Tabu hits DVD from Kino Lorber and Adopt Films on October 29th.
As somebody who is far more knowledgeable on the subject of film history versus actual, important history, I have not nearly as much shame as I should when I admit that I, generally speaking, have little idea what is going on in the world, or what has gone on in the world to get to the point where whatever’s going on in the world is going on in the world. And, sure, my ignorance allows me to maintain the fiction that the world is a generally happy place, filled with decent people who have, by and large, been treated with respect and humanity. But every once in a while, something comes along to pierce that illusion, and I’m forced to confront the reality that world history is rife with horrible injustices and subtle atrocities, both physical and moral.
Miguel Gones’ Tabu (2012), is one of those somethings; a film that affected in me in ways I hadn’t anticipated, and I can’t say that I was entirely pleased with it as a result. Which is unfair to the film itself; an interesting, if flawed, film. If nothing else, it looks absolutely gorgeous. But at the end I was left with a nagging sense of “well, what was the point of showing me that?”
One of the films virtues is it’s bifurcated structure. The first half deals with the daily life of Pilar (Teresa Madruga), a lonely and altruistic middle aged woman living in Lisbon. She lives what seems to be something of a sad and pathetic life, volunteering for various causes but unable to form any kind of connection with people (or, in the case of a clearly smitten suitor, unwilling for her own unspoken reasons). The only people she has prolonged contact with are her neighbor, the elderly Aurora, and her live-in maid Santa, who has a… complicated relationship with her ailing, senile boss, who is prone to fits of racist accusations.
When Aurora takes a turn for the worst, Pilar, ever the Samaritan, attempts to seek out Gian-Luca, a name from her distant past; an act which leads us to the mountains referenced in the title. While the first half of the film is set in the dull interiors of dreary Lisbon, the second half journeys into the past, where a much younger Aurora is the pampered wife of a businessman, living on a farm in the foothills of Africa.
Even before we get into the details of Aurora’s connection to Gian-Luca, they aren’t hard to suss out, and we follow their doomed love from the electric first meeting until the painful, inevitable end. This second half is far more interesting than the first for a variety of reasons besides the change of scenery (though it must be said that the black and white cinematography by Rui Pocas is stunning, even when trained on the far less interesting environs of Lisbon). The first is that the passions of young Aurora and Gian Luca are far more involving than the dour, repressed travails of Pilar. The necessity of the contrast is obvious, but doesn’t exactly make the first half easier to watch.
Complicating matters a bit for me is the treatment of the Africans themselves. The entirety of the second half of the film takes place on that farm in Africa (I believe in Mozambique, to be more specific), which is staffed entirely by Africans. They are present in almost every scene, but don’t register as characters in any conventional sense of the word. Clearly, this is part of the point. The accepted nature of their servitude, and of outsider privilege is taken as a given. When hints of an uprising become increasingly evident (this portion of the film takes place in the lead up to the War of Liberation), the upper class Portuguese seem confused and indignant as to why this could be happening. So sure are they of their right to be where they are and act as they do that it’s inconceivable to them that it could be any other way; and that it might not sit right with the actual denizens.
To the film’s credit, no one is portrayed as willfully malicious or evil on this point; the racism isn’t blatant and grotesque, it’s ingrained and unacknowledged. This is the far more insidious and troubling form which is rarely dealt with, in films or in life itself. The Africans have been turned into second class citizens in their own home, and that’s just the way destiny shook itself out. No need to give it any further thought, or even consider it as a potential problem. So while the subtlety of this observation is appreciated (I’d rather be led to the water than be water boarded with the injustice of it all), it’s difficult to bring myself to care about these foolish people and their foolish affairs when, at the end of the day, they’re very much part of the problem.
Politics aside, it’s the style of the thing that captivates. When we move to Africa, the movie becomes a tribute to silent cinema. Gian Luca’s voiceovers fill in the story, while the actors on screen stay mostly silent, or mime their lines. Stripped of the power of vocal expression, the actors (Ana Moreira as Young Aurora and Carloto Cotta as young Gian-Luca) must use their bodies to express the turmoil within. And they do a bang-up job, giving a palpable physical reality to their desires. (As a nice touch that I almost didn’t notice on account of the tiny television I watched it on, while the first half is shot in 1.37:1, the second half of the film is shot in a simulated 4:3 aspect ratio, the ratio used in silent films of the ’20s).
And because of the structure of the film, we know where all this is going. We know how it will all end, which gives a sense of doomed inevitability to the proceedings, and by extension, an appreciation for the fleeting nature of their time together. As impartial observers, we can watch as they delude themselves into believing there might be a future for them, and there are moments when it’s genuinely affecting.
But despite all the interesting aspects, I have trouble fully recommending this one. The second half has its virtues, and it is an absolutely beautiful looking film, but spending the first half with the dull non-adventures of Pilar (who, despite a good performance by Madruga, never gains any real shading or betrays any indication of why she’s the way she is). While perhaps thematically appropriate, this alienated me from fully connecting with the film the way I wanted to. Still, there is value here, and for those with a taste for adventure (and perhaps less willing to get hung up on the Colonialism undercurrent), this might be a most rewarding experience.