Reviews

A precious and humanitarian look at racism and oppression in New Mexico. Extremely moving feminist film against oppression and racism. It reveals the heart of American social justice and is an extremely poignant example of the greatness that Hollywood might have achieved in cinematic art before it became trampled under glitter, triviality and celebrity. A truly dazzling example of American film art and the soul of America that might have been.

Ever been a tourist and thought of just staying where you are? This moody and reflective movie by Swiss director Alain Tanner captures this feeling for us all enticingly. The film has not had the showings it conspicuously deserves. It draws us in to contemplate what might happen if we simply stopped doing what we've always just done? And the haunting sense of authenticity is heightened using cuts of super-8 movie clips (as representations of a filmic mimicry of the pulse, taste and feel of life as it is lived on the edge).

Bruno Ganz (long before his Hitler portrayal) simply gets of the boat on which he was an engineer and loses himself and us in the sounds and sights of a foreign land. Lisbon evocatively unfurls before us in realistically plausible super-8 snatches as Ganz's character becomes enveloped in the flavour and mystery of a poor quarter of the city. Hopelessly drunk and plaintively playing his harmonica through the minutes and hours spent in his hotel room commanded by its dripping tap, the character posts film home to his wife in clinical Switzerland. Time and place are punctuated by escapes into drink, romance whilst the character clutches at every moment's freshness and tracing the lines of a web of ordinariness which is so easy to experience voyeuristically.The clock in the hotel symbolically goes backwards. Maybe there are times when perhaps we need to go back in order to move forward.

The young medical student, Che Guevara and his irrepressible biochemist friend do the latino tour. The journey on motorbike and foot through South America is based on diaries and a book.

The harshness of inequality and oppression and a leper colony are deftly muted by the constant comedy of De la Senna's infinitely optimistic Granado and the awe inspiring photography - both moving and still. Those seeking an understanding of Che's early years will be disappointed. Although, with its combination of plausible characterisations and visual images (which sometimes put National Geographic to shame), this is a Latino road movie with a heart and soul.

Salles' editing of black and white stills to convey the magic and pain of those situated along the route are exquisitely accompanied by scintillating percussion - used as a prime mechanism for conveying political images and poignancy. In contrast, the script is generally light and easy and fails to provide much substance for the formation of 'Fuser's later political awareness. The leper colony scenes only convey a sense of his warmth and opposition to barriers. Similarly Che's only speech is a brief treatise on South American unity.

The movie had the audience I was with smiling and convulsively laughing with human warmth throughout most of its length. Some of the scenes are unforgettable. The backing of Robert Redford and the curious fusion of Brazilian talent result in an accessible if lightweight movie which remains contagiously enjoyable, heartwarming and occasionally moving. Perhaps a little more appropriate darkness and substance with less superficial humour might have conveyed a more significant set of memories.

In so many ways a disappointing filmic experience. Despite the complex interplay between characters and some intriguing script lines and memorable set, the film simply fails on multiple counts. The characters fail to develop and their eventual actions remain an unexplored mystery. The ending appears as abruptly transplanted - one of the few time the dream is punctured by the momentous struggle outside and yet casually splintered in like an edit from another movie.

The revolutionary feeling isn't portrayed as anything but an alien phenomenon, but at least the Mao busts are redolent. Arguments about film and Hendrix go nowhere. The sexual and interpersonal hangups of the proponents, around which the film's meaning hinges, remain totally unresolved and fragmented. A few beautifully lit outside scenes, lots of old cars, the vibrance of youthful acting innocence and tokenistic nudity with an overworked obsession with Isobel's natural vaginal bleeding on not one but two occasions cannot mask the banality of both structure and and absence of pace. Even the playful and pleasing old movie links, appear casually adopted and arbitrarilly abandoned mid-stream.Indeed, most elements appear to be casually portrayed and simply tossed aside.

Why was it important to show Mathew peeing on the toothbrush, why did Isobel try to kill them all, why did the shocked parents leave, why did Theo and Isobel join the throng - was it crassly existential mimicry???? Why did Mathew simply walk away? Despite the appearance of psychological complexity we are left with partially developed ideas, a handful of voyeuristic taboos and shallow characterisations.

So many questions and yet the liberal and indulgent reminiscences of Bertolucci in recapturing intimate coupling elements from Last Tango rather than exploring the Paris of 68 leave one sad. Like Mathew, I walked away from the film feeling rather vacant and disappointed that there was little more than a void to place my own reminiscences of the period in, simply dreamlike images which rendered them and the plot as having so little consequence. For this, thanks Bernardo for such a thin chimera and vacuous veneer - or was I simply dreaming to lose myself in something which did more than appear a little deeper than film stock?

One of the most stylish films ever. Brilliant use of music with overlapping sounds combine with jump edits (a la Godard) and handheld camera in this self-consciously romantic and existential glimpse of life along the river through the eyes of the love-struck narrator.

At times the plot is relatively thin and unlikely e.g. there is little motive in Mardar and Moudan's death leap and the mermaid references are pure fantasy. The cinema verite style exites and generates a postmodern sense of cinematic involvement. Wonderful photography and inspired lighting combine with edits which snatch back and forth in thoughtful and dramatic intercuts.

Wonderful last lines as the narrator (who we never see - since he is the videographer) whimsically setances himself to closed-eyed oblivion till the next story begins.