Pedro Costa continually proves he's one of the most unique and interesting voices of modern cinema, and yet again he shows us that he may have the key for the future of cinema (a very different kind of cinema). His latest, Horse Money, is another piece of genuine brilliance. No other filmmaker captures people like Costa, because the Portuguese auteur doesn't limit himself to film them, but also what goes inside them.
3.5 stars. A whispering film made of bones. I often caught myself - for seconds at a time - accidentally watching the people's shadows instead of the people themselves. Politically, I found it pretty impenetrable, even after reading up a little on the Carnation Revolution. I suspect would have been 5-stars for me if Gil-Scott Heron had lived long enough to be involved as planned.
Low oppressive lighting, cryptic whispers delivered by soulful looking blacks and an incomprehensible narrative for anyone out of the know. If it was playing at the Tate Modern I would have happily sat down for a good 10 minutes to watch it before moving on to some other equally enigmatic piece of modern art; but tonight I just can't be fucked.
Now is suffused w/ thens and w/ portents. The image is a voluptuary. Costa has Caravaggio'd to a place to which I am certain no other artist will ever get. This is a totem. A gnostic utterance, irreducibly profound, but smokey, opalescent. We're buried right out in the open. I have seldom felt so absolutely ravished by anything. This is what we would like to imagine drugs can do. Drugs can't do this. Not even close.