Recensioni de* critic*

The Shadow could be a lot of things: the looming evil of the outside world; the fading, twilight existence Gebo and his family have long settled into; Gebo's estranged son, João (Ricardo Trêpa, Oliveira's grandson), a criminal whose return gives the movie its shape. This is Oliveira's ascetic, totally unique vision of an old man—technically young enough to be the director's son—trying to hide from the worst of the world, forced to confront it toward the end of his life.

While The Strange Case of Angelica (10) was a flight of fancy, using proto-cinematic effects to bring its protagonist's young beloved back to life, Gebois an elemental thudding back to earth, body and soul entombed inside a dimly lit abode.

By the time its sudden conclusion hits you with the sort of multivalent power that we've come to expect from Oliveira's seemingly offhand endings, the film's questions are evident. How to live out one's days before the final bell tolls? Like Gebo or like João? Safely but unremarkably or dangerously but freely? Resting on one's laurels or pushing out of comfort zones? ...For this relentless but calmly considered artist, one imagines the answers are somewhere in the middle.

Claudia Cardinale and Jeanne Moreau are asked less to act than to simply present themselves to the camera; in Oliveira's pared-down, aggressively frontal mise-en-scène, they take on the look of sculptures in an exhibition. (The same is true of Michael Lonsdale, but he has always slightly resembled a wax sculpture.) We are left—or invited—to project our memories of them at their youngest and liveliest onto their present selves.

The poignant fragility of their circumstances is embodied by the aging veteran actors who play them, in particular Oliveira's two leads... [Oliveira] He offers a perceptive take on Gebo as a guarded person who is ironbound to his needs to serve his society, his profession, and his dear ones, and who sacrifices himself daily for their sakes.

Until the end, “Gebo” is slow and quiet. Never one to rush through a plot, Mr. Oliveira relishes the formality of conversation, and there is great pleasure to be found in listening to the actors and watching the small adjustments of posture and gesture that accompany their words.

Oliveira's option to avoid shot/countershot editing in favor of long takes and frontal compositions is flawless, complementing the inherently undramatic tensions between character perspectives while muting contrived standoffs. I was reminded of Dreyer's Gertrud—another masterful transformation of a theater piece. As often with such a controlled style, a singular instance of a filmic convention carries great weight. In this case, it is Oliveira's sparing use of off-screen space and sound...

A sparely staged version of a play already pared down to basic theatrical elements, Gebo and the Shadow defines de Oliveira's late period, during which his movies have continued to shrink in size and scope while remaining thematically expansive. Whether that reduction is a consequence of his impressive age or just a directorial conceit, the film uses the spartan setting and an immobile camera to remarkable effect...

...Possibly the best film I saw at VIFF this year... Perhaps more than the other films in this entry, [Gebo and the Shadow] shows why we need film festivals. Oliveira's purified experiment demands a lot from the audience, but it repays our efforts. It's at once an engrossing story and an exciting exercise in what cinema can still do.

This is a somber chamber piece (with brief respite thanks to cheery visits from Jeanne Moreau and Luís Miguel Cintra) and Oliveira shoots it with a closed-in intimacy... The themes are right on the surface but, for all the careful dialogue and measured deliver and spare, precise décor, so is the humanity of these tired survivors.

if it wasn't for Ricardo Trêpa's highly off-putting turn, as the greatly troubled prodigal son of a lower-class nineteenth-century French family, this might well have been the best de Oliveira film in years, perhaps since my favorite of his features, 2003's A Talking Picture. Instead, it's--please excuse the easy pun--a shadow of the film it could have been sans Trêpa's obnoxious performance.

There's everything and nothing happening with the frame at any given moment, as a series of misdirected eye lines and careful gestures send ripples across these coordinates. Even at his most seemingly minimalist, Oliveira adds flavor to his compositions which, when taken as whole, feel surprisingly malleable despite the static structure.