This is a film about a boorish and colorless man, his memoir of how life failed him. It starts with the end, a breakup that he walks away from, the bulk of the film is for us to see what kind of life is broken up, what dissolves, what is carried on.
It is from that time after Antonioni had taken Europe by storm, it uses all the visual arsenal. The camera is vibrant, it captures motion, change, perspective, dilation - a lovely scene takes place during New Years, the night erupts in bright lights as confetti rains from above. It misses the fundamental essence of Antonioni however, that narrative place is so parted to reveal currents of soul.
Along the way we have precious insights into Brazilian life of course. I've been lately on cinematic vacation in Brazil, watching films from there. Most take place in fanciful Rio, this is an exception; industrial Sao Paolo with no oceanfront to send the eye off in relief. It gives a sense of place, time, people, you should see it just to parse these.
But what kind of insight do we have into that life? It's compromised of course, there as well as any other place, unjust, occasionally just petty. But why should it be drab?
It is drab for the protagonist who colors everything through his own self, a thankless man always dissatisfied and tossed about by desires. He's not without conscience, which prevents him from not minding the compromise, but he's not mindful either, not settled in his view.
It ends in a poignant way that reveals the emptiness of this man. Disgusted, he abandons everything including son and wife and runs off, but life takes that turn of dumb chance that brings you back to what you wanted to avoid. What was he trying to run from? It's all inside him, carried wherever he goes. Did he ever once cultivate his intentions, his mindfulness for his own self or the women he bedded? Was he ever grateful for anything, appreciative?
It's a well made film but the same limitation applies for me as in similar ones; I don't see the modern tragedy, only the waste.
