Alejandro González Iñárritu has been with Amores Perros and it since over twenty years ago The title is just as long and windy. “It’s pretentious, pointless fantasy,” mocks a fellow Mexican who has succeeded in vulgar commercialism rather than art and truth, dismissing the work of the semi-autobiographical protagonist. Inaritu seemed brazen to preempt his critics. No matter how accurate you think the assessment is, the epic existential comedy The Chronicle of Falsehood and Reality of the Bardo is also a work of exquisite craftsmanship, with fascinating fluidity between fantasy and reality, Intoxicating visual effects by the great cinematographer Darius Khondji 20 mm shot .
In over three hours, Netflix features are a lot movie of. While succumbing to its languid rhythms and twisting narrative detours is a joy — I never get bored — it doesn’t escape accusations of self-indulgence or derivation, borrowed from All That Jazz and Big Beauty , and key influences on both films, Fellini Otto and Mezzo .
The bardo, a false chronicle of the few truths
Bottom line The Homecoming Odyssey in the tragicomedy Keys.
Place:65 Venice Film Festival (competition) 27Release Date: 10 Friday, December 20 (Mexican drama); Friday, November 4 (US theatrical version); Friday, December 6 ( Netflix)20
Cast : Daniel Giménez Cacho, Griselda Siciliani, Ximena Lamadrid, Íker Sánchez Solano65guide Device : Alejandro G. Inaritu screenwriter: Alejandro G. Iñárritu, Nicholas Jacober
20 3 hours 4 minutes
you Probably wishing Iñárritu would focus, as his friend and colleague Alfonso Cuarón did with childhood memories, Roma. But it’s a deeply personal, immersive film that showcases many thoughtful, cultural identities of individuals and nations, rising mortality rates, the cost of praise, the conflicted hearts of returning diasporas, the holes of time and A seductive maze of memories. Perhaps most telling is the corrosive consideration of living and working in a country that has displayed such ruthless imperialist arrogance to himself.
with Iñárritu collaborators Nicolás Giacobone Biutiful and Birdman , the script reimagines the director as the famous Mexican journalist Silverio (Daniel Giménez Cacho) in the past 20 Documentary filmmaker living in Los Angeles for 2009 and will receive the prestigious Mexico City International award. He will be the first of his countrymen to receive this honor.
Begins with the shadow of an invisible man running across the vast bush desert, taking off and flying, perhaps to the bird-man nod. That figure returned at the end, this time clearly shown as Silverio, wandering alone in the land that meant forever to him.
The crux of the absurd comes in the ensuing scene where Khondji’s camera drifts across the hospital corridor to find Silverio awaiting the birth of his son. But doctors tell the child’s mother, Lucia (Griselda Siciliani), that he doesn’t want to enter this broken world and keep stuffing the baby back into her. That baby will reappear at inopportune moments, especially during oral sex. It gradually emerged that he died just a day after he was born, a tragedy that still haunts Silverio and Lucia, as well as their adult child, teenage Lorenzo (Í ker Sánchez Solano) and Something Camila (Ximena Lamadrid).
Silverio was presenting the award when news reports Amazon was planning to buy the U.S. government-sanctioned state of Baja Preparations for the ceremony and its associated publicity. Or rather, he mostly avoided it, overwhelmed by the complex emotions of returning to his home country.
At Chapultapec Castle in Mexico City, the U.S. ambassador (Jay O. Sanders) disguises Silvio against 1800 poignant commentary on the possibility of a Mexican-American war in the mid-term, prompting the documentary filmmakers to come up with a full-scale mass recreation of the battle that took place there, with uniformed cadets wearing bad wig. The use of brass bands in this surreal vignette is one of many elements that recall Fellini. (Elsewhere, The National and Iñárritu’s Bryce Dessner’s soundtracks tend to serve to enhance the atmosphere of the visuals.)
Mexican history re-emphasizes in an equally unconventional but more somber way Now, as Silverio wanders the streets of the capital—empty at first, then bustling and cosmopolitan—then turns a corner and finds desaparecidos is falling off the pavement around him. Eventually, he came to a mountain of tangled, naked corpses of native Mexicans, which he climbed to meet Hernán Cortés, the Spanish conquistador responsible for the demise of the Aztec Empire.
These reflections on Mexico’s brutal history and its spirit and culture are freely intertwined with evidence of the ongoing struggles of the people. Recurring scenes show a massive northward migration across the border, with Silverlio interviewing his fellow citizens fleeing poverty, crime or violence in news mode, a far-reaching exodus seeking hope “on the other side.”
The segments form a sprawling mosaic, but the film is most intriguing when it builds extended scenes that fold gracefully from one development to the next. The most intoxicating of them all was the festive awards reception, where old friends, family and professional colleagues gathered to dance as Khondji’s camera deftly moved through the crowd.
On the patio, Silverio gets into an argument with his old friend, the aforementioned junk TV purveyor, because the illustrious guest is on a scheduled live broadcast on his show Giving up without warning left him unhappy. He accused Silvario of failing to distance his ego from his vaunted work, while Silvario called him a mediocre flag-waving nationalist – vulgar, stupid and proud.
The winner then skips the stage with government dignitaries and slips into the men’s room, where he meets his dead father, who was unable to express his pride in his son before his death. This refreshed the old man’s advice to him: “Take a sip of success and spit it out, or you’ll be poisoned.” He continued through another door and down another dark corridor to His childhood bedroom, where the teen’s masturbation fantasies of TV variety stars return, followed by a visit to his aging mother.
This freewheeling central section has a hypnotic quality, a constant charge that teeters in some of the more verbose passages around it. Some of Silverio’s self-interrogation—about his fear of dying and leaving a meaningless legacy of work—feels familiar from too many art memoirs.
But Silverio has a soulful side considering the price he and his family paid for leaving their country. Lorenzo, who called him a “first-class immigrant”, provoked the pain of his father’s guilt over his privilege, which was evident when the family butler was refused to accompany them to the beach at the luxury private resort. The bitter irony of Silverio’s relatively easy life is captured in a real but effective scene at the Los Angeles airport, where a Latino border agent tells him that his residency doesn’t give him the right to call America home.
The final part looks ahead in time to a result that finds Iñárritu – or Silverio – facing the inevitable, full of surprise, confusion and regret. “Success is my biggest failure,” he admits in a telling moment, befitting the paradoxical nature of a film whose doubts about what constitutes truth are inherent in its subtitle.
The staying power of this zigzag existential exploration of personal, professional and national identities – both pathetic and pathetic – will vary, depending on them An interest in the artist or an appetite for the aesthetic beauty of film. Even at the end of the three hours, Silverio remains a somewhat elusive figure, despite Giménez Cacho (recently appearing in Zama and Memoria ), with his lanky frame and sad eyes, proves an ever curious guide who responds kindly to the warmth and spontaneity of family scenes.
