice cubes in the shape of Alfred Hitchcock, there´s a lot for any movie buff to enjoy in these small quirks.

Overall it was a pleasant surprise, and an animation like any other I’ve ever watched. The focus on the holistic aspect of art in the human mind is definably a positive aspect. In the end Ruben Brandt, Collector gives both an approachable introduction to art history and something that art enthusiasts can take also.

6 out of 10

Knife+Heart (2019)

(original title: Un couteau dans le cœur)

Directed by Yann Gonzalez

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“She saw so many gay flicks, she thought she was a fag.”

Yann Gonzalez is a French director known for his feature film You And The Night (2013) but mostly because of his many other short films. He is especially well regarded in the LGBTQ+ community for his preference on themes regarding sexuality and gender politics. Having won many prizes and nominations in important festivals like Cannes Film Festival, he is one of those directors to be watching out for if you are interested in art-house films of the new era. However, we feel on Camera Coverage that this new feature from Gonzalez is pretty much a mess, it is not without some singular scenes that are incredible, but it is indeed a bit of a mess.

The film follows Anne (Vanessa Paradis), a gay pornography film director, in her quest of filming her new feature that seems to be more bold and adventurous than her previous. This brings us close to the character and her relationship dynamics with her film editor Löis (Kate Moran) and her dealing with alcohol addiction. From the start we know that the film has as a main plot a giallo-esque story, with a serial killer that seems to be targeting the actors from Anne’s films. The connecion between the killer and the actors is left uknown until the end of the film, where we are bombarded with a traditional plot-twist from the great classics of the genre.

Vanessa Paradis as Anne

The film plays along the lines of what we may consider the supernatural giallo, especially in its first two acts. The relationship between Anne’s vision of her new picture and the killings is meant to be perceived, but sadly, with its ending, we are left hanging in the understanding of this relationship. Throughout her journey we are faced with many surrealist images that are traditional in these giallo films and Italian horror films of the 1960s and 1970s, but they seem to add little to the unravel of our characters quest. It is clear that there are many diagetic layers on Knife+Heart, but after seeing it and thought of it for a week I still feel that they are not only disconnected, but they are sadly disconnected, as most of them are individually incredible and contain a lot of contrasting and formally complex ideas working on a deep semiotic level. The insistence on creating a traditional giallo in structure does not work in the film as much as it does visually, and it lefts the viewer confused, frustrated and cheated.

Vanessa Paradis is one of the actors in later years that we feel, as lovers of photography in general, that has one of the most unique faces. The characterization of every character in the film, especially her’s, is incredibly stylized and works well comparing to the other aspects of the film. The whole visual aspect of the film is undeniably great. It works as a cool throwback to the films of the genre, but it works as a singular piece as well, despite its insistence on weird black and white thermal images when depicting dream sequences. However, even at the technical level (image and sound) Knife+Heart is not the best throwback to the giallo, particularly if we consider the incredible films that made reference to the genre we have seen in the last few years (like Berberian Sound Studio (2012) and Amer (2009) ).

One of the dream sequences

Falling short on others to describe the film, it feels disapointing. The director has achieved greatness with some of his short films (notably Les îles (2017) ), but this time he completely misses the target. Despite arguably being one of the films that are a throwback to the afforementioned genres that more truly incorporates not only the visual aesthetics but the structure of the giallo, it fails on creating a compelling experience by being too overwhelming and obtuse with its symbols and parallels. I feel that some of this may be due to how random some of the events in the film are, and the discrepancy of vibes in it. The play of the director regarding the meta aspect of the film (the films inside the film; the dreams inside the film; the dreams that are the film; the relationship between director and editor, etc) is interesting, as are the mirror images it tries to make with its individual scenes. Sadly it does not keep up with its promises (especially its depiction of the theme of obsessive and corrosive love) and mostly is an insatisfying experience, that while being really extreme and poignant in the depiction of a community and a genre of filmmaking that is really underapreciated and not valued as it should, it leaves the spectator feeling that it is a mere exercise in shock value and pretentiousness.

3.5 out of 10

The Ballad of Narayama (1983)

Directed by Shôei Imamura

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“Our ancestors have gone to the summit for hundreds of years as we do now. 25 years from now I will go there too.”

Created by arguably one of Cannes Film Festival favorite directors Shôhei Imamura (with 5 times Palme D’Or nominations and 3 wins, including on this particular film) this work of his moves the viewer with its whimsical characters that can quickly twist the mood of the film from a light family comedy to a shocking, grotesque depiction of the life in a 19th century Japanese village. The socially poignant Japanese director does not miss his selected target with The Ballad of Narayama, but even surpasses his signature social cinema and elevates the story to a state of fable that despite not being as stylized as the 1958 version of the film, is way more cinematic and even accessible to the Western audience.

Imamura created complex dynamics introducing the viewer to really well-developed characters in a warm family environment and juxtapose this familiar warmth with the rough systems and values that guide village life. The film follows the life of a family in which every member has some unsolved problem. The main plot point of the film is that the old matriarch of the family Orin (played delightfully by Sumiko Sakamoto) is getting old, and there is a tradition in the village of ubasute. Being her the main stabilizer of the family, the film follows her solving her family’s problems while preparing, without the family’s approval, her departure to the mountain.

Sumiko Sakamoto

When asked about the story Imamura joked he initially thought about starting the film with a family taking their old grandma to a nursing home up a hill in modern Japan and then showing up the title screen saying The Ballad of Narayama. This says a lot about the intentions of the director when creating the film and presenting yet again this particular story. This work goes a step further than other films that go for this type of commentary. It ends up being way more shocking in, for example, a scene on justice against a family that stole from another family’s house, than in the film’s inevitable ending. It goes beyond its original source material (being it the 1958 film or the novella) and does it in a well accomplished manner, in which apparently scenic shots of animals (rats eating snakes and snakes eating rats, for example) and the environments say a lot more about the plot itself than its charming characters may initially transmit. Having this said, pretty much everything, from the music to the framing, works diagetically in Imamura’s film. And more than that, everything stands individually as a great element to the film. As any of his films, The Ballad of Narayama is visually striking, even more so than something like Vengeance is Mine (1979). It has a visual finesse of some of his most iconic later work like The Eel (1997), another one of our favourites from Imamura that could have easily made the list.

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Despite being better known for his 1960s films, Imamura is a director that we will probably have to revisit another time on Camera Coverage, as for his later work goes above and beyond, in our humble opinions, than what he had previously worked on. In a world where directors like Ken Russell work political cinema and are tremendously poignant in the cinematic conversion of their ideas, we have Shôhei Imamura that is way less known in the West but goes above and beyond any of his political statements and manages to touch much more fundamental problems of the human existence. Even if he was adapting a novella or even adapting the 1958 version of the film, he managed to put as much of his signature social grit and social realism as poetic and lyrical value, all rounded up with an extent use of cinema’s potential. This is how you do an adaptation of a book. This is how you do a remake.

The Wild Pear Tree (2019)

(original title: Ahlat Agaci)

Directed by Nuri Bilge Ceylan

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“Everyone has their own temperament. The thing is being able to accept and like it.”

The “new” (premiered in 2018’s Cannes Film Festival) film by the critically acclaimed Turkish director Nuri Bilge Ceylan is again a huge work in size. And again, Ceylan presents us a massive picture that feels even more entrancing than his previous film Winter Sleep (2014). The similarities between both films are obvious, as they both tell stories of writers. However, The Wild Pear Tree is way more accessible than Winter Sleep (2014) and more irreverent at the same time. Sadly, it does not quite hold up against the director’s best (most notably Once Upon A Time In Anatolia (2008) and Distant (2002) ), following some of the same small issues present in the 2014 film. This is, however, not a reason to dismiss the film, because even a lesser Nuri Bilge Ceylan film is still a way more interesting experience than most.

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The filmography of the director is notorious for having two specific characteristics: he is one of the big names associated with the so called “Slow Cinema”, and his films are incredibly wordy and verborraic at the same time. In The Wild Pear Tree this last characteristic is even more noticeable, with the “slow” and transcendental aspect feeling that it was put to side, and, when exercised, feeling a bit forced and out of tone. The film follows Sinan (Dogu Demirkol), a young writer that has finished his education to be a primary school teacher like his father. He is also working on publishing a book he wrote, and most of the first part of the film follows his struggle in finding money to be able to do it. This is the main situation we are presented with the main character, but the film, since the beginning, has an intense focus on the relationship between Sinan and his father Idris (Murat Cemcir), who is a man caught in a downward spiral of gambling and unmesurable debt.

Despite the film mainly following Sinan and his interactions with many of the townsfolk, and even a famous writer, it is on the father-son dynamic presented that the film truly shines. The character development of Sinan, while honest and relatable, is never biased in trying to depict him as a truly well-meant individual at all. His father is depicted with some really harsh situations as well. However, their personalities are completely different. The evolution of the story is one that is settled on the idea that both these characters are antagonistic, and ends with the most incredible note of transcendental family bonding energy that completely disrupts all the insistence on creating such opposite characters.

Idris, a truly incredible performance by Murat Cemcir

The problem with The Wild Pear Tree when comparing it with other Ceylan films is that this time Ceylan feels that is touching on much more coloquial and generic themes, and unsuccesfully trying to elevate them all at the same time. It is a weirdly paced film, with scenes that range from the themes of death and religion to relationships and love, sometimes presenting them with no apparent connection to each other. Sadly, it also doesn’t always succeed on being truly poignant in the portrayal of a lot of these themes, with the noticeable exception being the depicted problems regarding family dynamics. The film being dialogue driven does not help it in achieving the poetic intensity of his previous films as well, despite turning the film into a more enjoyable and quickly relatable experience to the viewer. It makes some of its scenes feel like they are too predictable, and some of the “funny moments” in the film feel odd in the overall picture. The idea of quickly cutting scenes that are supposedly happening in the characters minds or in dreams do not always work as well, and do not go well at all with the also stylistic and expected “slow” style of the director.

“Someone once called time a silent saw. You never know what it’ll do to us.”

That said, the conclusion of the film will leave you with unforgiving anxiety. Ceylan shows us with scenes like these why he is one of the most lyrical filmmakers out there, despite sadly going off the rails in The Wild Pear Tree. The odd pacing of the film is distracting and almost unforgivable to a director that already made so many great things. The visual aspect of the film is top notch, especially the scenes in winter time, but even regarding this, sometimes the digital camera seems to not be able to capture as well some of the scenes as it should. The soundtrack is unnexpectedly great and one of the best yet in his filmography. However, while not being as problematic in some of the aforementioned aspects as Winter Sleep (2014) was, The Wild Pear Tree is still not the hyper comeback we were expecting, despite having one of the most cathartic closures in any of Ceylan’s films. It is a frustatingly imperfect film with a lot of incredible singular scenes. But for some of those scenes alone and the incredible depiction of the relationship between Sinan and Idris, The Wild Pear Tree is still a film to look out for.

7 out of 10

A Brighter Summer Day (1991)

(original title: Gu ling jie shao nian sha ren shi jian)

Directed by Edward Young

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“Are you lonesome tonight?”

With almost four hours of runtime, watching A Brighter Summer Day may feel like too much too handle for the average movie goer. Even more if you take in account the fact that the movie is not spoken in English on the like of epics as Lawrence of Arabia (1962) or Ben Hur (1959). But despite all that, there is plenty of reasons to dedicate time for this Taiwanese gem. Spoken in mandarin (among other local Chinese dialects), it was at the time a considerably large project with more than a hundred actors participating. The directing was at the hands of Edward Young, one of the most important figures of the Taiwan cinema, responsible for Terrorizers (1986) and most notably Yi Yi (2000). This was his most critically acclaimed masterpiece and ended up granting him the best director award at Cannes.

The film takes place on the island of Taiwan, during the autocratic regime led by Chiang Kai-shek and the Kuomitang party. After the defeat in the Chinese civil war and escape of the nationalist forces to Taiwan, the Republic of China (RoC) was declared in the island. This two-china scenario, where both of them (the other being the communist People’s Republic of China (PRC)) claimed the legitimacy to control the whole China. The storyline follows Xiao Si’r (Chang Chen), a junior high student, from 1959 to 1963. Lacking on his studies he has to attend night school, full of delinquents, and where gang warfare is a commonplace. Si’r sits between the Little Park Boys, composed by the children of civil servants, and the 217s, made up of children of military officers.

The two gang leaders

This duality between army and civil populace is a common theme through all the film, especially to make clear of the impotence of the army authority to create a true sense of national identity. Important to notice though that in the period retracted in the film, the RoC was the official China to the West, in particular the USA. The western influence is very strong on the construction of a identity in this troubled Taiwanese youth. In a ballroom scene we can see the American, UN and RoC flags together, noting this hope for the West to resolve the many problems of a fragile state. A state that enforces militaristic views on his citizens starting obviously by the young. From the school uniforms that resemble army like ones, to the practice of western marching tunes (like the famous Prussian march Alte Kameraden) in school, everything is catered to give identity from war. But amidst all this we have the traditional Chinese views of family, which are in danger against growing western influence. The authoritarian views and the importance of the unity of the family trace back to the Confucius teachings that modelled the Chinese civilization, with values like the deep need for a hierarchy based on age and meritocracy. In the film we see in S’ir family how debt, problems with state authority (those two being his parents’ fault) and his failure of to get good results and respect his school superiors all culminate in deep shame for them all. Outside the family core, this coming of age film takes also a deep look into the value of friendship and love between the Taiwanese youth. Girls are seen as mere objects of enjoyment for most of the boys, but not as much for S’ir. A few scenes in we are introduced to this girl Ming (Lisa Yang), the girlfriend of the leader of The Lost Boys, Honey (Hung-Ming Lin), an outlaw running away from police authorities. Trough the film S’ir gets more and more infatuated with her which among the violent gang fights and his obsession to “save” her from the promiscuity ultimately leads to a tragic conclusion. One cannot help to feel a somewhat paternalistic side in S’ir regarding woman, as if they are incapable of taking responsibility for themselves and need a male saviour.

“I’ll protect you!”

Regarding the cinematography there is a deep care for mainly long framed shots, with almost no use of close ups. The only exception are the ones shot inside of S’ir’s house. Being a traditional Japanese house, the viewer can’t help to feel an homage to directors like Yasujiro Ozu, especially for use of a low placed camera and use of sliding doors to create different camera framings.

“So when will we see each other again?”

On A Brighter Summer Day, director Young tries to give a deep analysis on the basis of the Taiwanese identity. An island controlled by the Japanese for many years before, now is ruled by the nationalist forces, losers of the civil war. The gang violence (that goes to extremes in some scenes) goes hand in hand with the Elvis song “Are You Lonesome Tonight” whose lyrics give the English title of the film. A duality between violence and authority against lack of identity, naivety and melancholy is constant as the film goes by, leaving the viewer astonished by some of the decisions of the characters. In 1991, year of its release, the RoC was an economic powerhouse but has lost most of its international diplomatic reputation to the PRC (especially after it was replaced as the “true” China in the United Nations).

A Brighter Summer Day is not only a coming of age film about the Taiwanese youth but Taiwan itself. It shows the struggle of creating a new identity out of a lot of different and sometimes contrasting cultures. The two China problem has no end in sight but as the years go by, the more cemented it gets the construction of the Taiwanese identity, something that films like this one helps a lot to create.

A Portuguesa (2019)

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“Sempre a guerra. Agora já leva crianças pobres com ele. Para morrerem.“

[It’s always the war. Now he takes the children of the poor with him. To their deaths.]

The new Rita Azevedo Gomes film may seem meaningless to people outside Portugal, but as a Portuguese Cinema fan it is exciting to know that a director with such a small but critically acclaimed filmography just released new work. As a director, she has claimed her main influences, and this time she did not even needed to talk about them, as they are clear to anyone that goes through the film. She is working with an old-school film festival favourite actress, Ingrid Caven, and her performance is probably the highlight of the picture. Despite being an interesting homage to many visionary directors and containing great shot compositions (with the help of what is arguably the greatest Portuguese cinematographer, Acácio de Almeida) and a hypnotic soundtrack by José Mário Branco, The Portuguese Woman falls short in its delivery.

The film adapts a story from the 1924 novella by Robert Musil with the same name, with dialogues adapted by Agustina Bessa-Luís, a favourite of Manoel de Oliveira. It follows the story of a Portuguese woman (weird hun?) when she marries a German lord and lives in a castle in Germany while his husband is busy leading a war. It trails their romantic lives while he is in war, and what changes in their relationship when he comes back from it.

The ever beautiful Ingrid Caven in the beginning of the film.

Before I present the reasons I think why this film does not fall into the category of being great at all, let me first point out what holds the film up. There is a clear sense of cinematic conceptualization. A balance between the images and the sound and the music that is absolutely mesmerizing and engaging enough to create hope in the viewer for something great. The incredible care with framing reminds me of, of course, Oliveira’s work (as the director herself has mentioned the film as being a follow up tribute to Oliveira’s body of work), but mainly reminds me of Dreyer and, oddly enough, Peter Greenaway. There is an insistence in The Portuguese Woman of transforming beautiful roccoco painting archetypes into film, working almost like tableaux vivants. Rita works with the tools of camera movement and actor movement to lead us through these living paintings in a way that is diegetic enough to counterpart the hardship you will have in deconstructing the dialogues themselves (especially if you are a casual Portuguese citizen watching the film without subtitles). The soundtrack complements beautifully the rhythm of the scenes, even though that sometimes you feel the sound design of the film (especially regarding dialogue) to sound a little strange in the overall composition of the scenes (at least odd enough for me to notice).

The main problem with the film, and comparing it with some of Oliveira’s films for instance (and I know comparing is not the right way to analyse a new film), is that despite having some brilliant scenes, as a whole, it leaves the viewer feeling like the film is an exercise in futility. There are singular moments that are brilliant, and most of them are visual moments. I have no disdain for Agustina Bessa-Luís’ work (especially considering her words in Vale Abraão (1993) and her novels), but I truly feel that her script combined with the less-amazing and unoriginal scenes create a feeling of decadence that hasn’t the right to be in a tribute film. It is frustrating to deconstruct a film that is as beautiful and competent as this to only find banal and tired ideas that were already messed with a million times, and no overarching concept to hold its existence. And this is where the comparison with Peter Greenaway disappears, because there is no breaking of the narrative conventions in The Portuguese Woman that compensate for the extensive use of the aforementioned indulgent filmmaking decisions. I know that the screenplay is supposed to sound theatrical and poetic (just as it was in, again, Vale Abraão or Francisca (1981) ), but there is something in this particular picture that is profoundly distasteful and tiring.

An example of the mentioned idea of tableaux vivants.

It is a frustrating film for the potential it had to be great. The faces, the costumes, the voices, the colours, all of the small elements are meticulously chosen to compose every scene. The presence of Ingrid Caven brings a mesmerizing element of a Greek Chorus-like nature to the film, another ingredient added to what could have been a great cinematic work. The themes of womanhood, lethargy and class-relations are there though, even if disappointing in their scope. The lighting is great and magnetic. The music – enchanting. Even Bessa-Luís’ words are beautiful, but feel misplaced, and even misspoken at times. The film itself… it really has nothing new to say, and while it is presenting nothing new, and in spite of its cinematic beauty and being a noticeable tribute, it is remarkably unsatisfying and inconsequential.

5 out of 10