Motel Destino

Futuro Beach

 

Director Karim Aïnouz

director on the set

MOTEL DESTINO                B                                                                                            Brazil  France  Germany  Great Britain  (115 mi)  2024  d: Karim Aïnouz

Returning to Brazil in the post-Bolsonaro era after stints in Germany, Great Britain, and Algeria, queer Brazilian-Algerian director Karim Aïnouz drew inspiration for this film from a tradition of Brazilian cinema, the pornographic comedy (Pornochanchada), a very popular genre in the 70’s that had a distinct focus on the female anatomy, a lurid distraction from the brutal tactics of the oppressive Brazilian military dictatorship, giving rise to iconic actress Sônia Braga, who was the epitome of Brazilian films during the 70’s.  With films like Bruno Barreto’s sexually explicit yet comically lighthearted Doña Flor and Her Two Husbands (Doña Flor e Seus Dois Maridos) (1976), or Arnaldo Jabor’s I LOVE YOU (Eu Ye Amo) (1981), there were also the extremely popular Carlos Diegues films XICA (1976) and Bye Bye Brazil (Bye Bye Brasil) (1980), all films that rejoice in a liberated spirit while displaying a healthy attitude towards nudity and sex.  Working as assistant director to Todd Haynes in New York and Walter Salles in Rio de Janeiro, Aïnouz has made films with a distinct and innovative vision that transcends formal boundaries, where his first feature MADAME SATÃ (2002) was a trailblazing portrayal of a real-life black queer female impersonator and prolific street fighter, described by Film Quarterly as “a classic of queer cinema…well ahead of its time,” which was followed by The Silver Cliff (O Abismo Prateado) (2011), Futuro Beach (Praia do Futuro) (2014), and 2019 Top Ten List #4 Invisible Life (A Vida Invisível), works that range from experimental queer cinema to complex character studies and poetic explorations of family origins.  A Brazilian tropical neo-noir premiering at Cannes that’s defiantly sexy, sweaty, and dripping with spontaneous energy, this film recreates space in an innovative way, as the vibrantly seductive, neon-colored cinematography by Hélène Louvart, who has shot some of the more visually distinctive works, is nothing less than inspired, shot on 16mm and Super 8mm, making the stunning visuals the strongest asset of the film, creating a subterranean, crime-drenched atmosphere that seems to exist in its own lurid world, allowing viewers to bathe in the brightness of the oversaturated colors and lighting.  The sleazy sex motel setting of the film is like a central character, where the suffocating intimacy of desire is a prominent theme, questioning whether the marginalized characters are driven by their own circumstance or controlled by a fate they can’t escape, perhaps a reminder of the days of repression when people were forced to take refuge in the shadows of secretive places like this.

Written by Aïnouz with Wislan Esmeraldo and Mauricio Zacharias during the presidency of right-wing populist Jair Bolsonaro, this is set in Fortaleza, the site of Futuro Beach on the sunny ocean shores of Northeast Brazil, where hanging out at the beach is a foregone conclusion, as the blueness of the sea against the white sand always looks so inviting.  It’s there that we find beads of water and sweat glistening against the black skin of 21-year old Heraldo (Iago Xavier) and his older brother Jorge (Renan Capivara) frolicking in the waves, like little kids.  When Heraldo announces he wants to get out of town to look for work in São Paulo and start a new life, you might wonder why anyone would leave this idyllic paradise, but things are not what they seem, as the two brothers work for a crime boss Bambina (Fabiola Liper), who wants his debts paid before he leaves, so she orders them to pull off one last debt-collection job.  Seeking refuge in a local beach bar the night before, Heraldo finds himself charmed by a beautiful stranger (Isabela Catão), quickly making their way to a brightly-lit roadside sex motel, Motel Destino, that never closes and rents by the hour or even half-hour, only to discover he’s overslept (likely sedated) and been ripped off by the young woman, leaving him in a spot, scrambling to get to his brother, but he arrives too late, as Jorge was forced to carry off the job alone, leaving him shot and killed.  Having nowhere else to go, suddenly finding himself a fugitive needing to lay low for fear of retribution, he returns back to the Motel to hide out, curiously allowed entry by the owner’s wife Dayana (Nataly Rocha), who is intrigued to see him again after the desperate situation he found himself in earlier.  The volatile ex-cop owner Elias, (Fábio Assunção, a former soap opera heartthrob), finds work for him to do around the place, and the film essentially revolves around this single location, which is a seedy world of sex and pleasure, a sinner’s paradise, accompanied by huge amounts of alcohol consumption.  Heraldo proves himself a worthy handyman, easily fixing things that are broken, quickly gaining the confidence of Elias, with suggestions of homoeroticism.  One of the things that’s interesting is that the characters are dressed in little more than bathing suits for most of the film, implying comfort, ease, and relaxation, with plenty of nudity and sex, yet remains shrouded in moral ambiguity, where there’s also a relentless foreboding layer of danger that hovers over everything we see, with suspense building quietly, suggesting these seemingly disparate lives are somehow intertwined.

As if stuck in a state of inertia, where not much actually happens (viewers may drift off as well), a dangerous love triangle quickly escalates into an erotic thriller, yet this is mostly a lingering human relationships film that delves into the unsettling aspects of the characters, with Heraldo having a steamy affair with Dayana, who assumes the sultry Sônia Braga role, as we’re mostly confined to cramped quarters, long empty hallways or back rooms away from the prying eyes of Elias.  Perhaps it’s their situation of always living in the secrecy of isolation, where emotions are heightened, but a threatening danger is always hovering nearby, especially given the sexual voyeuristic effect of the Motel, with Elias frequently peering through the peepholes attached to each room, and the film’s abundant use of neon lights and surveillance footage, creating a saturated color palette, accompanied by the ambient sounds of moans and screams coming out of those rooms, along with an intentional use of outdoor animals who can also be seen fornicating.  The interior spaces of the Motel can be seen in quite literally a new light, where a sensory landscape blurs the boundaries between what’s real and imagined, as the film is primarily about depicting its characters’ insatiable desires, whether they be sexual or vengeful, with an electronic and techno-fused soundtrack composed by Amine Bouhafa and Benedikt Schiefer adding another layer of sensory overload.  Things quickly spill out of control when the oddly charismatic Elias celebrates his birthday with an alcohol-fused party sequence of the three of them together, but by then the frustrated Dayana has grown sick and tired of his violent and abusively domineering ways, pretending to placate his continually fluctuating moods by telling him what he wants to hear while secretly having eyes for Heraldo, both planning to escape together, where the dubious thought of killing Elias crosses their minds in an ode to Tay Garnett’s classic film noir The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946), but this plays out differently, more like a surrealistic dreamscape, spilling into a fever dream of emotional chaos and dread, where only fate can free them, building to a heavy synth-infused, strobe-aligned, electronic pulse rave conclusion with flashing lights that blast over the end credits.  One of the director’s comments was that this was specifically designed for the Cannes Film Festival theater screening, “It’s such a conservative space with people dressed up.  I wanted [the end credits] to burn down the Lumière!  There’s a sense of seriousness that’s so important to break.”

2019 Top Ten List #4 Invisible Life (A Vida Invisível)

Director Karim Aïnouz

Director Karim Aïnouz with Fernanda Montenegro

INVISIBLE LIFE (A Vida Invisível)                      A                    

(aka:  The Invisible Life Of Eurídice Gusmão)

Brazil  Germany  (139 mi)   2019 ‘Scope  d:  Karim Aïnouz                        

Aïnouz, who directed the unconventional MADAME SATÃ (2002) about the anguishing life of a drag queen which won the top prize at the Chicago Film Festival that year has also directed The Silver Cliff (O Abismo Prateado) (2011) and Futuro Beach (Praia do Futuro) (2014), all films expressing vividly detailed characterization and rich visualization, has made a period film set in the 50’s about the condition of women in a nation infested with sexist attitudes, using a classical style of filmmaking reminiscent of Italian films in the 50’s and 60’s, particularly the explosively powerful performances of Anna Magnani working with Rossellini, Visconti, or Pasolini in MAMMA ROMA (1962), which feels like fertile territory for this director.  Winner of Best Film from Un Certain Regard at Cannes, dubbed a “tropical melodrama,” this highly stylized film has a novelesque scope, like something akin to Fassbinder or Douglas Sirk, adapted from the 2015 novel by Martha Batalha entitled The Invisible Life Of Eurídice Gusmão, interweaving remarkable stories of quiet celebration that women lead away from men, whose cruel indifference and feeble narrow-mindedness has squashed any value or real meaning in their lives, relegated to a “history of invisibility.”  Given that Brazil is one of the countries in the world with the largest number of single mothers and crimes of violence against women, this film offers a particularly potent message to Brazilian women, which is exceedingly relevant now, given the ultra-racist, homophobic and misogynistic views of Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro.  Arguably the best Brazilian film seen in decades, ravishingly beautiful, literally saturated in the lush imagery of cinematographer Hélène Louvart with a positively elegant classical score from Benedikt Schiefer, along with luxurious piano passages from Liszt, Grieg, and Chopin.  The film opens in Rio de Janeiro, 1950, with such idealized hopes from inseparable sisters Eurídíce (Carol Duarte) age 18 and Guida (Julia Stockler) age 20, seen sitting by the shoreline on the edge of a tropical forest overlooking the bay.  Brimming with the confidence of having their whole lives in front of them, Guida races up the hill barefoot, rebellious and free, while Eurídíce trailing behind gets lost in the incredible sensuality of the setting.  Living in the comfortable home of their parents surrounded by tropical trees, with a strictly conservative father Antonio (António Fonseca) and quietly submissive mother Ana (Flávia Gusmão), Eurídíce dreams of becoming a conservatory-trained pianist in Europe while Guida dreams of love.  Their parents on the other hand dream of marrying them off as quickly as possible in order to alleviate expenses.  Their home life is busy yet happy, especially the thoroughly enchanting music Eurídíce plays on the piano, amusingly claiming she simply can’t make her hands stop to come to dinner.

Expanding the coming-of-age saga into more mature years, Guida sneaks out of the house to attend a party, meeting a Greek sailor that whisks her off her feet, eloping with him to Greece in grand style, discovering a cadre of women there just waiting for him, discovering only after she’s pregnant what a lying cheat he is, dropping everything and returning back to her home where her still irate father fumes with resentment, disclaiming her as a daughter before kicking her out of the house just moments after she arrives, sending her searching through the alleyways for shelter, but she’s an enterprising young woman, able to stand up to challenges, even the most difficult.  She begins writing letters to her sister, sent through her mother who she suspects will read them, hoping they find their way to Eurídíce who she’s been told is studying in Vienna at a music conservatory.  The letters are filled with effusive praise, but also an adoration for her absent sister who she longs to see again, not revealing much about her own life, just excited to reconnect with her younger sister.  The letters, a poetic device also used in Alice Walker’s The Color Purple, reveal interior territory for Guida, who continually gets no response, while the gorgeous piano playing heard throughout the film allows an interior pathway inside Eurídíce’s secret world, as she never left for Europe, instead performing the dutiful daughter routine, marrying a man suggested by her father, Antenor (Gregório Duvivier), the smug and excessively dull son of a business partner, much like her father, sacrificing her dreams for the good of the family, seen brutalized on her wedding night, which apparently gives her husband the legal right to violently rape her.  This kind of raw physicality is altogether missing in classic American melodrama.  Guida meanwhile is seen working the bars for tips and sexual favors, with both quickly getting pregnant.  While Eurídíce hopes it doesn’t interfere with practicing for her conservatory entrance examination, but it clearly does, forced to spend her time performing menial housework duties, cooking and cleaning up after others, leaving her little time of her own, quickly losing focus on the difficult Liszt rhapsodies she’s trying to learn, Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody no.2 P.1 - YouTube (4:11), played by Russian-American pianist Olga Kern, and Liszt Hungarian Rhapsody no. 2 P 2. (7:43).  Her career hopes shattered, caught in a loveless marriage, the future she envisioned is of little consequence to the two men that matter the most, her husband and her father, where her emotional connection to the piano means nothing whatsoever to either one of them.  Guida, meanwhile, has one of the most wrenching birth scenes imaginable, seen returning to the bar the very next day in one of the most remarkable transitions, an unforgettable scene that reminds us just how much women endure.  In a patriarchal society, the fate of both women has been decided by their father, a cruel man of no imagination, who only thinks of himself, caring nothing at all for the hopes and aspirations of his daughters.

Guida’s letters form the narrative centerpiece of the film, each one of them dated, forming a time line for viewers, perhaps growing more desperate over time, never once hearing a response, yet retaining her devotional love and admiration, if only to remind herself that her sister exists.  These letters are a crushing indication not only of what’s missing, but what’s been lost in their lives, as each has been led to believe by their father that the other is a huge success off in Europe somewhere and can’t be reached, even though they’re living in near proximation to one another.   A scathing critique on how men treat women, with both sisters forced to make decisions against their will, the lofty dreams at the outset have been reduced to the tiny spaces of their lives, with Guida inhabiting a backwater shack with an older women named Filomena (Bárbara Santos), living in a distant black and impoverished community, a sharp reminder of the racial class differences that still define Brazil, while Eurídíce, the victim of an arranged marriage, continues to slave away for her husband and child, neither of whom she asked for, eventually excelling in that sought-after conservatory entrance exam, even though it no longer matters, never receiving an ounce of support from her husband, whose response to her success is to grow angry and enraged, yet it’s a rare personal moment to treasure, triumphantly expressed by the music of Chopin, Chopin-Etude no. 9 in F minor, Op. 10 no. 9 - YouTube  (2:05).  Undiminished by the stifling male repression surrounding them, the spirited independence of both woman is relentlessly on display from the outset, their bond unbroken, enveloped by a deep love and respect, even from afar, with both women exuding strength in the face of weakness.  The actresses are remarkably assured in their roles, as are the secondary characters in this densely plotted, almost dreamlike narrative that continually offers its share of surprises.  Metaphorically speaking, this Eurídíce of the Greek myths, who never found her Orpheus (though it’s clearly in the music she loves), remains locked inside a hellish purgatory forever, with music providing no means of escape.  Guida does develop a profound sisterly relationship with her friend Filomena, who was there when all others abandoned her, writing in one of her many letters that “Filomena is my mother, my father and also my sister,” leading to a curious family encounter, a near-miss occurring on Christmas Eve, the time families spend together, where Guida and Filomena are barred from entering a posh restaurant, yet they briefly enter anyway at the same time Eurídíce is there with her father, but in the rest room, with their two children mingling in the center, mesmerized by a giant fish aquarium before exiting, a beautifully observed scene with haunting significance.  The film jumps ahead 60-years to a final coda, with Eurídíce transformed into the great Brazilian acting legend Fernanda Montenegro at 89-years of age, alone in her thoughts, surrounded by family and friends, becoming a heartbreaking sequence with a cleverly seductive finale that thoroughly encapsulates the depth of discovery in this extraordinary film.