A beautiful poem of a film, made by a 22-year-old (Mário Peixoto) who astoundingly would never complete another in his life. There are clearly cinematic influences to be found here but his is a highly original work, communicating the melancholy nature of existence, and doing so incredibly artistically. Seriously, make sure to engage the right side of your brain while letting this film wash over you. Not bound to form or convention of what to put on the screen, or how to tell a story for that matter, Peixoto experimented, and there is a joy to these images despite the somber story. It's all accompanied by a haunting, beautiful classical score.
Early on we see a wonderful dissolve from a closeup of a pair of eyes into a glittering dance of sunlight sparkling on the sea, and then find three people in a small boat. Eventually we'll learn their backstories, told in a poetic way, where the viewer has to piece things together. Quite a bit of time is spent on imagery, some of which is reflective of the film's larger themes, and some of which seems in there simply because the young director and cinematographer Edgar Brasil found what they were looking at cool, all of which leads to the disdain of some viewers that "nothing happens," or that it's unclear what's happening. I have to say, I was mesmerized for all 120 minutes.
We see rural images of Brazil in a time gone by, and trees and other flora feature prominently. Fields of grass blow rhythmically in the wind, we see the paths trees have taken while branching, how they look reflected in the water, and how bent and gnarled they can become. Over the course of the movie, in looking at the beautiful and sometimes odd shapes of nature, I began wondering whether these were parallel to people's lives, and the branches they take. Water is also a motif, starting with the sea rippling gently against the boat, and in one mesmerizing tight shot, bobbing up and down as if dancing, while the horizontal side of the boat remains fixed. The tide will wash away a pair of lover's footprints, and waves will bash against each other in an orgiastic froth. There is something timeless and eternal about the sea that is in stark contrast to the people on this boat, lost in thought about their little lives.
Peixoto also delighted in the imagery of objects, like in extreme closeups of a spool of thread, a button, or a measuring tape, or in the train's axle churning along, shot from the perspective right behind it. Fisherman's nets hang gracefully after they've paddled out into the water, an art piece of their own. At one point he wobbles the camera around and turns it upside down, possibly reflecting the disoriented mood of the woman who has left her husband, but coming across also as just a kid with a new toy, a movie camera, and trying to make a neat effect. There is such a feeling of artistic freedom here.
Piecing together the plot almost seems pedantic in light of the film's lyrical beauty, but it does serve to anchor what's on the screen and can be rather elusive, so here is my take. One of the women (Olga Breno) has escaped prison, briefly taking up work in a textile factory, but then upon reading how police are pursuing her, is on the run again. The other woman on the boat (Tatiana Rey) had made her way home from shopping to find her husband (Brutus Pedreira) asleep at the top of the stairs, probably after a late night out, and at that moment, ruing her marriage, leaves him. As she wonders which way to turn while sitting atop a rock, looking down at the water, she thinks back on his drinking and his indulgences in light of their financial struggles; we see how worn his shoes are. We then see that the husband is a piano player at the silent movie house, and we get a nice little sequence of him accompanying the Charlie Chaplin film The Adventurer (1917). It's notable that this is the only time where we see happiness in the film, when filmgoers have escaped into the joy of cinema, though the pianist is unhappy as he does his job.
The man in the boat (Raul Schnoor) is seen in flashback walking along the beach with a woman, hand in hand, as well as swimming with her in what should be happy moments, but we soon see them standing together in a field, each lost in thought. Later we see the waves wash over their footprints, the ultimate fate of all of our happiness, and all of our lives. We see him kissing her hand at the door, and there is quite a contrast between his clean-shaven, well-dressed appearance in flashback and the wild look he has on the boat in the present. After she sends him away, we're treated to a stunning scene in high contrast of him walking through a country gate, directly into the camera.
Eventually he reaches a cemetery, and meets another man sitting at a grave, playing with his wedding band (Mário Peixoto himself). The backstory here is a little more involved, thus necessitating the only dialogue via intertitles in the entire film. "You come from the house of a woman who is not yours," the man at the grave chides him, then after pointing downward at the grave, "Supposing she were mine, like this one was yours... what if I told you she had leprosy?" He has been confronted by the husband of the woman he was just walking along the beach with, the one he kissed on the hand. His own wife has died, and he is carrying on an affair with this man's woman, who apparently has leprosy. The cuckolded husband leaves and he pursues him, but never catches up. He walks out onto a dock and is propositioned by a prostitute (Carmen Santos), a sequence which includes a marvelous medium shot down the pier of her standing in front of him, but he leaves.
So all of these characters are trying to escape in this little boat. One is trying to escape the physical confinement of prison, another the claustrophobia of a bad marriage, and the last, the pain of having lost his wife and then his lover. And just as Chaplin botches his escape in the film we saw earlier, a moment of foreshadowing, these three are all doomed. There is no more fresh water on the boat, it's drifting, and they are at odds with another. Eventually, it's wrecked. We can't escape our fate, we can't escape the chains of our existence, we can't escape our sadness. And while these individuals are going through their unspoken torments, everyday life continues on, and the natural beauty around them is impassive.
Early on we see a wonderful dissolve from a closeup of a pair of eyes into a glittering dance of sunlight sparkling on the sea, and then find three people in a small boat. Eventually we'll learn their backstories, told in a poetic way, where the viewer has to piece things together. Quite a bit of time is spent on imagery, some of which is reflective of the film's larger themes, and some of which seems in there simply because the young director and cinematographer Edgar Brasil found what they were looking at cool, all of which leads to the disdain of some viewers that "nothing happens," or that it's unclear what's happening. I have to say, I was mesmerized for all 120 minutes.
We see rural images of Brazil in a time gone by, and trees and other flora feature prominently. Fields of grass blow rhythmically in the wind, we see the paths trees have taken while branching, how they look reflected in the water, and how bent and gnarled they can become. Over the course of the movie, in looking at the beautiful and sometimes odd shapes of nature, I began wondering whether these were parallel to people's lives, and the branches they take. Water is also a motif, starting with the sea rippling gently against the boat, and in one mesmerizing tight shot, bobbing up and down as if dancing, while the horizontal side of the boat remains fixed. The tide will wash away a pair of lover's footprints, and waves will bash against each other in an orgiastic froth. There is something timeless and eternal about the sea that is in stark contrast to the people on this boat, lost in thought about their little lives.
Peixoto also delighted in the imagery of objects, like in extreme closeups of a spool of thread, a button, or a measuring tape, or in the train's axle churning along, shot from the perspective right behind it. Fisherman's nets hang gracefully after they've paddled out into the water, an art piece of their own. At one point he wobbles the camera around and turns it upside down, possibly reflecting the disoriented mood of the woman who has left her husband, but coming across also as just a kid with a new toy, a movie camera, and trying to make a neat effect. There is such a feeling of artistic freedom here.
Piecing together the plot almost seems pedantic in light of the film's lyrical beauty, but it does serve to anchor what's on the screen and can be rather elusive, so here is my take. One of the women (Olga Breno) has escaped prison, briefly taking up work in a textile factory, but then upon reading how police are pursuing her, is on the run again. The other woman on the boat (Tatiana Rey) had made her way home from shopping to find her husband (Brutus Pedreira) asleep at the top of the stairs, probably after a late night out, and at that moment, ruing her marriage, leaves him. As she wonders which way to turn while sitting atop a rock, looking down at the water, she thinks back on his drinking and his indulgences in light of their financial struggles; we see how worn his shoes are. We then see that the husband is a piano player at the silent movie house, and we get a nice little sequence of him accompanying the Charlie Chaplin film The Adventurer (1917). It's notable that this is the only time where we see happiness in the film, when filmgoers have escaped into the joy of cinema, though the pianist is unhappy as he does his job.
The man in the boat (Raul Schnoor) is seen in flashback walking along the beach with a woman, hand in hand, as well as swimming with her in what should be happy moments, but we soon see them standing together in a field, each lost in thought. Later we see the waves wash over their footprints, the ultimate fate of all of our happiness, and all of our lives. We see him kissing her hand at the door, and there is quite a contrast between his clean-shaven, well-dressed appearance in flashback and the wild look he has on the boat in the present. After she sends him away, we're treated to a stunning scene in high contrast of him walking through a country gate, directly into the camera.
Eventually he reaches a cemetery, and meets another man sitting at a grave, playing with his wedding band (Mário Peixoto himself). The backstory here is a little more involved, thus necessitating the only dialogue via intertitles in the entire film. "You come from the house of a woman who is not yours," the man at the grave chides him, then after pointing downward at the grave, "Supposing she were mine, like this one was yours... what if I told you she had leprosy?" He has been confronted by the husband of the woman he was just walking along the beach with, the one he kissed on the hand. His own wife has died, and he is carrying on an affair with this man's woman, who apparently has leprosy. The cuckolded husband leaves and he pursues him, but never catches up. He walks out onto a dock and is propositioned by a prostitute (Carmen Santos), a sequence which includes a marvelous medium shot down the pier of her standing in front of him, but he leaves.
So all of these characters are trying to escape in this little boat. One is trying to escape the physical confinement of prison, another the claustrophobia of a bad marriage, and the last, the pain of having lost his wife and then his lover. And just as Chaplin botches his escape in the film we saw earlier, a moment of foreshadowing, these three are all doomed. There is no more fresh water on the boat, it's drifting, and they are at odds with another. Eventually, it's wrecked. We can't escape our fate, we can't escape the chains of our existence, we can't escape our sadness. And while these individuals are going through their unspoken torments, everyday life continues on, and the natural beauty around them is impassive.