“A photograph is both a pseudo-presence and a token of absence. Like a wood fire in a room, photographs—especially those of people, of distant landscapes and faraway cities, of the vanished past—are incitements to reverie. The sense of the unattainable that can be evoked by photographs feeds directly into the erotic feelings of those for whom desirability is enhanced by distance.” -Susan Sontag.
Obra-prima só o facto de existir. Essencialmente um filme perdido que-não-o-foi, há um miasma (o do outro mundo) d'esta história escrita em 1952 que paira por toda a obra do Mestre. E toda essa obra desagua também nesta foz. (embalsamada ou a flutuar). Foi um dia o meu primeiro e nada me traz semelhante paz: ali, o lírio dos celestes vales tendo seu fim, terão o seu começo, para não mais findar, nossos amores.
Beautiful light and location! And such an interesting plot. On the other hand, this is a film about the strange case of promises and almosts. Oliveira really delivers great scenes - but he misses the mark almost every time. There are several well built atmospheres - ruined by stereotyped acting. Some people say the director references old cinema, but in my opinion it's just lazy drama. It could have been way better.
Um diálogo impossível entre passado e presente: amar uma morta, preferir os cavadores às máquinas, ir à janela ver a ruidosa modernidade que passa. Seria um grande filme, não fossem os traços gerais do guião datar da década de 50 - faltou um esforço para, em 2010, contextualizar o passado de Isaac (que supostamente fugiu da guerra). É uma obsolescência que se perdoa e que talvez faça parte do jogo de Oliveira.
What a strange little film. As one reviewer said there's a throw back quality here, a nod to silent film. There is also, at least early on, a bit of 60s Italian horror - I was thinking if Argento had made a whimsical giallo. Dream-logic and dream-like. Who knew smoke blowing across a dark room could be so mesmerizing?
For better or worse, this is exactly the fantasy-romance you'd expect from an immensely sophisticated, aristocratic 90 year old artist who got his start in silent film. It has a throwback quality: in the Melies-like special effects, the static camera, the set-ups and scenario so reminiscent of theater. Incredibly beautiful in spots, the film is chaste chamber piece, elegant, subtly playful and, ok, a little boring.
Bel effort de continuer à partager sa passion pour le cinéma à plus de 100 ans.. mais il faut avoir quelque-chose à dire. Dans ce film il ne se passe rien, on ne voit rien, on ressort sans rien. D'accord il y'a les rêves, charmants dans leur mode "Méliès" mais on s'ennuie la plupart du temps avec en plus une horrible musique dans les oreilles. Essai raté.
1. They did no research on what it's like to be a photographer. 2. There was nothing strange in his subject matter. In fact it was quite ordinary. 3. The script was weak. Just because you call someone strange, and play strange music around him doesn't make him strange. 4. Angelica was pretty flirty for a dead bride.
The finitude of actuality and the invisible walls inhibiting passage to unaccessible dimensions — heaven, the past, the photography. De Oliveria fingers volatile apparitions of the otherworldly as smoke — they appear through buzzing radio waves, as translucent figures and sometimes manifested physically within Olivera's sculptural compositions themselves — though often barred up or overwhelmed by hissing machinery.
Lovely humour and literary hints are simply delightful. I found myself thoroughly engrossed in this unlikely untrue UNpossible and utterly quaint tale of fools and dreamers. (Note to watchers just arrived from the North Pole: the acting is designed to appear as wooden and phony as could be, the whole thing is a massive fairytale!)
Nuit, ombres, piano, mort et discrète irruption du fantastique : le film commence dans une ambiance de roman gothique anglais du 19è. Puis le fantastique s’invite en plein jour, et ouvre une réflexion sur la manière de percevoir le monde à travers les yeux du photographe, ceux du spectateur, ceux interloqués des protagonistes sur ce même photographe, mais aussi par le filtre naïf des souvenirs et des rêves.