Mistérios de Lisboa (2010) Reviews

• An experience not to be missed on the big screen

  Fotodude2011-04-01

  It's almost a miracle to find a film like this one in theaters nowadays. An exceptional rarity, something that reminds you that cinema like this can still be achieved. Being a period piece, and with almost 5 hours of runtime (the 15-minute intermission included), it defies almost every convention of commercial cinema. And it doesn't drag one bit; every minute of the film is required, and while it absorbs you and doesn't let go, you feel grateful for it… For those magical hours of hypnotic escapism. "Mysteries of Lisbon" is en epic, mesmerizing adaptation of the homonym novel by Camilo Castelo Branco. It tells a series of interconnected stories set mostly in 19th century Lisbon, although the main plot is pretty much unique. In any case, the way each story leads to the other and how it all comes together towards the end is brilliant. The two main characters are Pedro da Silva and Padre Dinis; a priest and an orphan destined to form a close bond. But all characters are carefully fleshed out; apart from those two, Ângela de Lima (Pedro's mother) or Alberto de Magalhães, among others, stand out. It is the film's purpose to explore the enigmatic nature of most of these people, leaving them and coming back to them with deeply measured fluency, bringing forward through the set occasional details of their personality, frequently using voice-overs to convey their inner thoughts while staying faithful to the literary source material. This last idea is also present in how much the act of observation matters in this film. In a great number of scenes, a lesser character is either listening to what is happening or watching that given scene from a distance, thus often adopting the viewer's external point of view. This objective is made clear through the miniaturist theater that Pedro receives as a present from his mother, a toy that Ruiz goes back to on several occasions to mark the transition between a scene and the next. It is a beautiful little trick and, in some way, it provides part of the film's complexity. This complexity is reinforced by a few ambiguous notes, some surrealist touches and of course the multiple layers of the plot. Another remarkable aspect is the use of clear-cut sequence shots for the majority of scenes, each of those shots more impressive than the other. The film has therefore very few close-ups, something that would also contribute to create a certain distance with the viewer. Only in a couple of situations (usually of lesser significance) does Ruiz go back to a more orthodox way of shooting. But those delightfully crafted sequence shots give the film an extraordinary, almost intoxicating energy, especially when they are accompanied by the film's haunting score. That way, every shot is a wonder in terms of composition, but also as far as the lighting is concerned. Just a few marvelous examples would be the scene at the opera hall or when Alberto de Magalhães confronts another man while Padre Dinis is traveling in the calash. Indeed, this must be one of the most striking films I've had the chance to see on the big screen. On the whole, this is a moving, tragic and awe-inspiring masterpiece. A feast for the senses, and an immediate entry in my top 50. *****

• Outstanding

  oOgiandujaOo_and_Eddy_Merckx2010-10-25

  Well this is pretty exciting stuff, four and a half hours of Raoul Ruiz back on top form. It's an adaptation of an eponymous 19th century novel by Camilo Castelo-Branco, who is a very famous author in Portugal, the first professional Portuguese author. I think that Ruiz and Castelo-Branco may have been birds of a feather, both known for being extremely prolific artists, Castelo-Branco managed to produce over 260 books whilst this movie is Ruiz's 111th. Superficially one could compare the movie to Wojciech Has' The Saragossa Manuscript (1965) in the way, in the style of Scheherazade, stories generate out of one another. But I think, given the large level of inter-relationships between the stories (what's really being revealed is a web), a more apt comparison may be to Victor Hugo's Les Misérables. This is quite a dark movie, it opens with the description that "this work is not my child, nor my godson... this work is a diary of suffering". The young narrator says, in comparison to the other children at the religious school he's at, "I never went on outings, nor had holidays, nor presents". His presence at the school and his identity is a mystery to him, he has no last name and is known only as "Joao". His story sprouts into others, which are generally to do with love. The movie is perverse in the extreme, there is a ball at one point in the movie which sums up the atmosphere, the musicians play weird lilting African lunduns for the guests to dance to, which is the latest fashion, along with the pointing of fingers, all the while the guests maliciously gossip. This is in marked contrast to the official Catholicism of Portugal, that one never really gets any sense of in the movie. Although ones honour and reputation may be lost by a single indiscreet kiss, honour is only a thing of extreme superficiality, to be seen as honourable is to be honourable. The length to which love annihilates the characters in the movie is quite astonishing at times, and brought me to the brink of tears. The Duchess of Cliton is a case in point, a once innocent woman, who describes herself as "mechant", and breaks the hearts of men at will. At one point, she is manipulating a portly baron, who has been nothing but kind to her, and simply bursts out in laughter, revelling in her power. She has to leave the room and then come back. The baron is totally undeterred, just as the young man who Cliton tells she is a bad woman simply refuses to believe her. Her beauty gives her a halo and power that is sheerly wicked. There's also a lot of sexual jealousy in the movie too, and the fires of this jealousy are stoked to ruination, in a way which provokes awe. There's a sense of romantic progression from early extreme romantic sentiments, pure love, which is shattered by heartbreak, and leads either to misery or to revenge, where the person who has had their heart broken becomes a heart breaker to regain their power. There's a kind of perversity to everything, people are always spying on events from a distance, and a place of extreme duplicity is described as a "temple to sincerity", which in a way it is. My favourite scene perhaps is set in a grand room in the University of Lisbon, which, it is pretended, is the Portuguese embassy in Rome. Two seats are bought into a room that is bare except for the most magnificent frescoes, a conversation ensues in which one man declares his intention to withdraw from life, he is to take religious orders instead of performing a cowardly annihilation of his own body. At the end of the scene the conversant withdraws and the two chairs are taken away, the man is left with nothing but the frescoes, a metaphor for his memories, which are the only thing that remains for him of the world, he focuses on part of a fresco and collapses. This is how mise-en-scene should be! Ruiz got the director of photography to watch Time Regained and a couple of other Ruiz movies beforehand. This confirms to me a suspicion that Ruiz always maintains ultimate control over the look of the movie. Here it's all trademark shooting, with elements in the extreme foreground of the shot framing action in the background, or vice versa. The camera movements in the mostly interior scenes are also extremely intricate. It's a gorgeous looking movie. The bag of tricks comes out as well, at one point a painting comes to life when Joao looks at it, in a threatful shot that can only be described as gobsmacking. The movie has a definite colour palette, all shades of gold mostly, with dark greens and greys, yeah it's a stunner. There is a longer version at six hours that will shortly be screened on Portuguese television. Ruiz in fact prefers the cinema version because the TV version has to have it's tempo fiddled with so that each of the six episodes it splits into ends on something of a cliffhanger. There is also one very powerful scene included in the movie which is not on the TV series, this is where it is revealed what is behind the locked door of Father Dinis. If you liked this, prepare yourself for more. Ruiz has declared the intention to make a sequel based on the Castelo-Branco novel "livro negro de Padre Dinis" (the black book of Father Dinis). Ruiz is unstoppable, he made this highly intricate and long movie in 14 weeks, during which time he underwent surgery! Mysteries of Lisbon is an extremely special and very significant movie.

• The Lisbon Manuscript

  Eumenides_02010-10-27

  Mysteries of Lisbon, based on the novel of Romantic Portuguese novelist Camilo Castelo Branco, is a movie full of secrets, implausible coincidences, odd, mysterious characters, revenges, and strange family relationships. It's a modern movie whose story, with its byzantine plot, twists and melodramatic revelations, has a distinctive 19th century taste. It's the story of a bastard orphan called João and his search for the truth about his birth, and of the countless people whose stories must be told in order to understand his life and his future. Recently I finished reading a novel by Carlos Fuentes, Terra Nostra, where it's written that it takes several lives to create a personality. I couldn't think of a better statement to encapsulate this movie's essence. Our protagonist (João Arrais) is an orphan without family name living in a religious school, under the care of the good and protective Father Dinis (Adriano Luz). The other kids pick on him because of his low condition; one day he gets badly beaten in a fight; in bed he's visited, during a feverish sleep, by a woman (Maria João Bastos) who calls him son. And so begins the journey into his past. The movie is a beautiful labyrinth of stories within stories within stories. To understand the story of our protagonist, one must first watch the stories of several other people: his poor father (João Baptista) who dared to fall in love with a noblewoman; his mother, trapped in a loveless marriage; the henchman (Ricardo Pereira) assigned to assassinate him at birth; and the priest that saved his life. I haven't seen a movie so obsessed with the act of telling stories since Wojciech Has' The Saragossa Manuscript, another great movie about stories within stories and multiple narrators. Mysteries of Lisbon, which lasts four and a half hours without ever becoming dull, is divided in two parts: the first deals with João's past; the second deals with his future, and possible death. In perfect symmetry with the first half, the second multiplies itself in stories, taking us to Italy and Paris, and getting entangled in the Napoleonic Wars. As much a story about origins, the movie is about how João grows to become a gentleman called Pedro da Silva (a role played José Afonso Pimentel) and how he falls in love with a ruined Frenchwoman (Clotilde Hesme) whose honor has been sullied by, irony of ironies, the man the protagonist owes his life to. From this insane tapestry of love, manipulation and the lost illusions of youth, Raoul Ruiz and screenwriter Carlos Saboga create an unpredictable finale for the life of our protagonist. The actors are all excellent. The cast is so vast I can't compliment everyone here, but Adriano Luz, Maria João Bastos, Ricardo Pereira, Clotilde Hesme and José Afonso Pimentel deserve special mention. Luz in particular steals every scene. Although the movie is about João, Father Dinis, the mysterious priest who's lived several lives before receiving his holy vows, almost becomes the protagonist at times, and just as well because every scene with him is delightful, thanks to his serenity; he gets so earnestly into the character of a holy man who's removed himself from the world, that I don't think he ever raises his voice above a whisper throughout the movie. He's disappearance from the second part is sadly noticed. Looking at this movie is also a joy. A lot of attention went into the historical recreation of 19th century Portugal, and Ruiz and his crew must have chosen some of Portugal's most beautiful palaces, villas, mansions, convents, churches, ballrooms and woods to film in. Adding to the scenic beauty there's also the cinematography by André Szankowski, who films the movie with a restrained palette of colors: mostly green, brown and golden. There's also a constant game of shadows and light, suitable for a movie about secrets. Many of the tricks recall the work of Roger Deakins, for instance in the way exterior light subtly darkens for a few seconds in a scene. The result is a world of penumbras and silhouettes, of men and women constantly revealed and covered by shadows. And what to say of the long takes? Like the movie that seems endless, the scenes continue for longer than we expect, without cuts, for several minutes. The movie is indeed a collection of long takes. And each is uniquely filmed. Ruiz' steady camera refuses to stay put and follows the characters in and out of rooms, up and down stairs; it films them from high and low angles, from close and long distances; it moves around them, giving the film a fluidity seldom seen in this age of quick cuts and shaky cams. Raoul Ruiz directed Mysteries of Lisbon knowing that it could be his last movie. During shooting he underwent a surgery to treat his liver cancer. That he managed to complete this movie with a fragile health is a testament to his strength. That he managed to create one of the best and most beautiful movies of 2010 during one of the worst periods of his life, that's a testament to his talent as one of the greatest living directors.

• Conversations reveal complicated pasts in this epic Portuguese novel brought to life

  chaz-282011-09-26

  The Mysteries of Lisbon are not so much mysteries as they are a series of conversations which always lead to some sort of revelation. These revelations are melodramatic punch lines with interlocking characters continuously finding out who their parents are, where they came from, the results of lost loves, and everything in between. If the script was written in a linear fashion with no time jumps or flashbacks, there would be no mysteries; it would just be a meandering retelling of Romeo and Juliet (and all of their cousins). The word meandering sounds harsh and an indictment of a script which does not know where it is going. However, I mean meandering as in there are multiple lead characters to follow and each of them has a very complicated past which takes its time to tell. The Mysteries of Lisbon is four and a half hours long; the director threw out accepted norms for audience patience in favor of showing the whole story. It is based on an 1854 novel by the Portuguese author Camilo Castelo Branco and it appears it was filmed in an unabridged fashion. The main character is a village priest, Padre Denis (Adriano Luz), who at first is indirectly involved in a couple's forbidden love affair and then purposefully injects himself into their lives and then into everyone else's life who comes into contact with their troubles. Even though the priest is the interconnecting cog in the middle of all of these characters, he is not the narrator. That role is given to an orphan the priest looks after and becomes a driving force of his own later on. The director, Raul Ruiz, obviously loves conversations, but only deep and emotionally scarring ones. Every conversation or recounting of a previous conversation has its own 30 minute segment it seems. The characters, usually just two, sit in a room and then the scene fades into flashback on what happened in the past which will now illuminate the present. I believe the time shifts were included to create the mystery. The author deliberately created the tension of not knowing and the 'a-ha' discovery moments because he could not have accomplished the same moments with a realistic, linear timeline. The action is mostly set in Portugal and appears to be in the early 1800s but after Napoleon. The Emperor is frequently referenced but only in the past tense. Many of the characters are nobles so the costume designer had a true feast in outfitting so many people in remarkable period dress. The Portuguese scenery and elaborate set designs are also enjoyable; somebody really took their time to make the set look intensely real. The lighting is also employed to convey a sense of realness. There seems to be no artificial lighting whatsoever. Light only comes through windows during the day and the rooms are terrifically dark at night. The candles never flicker so there must be some source of artificiality, but it is not noticeable. Unfortunately, Raul Ruiz recently passed away on 19 August. He was Chilean born but left Chile in 1973 when Augusto Pinochet took power. The Mysteries of Lisbon is his final film and is of such epic proportions it appears he was thinking about this film for a long time before he finally took the plunge. I recommend this film, but be careful. Watch it only if you appreciate long, intense scenes of dialogue or appreciate the intricate details of period films. There is extremely little action and drawn out sequences with no words spoken at all; however, there is character with the endearing name 'Knife Eater'. If these aspects do not scare you, then sit back and enjoy because you are in for a real treat. You will not see a film like this from an American director; no studio would ever sign off on a movie this long, not if they expect it to make any money.

• Perfect match of director and material

  timmy_5012011-06-01

  When Raoul Ruiz adapts existing material, he tends to reconfigure the narrative in a playful way, often obliterating all coherence in the process. In his writings on film, specifically Poetics of Cinema, he is quite critical of what he calls central conflict theory. The idea behind this theory is that narrative, especially film narrative, must be built around a single conflict and that every aspect of the plot must build on this conflict one way or another. Ruiz noticed this phenomenon and gave it a name, but it was so common that popular screen writing guides used it as an incontrovertible rule. Poetics of Cinema is devoted almost entirely to explaining and criticizing central conflict theory. Ruiz was never content merely to criticize this simplistic yet ubiquitous narrative structure in writing, however; commentary on it is often embedded in the films he makes. Unsurprisingly, his films intentionally eschew anything resembling this structure but they tend to go even further and offer playful deconstructions of the concept. Although I can't claim much familiarity with the novel Ruiz is adapting in Mysteries of Lisbon (it apparently hasn't been translated to English yet) it undoubtedly lends itself especially well to his ludic, subversive style. Rather than follow the conflict of a single continuous narrative, Mysteries of Lisbon explores several interrelated narrative strands that complement one another unusually well as they're full of cases of important coincidental relationships and frustrated love affairs. Thus, Ruiz has less to subvert and more to emphasize. Ruiz's visual style has always been highly unusual. He favors the frequent use of Dutch angles and he often creates startling juxtapositions with his unusual framing techniques and occasional superimpositions. While these unusual techniques are always welcome, they can become somewhat exhausting when they occur frequently. Since Mysteries of Lisbon is unusually long (the version I watched was around 260 minutes) it's perhaps unsurprising that Ruiz manages to space these out carefully enough to draw attention to all the right places and break up the monotony of the more conventional period piece style he favors in this film. Even at its least inspired, however, Mysteries of Lisbon offers far more visual stimulation than the stuffy fidelity of a film by Merchant and Ivory or Oscar fodder such as The King's Speech. Unlike most directors working with similar material, Ruiz captures vast landscapes and baroque interiors with the same effortless mastery. Even the frequent long takes are made more interesting by carefully employed tracking shots. Mysteries of Lisbon represents the rare combination of a director at the top of his game working with material perfectly suited for his unique sensibilities. Cinema doesn't get much better than this.