2025 Top Ten List #8 Grand Tour

 

Director Miguel Gomes

Gomes with the Best Director Award at Cannes

Gomes with his lead cast

GRAND TOUR                     A-                                                                                            Portugal,  Italy  France  Germany  Japan  China  (124 mi)  2024  d: Miguel Gomes

Abandon yourself to the world and you’ll see how it rewards you.                                             —Japanese monk

Winner of Best Director at the Cannes Film Festival of 2024, while also listed at #1 of best films of the year by La Internacional Cinéfila Poll: Best Movies of 2024, and #2 by Cult MTL: Justine Smith: The Best Films of 2024, this well-regarded, thought-provoking film is a loose adaptation of W. Somerset Maugham’s 1930 published travelogue, Gentleman in the Parlour:  A Record of a Journey from Rangoon to Haiphong (which may be read in its entirety here: The Gentleman in the Parlour. A Record of a Journey from ...), taking him from Burma through Thailand and Cambodia to Vietnam, traveling by train, riverboat, or by mule through the mountains.  Chapter Six (just two or three pages) recounts the story of a man who decides to escape his impending marriage after they had been engaged for 7 years, taking him across Asia as he tries to escape.  While Maugham is not exactly a household name anymore, he’s a quintessentially British writer.  Filtering his vision through an experimental Portuguese arthouse director may not be the perfect match, and yet it is.  Gomes creates a unique, yet exhilarating experience, cowritten with his wife and creative partner Maureen Fazendeiro, as well as Mariana Ricardo, and co-editor Telmo Churro, billed in the credits as the “Central Committee,” introducing a love story of Edward (Gonçalo Waddington), a somewhat shy and reserved colonial British civil servant stationed in Burma who at the last minute decides to escape from his fiancée, Molly (Crista Alfaiate), on the eve of her ship’s arrival from London, set against the historical backdrop of the collapse of the British Empire in the early 20th century.  Among the more mysterious aspects is the continually changing voice of the narrators, both male and female, with a different language coming from each new country visited, while equally mystifying is Gomes having his lead English protagonists speak Portuguese.  Starting in Rangoon, Burma in 1918, the Asian grand tour was a popular travel excursion by many well-to-do European travelers at the start of the 20th century, some of them writing books about the experience, where it is like venturing into a new world as they travel through various Asian locations, including Burma (Myanmar), Siam (Thailand), Vietnam, the Philippines, China, Japan, and Singapore.  What sounds like a humorous film that Wes Anderson would make, with his whimsical idiosyncrasy and darkly satiric edge, nothing sounds more British than an eclectic boating song featured in Charles Crichton’s classic Ealing Studio comedy THE LAVENDER HILL MOB (1951), Eton College Musical Society - Eton Boating Song YouTube (3:26), which might feel more at home in a Monty Python skit, but this becomes more of an exotic experience into the unknown, something along the lines of Marlene Dietrich in Josef von Sternberg’s Shanghai Express (1932), or before that Ilya Trauberg’s silent film China Express (Goluboy ekspress) (1929).  Gomes, one of the more inventive directors working today, is best known for making the positively enchanting 2013 Top Ten List #4 Tabu (2012) and the backwards cinematic experiment shot during lockdown, The Tsugua Diaries (Diários de Otsoga) (2021), while we’ll pass over his grim, densely constructed 6-hour epic ARABIAN NIGHTS (2015), a confounding, indulgent, and bewildering exploration in three parts of Portugal’s economic crisis that was simply a chore to sit through, inducing plenty of walk outs, including my own.  This is a return to the miraculous heights he achieved with TABU, like a spiritual sequel.  What that film was to Africa, this is to Southeast Asia, a venture into faraway lands that is unlike anything we’ve seen in years, where there’s an anachronistic quality to the film, with homages to early black-and-white studio movies, and a novel use of interwoven documentary material from the present, yet it doesn’t necessarily have to make sense, as it’s all seeped in a spectacular visual aesthetic that is just fun to watch, revealing what’s possible when cinema is freed from the shackles of a story.

Gomes discovered the Maugham travelogue on the eve of his own marriage, where the newlyweds decided to follow the route of the grand tour themselves before writing the script, filming documentary style as they went with a 16mm camera shooting present day footage that would become the background of the film, a five-week trip that was cut short by the Covid pandemic, forcing them to return before completing their journey, where it all plays out like an exotic dreamscape, where the merging of dreams into ordinary existence becomes a prominent aspect of what films can do, as Gomes seems to specialize in this kind of otherworldy landscape.  What takes us by surprise is the overall style of the film, where the continual use of different narrators adds an alienating sense of detachment, as if reading a book, fueled by the magisterial imagery captured onscreen by three different cinematographers working with 16mm, Thai Sayombhu Mukdeeprom, who has worked with Luca Guadagnino and Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Portuguese Rui Poças, who has worked with Lucrecia Martel and João Pedro Rodrigues, and Chinese newcomer Guo Liang.  The brightly colored opening sequence is set in the present as we witness the whirl of a hand-operated ferris wheel, with several acrobatic carnival workers climbing up to the top hanging precariously on edge while avoiding the rhythmic motion that potentially engulfs them, while some daredevil has the nerve to swoop under the carriage at its lowest point as if playing limbo before it rises again, one after another, with perfect timing, where his dexterity is simply phenomenal, yet the first thing we notice is that the narration does not match the images, seemingly having a life of its own, suggesting we’re in for a ride.  Shifting to free-flowing, dancing puppets on strings, each one connected to a human figure who is kept in the dark behind the screen, yet we’re privy to see, while the sound of pulsating drums conjures up moments of pure ecstacy.  In a switch to black and white, like documentary footage, we’re suddenly jettisoned back into the past as workers walk precariously on overhead telephone pole power lines like tightrope walkers as they diligently work on repairs.  At some point, we catch up to the narration with a debonair, white-suited Edward waiting at a Mandalay railway station holding a bouquet of flowers awaiting the arrival of his fiancée, but by then we realize how out of sync we are, like a series of kaleidoscopic images that continually changes shapes before our eyes, all of which suggests the infinite power of illusion.  Suddenly, without a word of explanation, Edward impulsively flees the scene, giving the flowers away before stowing away on a steamship, then hopping a train that strangely derails in the jungle, 'Grand Tour' - Miguel Gomes - Clip 1 - Cannes Film Festival YouTube (53 seconds), the first of many stops in his meandering odyssey through Southeast Asia, a continent still unknown to Europeans.  At first motivated by sheer panic, his mood changes over time, evolving into melancholic reflections, as if contemplating the anguished emptiness of his existence.  It’s all a bit discombobulated and hard to follow, like sequences told out of time, as if we’re watching an ever-shifting magic show, with exalted images that linger in the mind, but these few short scenes reveal both an excitement and a wondrous beauty in the art of cinema.  Recalling the first Claire Denis film, Chocolat (1988), often blurring the lines between dreams and reality in its blistering examination of colonialism, while also reminiscent of Chris Marker’s Sans Soleil (1982), finding ourselves somewhere between an experimental travelogue and a stream-of-consciousness montage, Gomes has created an abstract homage to cinema itself, making this as rewarding and breathtaking as they come.  The set pieces of distinct locations were shot on soundstages in Lisbon and Rome, given such a recognizable look of artificiality that Gomes ends his film with a shot of the crew concluding their work. 

What follows is like assembling a jigsaw puzzle, a kaleidoscopic collage of different languages and cultures, a blend of the past and the present, where recognizable characters come into view, two figures chasing each other through time, where their grand tour comes to symbolize broader themes of identity and purpose, and how easily change affects culture, time and space, and our understanding of history, but we’re guided by spontaneous trips to ticket offices, as Edward always wants to stay one step ahead of the jilted bride who is tailing him.  She only comes into play at the midway point, as the story shifts from Edward’s intensely brooding runaway groom perspective to that of his determined and modern bride Molly, who has a ferociously stubborn independent streak of her own, and a silly, somewhat grotesque laugh, not necessarily unhappy with the turn of events, which may seem surprising, as she’s open to the idea of playing this cat and mouse game, traipsing through various hotels, jungles, and temples, traveling on trains and boats, seemingly amused by his attempted escape, always sending telegrams ahead of her impending arrivals, absolutely certain it will all come together in the end.  Viewers, however, are not so sure, as what initially feels playful turns ever more dour, as if these characters are lost in their own self-inflicted abyss, mirrored by the last vestiges of the British empire, where the end is inevitable.  As Horace Seagrave (João Pedro Bénard), an opium-loving British consul in China says in the film, “We will leave without having understood a thing.”  That is ultimately where we find ourselves, where each adventure has a timeless quality, like a self-contained encounter, or like a mosaic in a larger puzzle, reflecting the vastly unexplored existential terrain that offers a ponderous and contemplative perspective, GRAND TOUR de Miguel Gomes (2024) – clip 3 YouTube (36 seconds).  There are scenes where people are speaking in foreign languages with no subtitles, as the characters themselves are equally clueless about what they’re saying, which mirrors what one of the characters says, “Asian culture can never be understood by the white man.”  Along the way, Molly meets a ridiculously wealthy American cattle baron, Timothy Sanders (Cláudio da Silva), who, after hearing her story, actually proposes to her, but she expresses no interest, yet after a health scare he does offer help in the form of his Vietnamese maid, Ngoc (Lang Khê Tran), who nurses her back to health, and in the process Ngoc becomes a trusted friend.  Much of what this film is about is something we cannot see, but exists only internally, like a yearning for freedom, or a deep sense of belonging, where there’s a Westernized romanticization of the colonial era, but also a critique, with signs of disintegrating cracks and limitations, as there’s an unbridgeable gap between the various cultures, just as there may be in this seemingly impossible romance, yet the magic of cinema, along with other forms of art, can bridge these gaps, creating a dialectic between cinema and reality, offering a window into a world we don’t normally see.  There is something that approaches the rapturous joy reflected in Richard Halliburton’s extremely popular travel memoir The Royal Road to Romance, first published in 1925, a Princeton grad who circumnavigated the globe with almost no money, traveling through the Khyber Pass, sailing on the Nile, swimming the Panama Canal, climbing the Matterhorn, sneaking into the Taj Mahal at night, or flying to Timbuktu, always in pursuit of the adventure of a lifetime, where one can only sit back and wonder what a long strange trip it’s been.  This film has a killer ending, one of the best seen in a while, with a musical cue that in the midst of tragedy just generates a smile, where one of the more outstanding aspects of the film is the prevailing use of absurd humor, and while there are grim aspects, this is far and away the filmmaker’s funniest film, one that delights in subverting audience expectations.  

Miguel Gomes on Grand Tour | NYFF62  Film at Lincoln Center artistic director Dennis Lim interviews Gomes following a screening, YouTube (20:55)

The Tsugua Diaries (Diários de Otsoga)

Miguel Gomes and Maureen Fazendeiro

THE TSUGUA DIARIES (Diários de Otsoga)                     B+                                           Portugal  France  (102 mi)  2021  d: Miguel Gomes and Maureen Fazendeiro

Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came.  If the village had been beautiful at first it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness.  The great trees, which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months, had now burst into strong life and health; and stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground, converted open and naked spots into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleasant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped in sunshine, which lay stretched beyond.

—Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist, 1837

Something different from the director of 2013 Top Ten List #4 Tabu (2012), lighter and funnier since the grim, densely constructed 6-hour epic ARABIAN NIGHTS (2015), a confounding and bewildering exploration in three parts of the economic malaise in Portugal following a series of government austerity measures.  Perhaps reflecting the fact he’s gotten married since then, meeting French documentarist Maureen Fazendeiro while making ARABIAN NIGHTS (2015), proposing during the after-party, and together they bring a brighter and sunnier spirit to this film.  Poking fun at the Covid restrictions, when the entire world shut down in quarantine, a time when vaccines were still months away, when making a film is impossible, so instead they discover a mythical place at a large farmhouse in Sintra, tucked in a beautifully forested terrain in the foothills of Portugal’s Sintra Mountains, near the capital of Lisbon.  Living together in a family home owned by one of the producer’s uncle, with a small cast of two men and a woman, along with a skeleton film crew that also includes two very visible cooks (Isabel Cardoso and Adilsa), this is a film where Todd Haynes’ Safe (1995) meets Fassbinder’s BEWARE OF A HOLY WHORE (1971), guided by the Portuguese Film Authority’s meticulously detailed Coronavirus health and safety guidelines, as the Covid lockdown intersects with the behind-the-scenes making of the movie, blurring indoor and outdoor settings, filmed over two months during the summer of 2020, premiering at Director’s Fortnight at Cannes 2021.  Given a day-to-day diary format, a series of small vignettes are told in reverse order, moving backwards in time, ending as the film begins, where only in retrospect does the movie acquire sense, bookended by scenes of dancing to the music of Franki Valli and the Four Seasons singing The Night, DIÁRIOS DE OTSOGA de Maureen Fazendeiro e Miguel Gomes [ excerto ] YouTube (1:34), a song from 1972 during a commercially unsuccessful reunion period, more popular years later in Great Britain as part of a soul music revival, yet offering a celebratory mood, despite the Covid shutdown.  Given a JULES AND JIM (1962) format, with Crista Alfaiate in the Jeanne Moreau role, surrounded by two men, the handsome yet egotistical Carloto Cotta, the matinee idol from TABU (2012), always viewing himself as the center of the universe, not particularly concerned about anyone else, and the younger, more sensitive João Nunes Monteiro, with Carloto catching a glimpse of Crista and João making out in an early scene, quickly growing jealous, yet both men exchange roles for Crista’s affections (her actual boyfriend shows up near the end), though the true main character may actually be the summer sun beaming down on everything we see, bringing warmth and brightness to a tree-lined foliage of palm trees and lush greenery that recalls the tropics, especially the random sounds of birdcalls and cicadas mixed into the everyday routine, where, except for one infamous incident, no one ever strays very far, instead finding themselves languishing in a sun-drenched summer paradise, recalling Éric Rohmer’s A Summer's Tale (Conte d'été) (1996).  But in the opening dance sequences, what immediately catches our eye is the continually changing color scheme that acts as a backdrop to what we see, artificially colored light that stands in stark contrast to the natural sunlight, discovering a place where fiction and reality intermingle.  Written in collaboration with the husband and wife team along with writer and actress Mariana Ricardo, listed in the closing credits as the “Central Committee,” sumptuously shot on 16mm by Mário Castanheira, who also shot the first volume of ARABIAN NIGHTS (2015), what immediately stands out is the sound design by sound editor Miguel Martins and sound recordist Vasco Pimentel (who gets into a ridiculous squabble on camera), with a guitar-infused musical accompaniment from Portuguese guitarist Norberto Lobo that is nothing less than superb, Norberto Lobo - Legionella - YouTube (3:35).  

Set in the countryside, a variety of dogs provide not only companionship to the motley crew, but energy as they frantically run around the premises, dashing this way and that, feeding off the liberating experience of having so much expansive ground to cover, seemingly with no restrictions, providing a contrast to the overtly oppressive restrictions inflicted upon humans, yet these dogs inevitably appear in nearly every shot, basically scene stealers at heart.  Overall there is plenty of spare time, seemingly with little or nothing to do, including a random shot of Crista watering plants inside a greenhouse, yet its shot in extreme close-up, exhibiting the fullness of nature, preferring visual texture to an overall view that reveals she’s actually stuck in a cage.  Then over the course of several days we see them construct a butterfly house, a small yet meticulously constructed project that requires cooperation, as they patiently and often wordlessly work together, where they may argue over the best way to proceed, not wanting sloppy workmanship, but the backwards storyline becomes evident in this building design, with title cards revealing each passing day, where one of the recurring themes is watching a decaying quince slowly return to being ripe again.  The setting, beneath the sumptuous green canopy of trees, offers them a natural habitat, even allowing open access to the sky, so their daily cycle would coincide with each day’s sunrise and nightfall, yet interjected in-between are scenes of the actors have difficulty sleeping, apparently pestered by mosquitos, as the bedroom windows are wide open, where Carloto eventually takes shelter on a bench in the newly constructed butterfly house.  The changing color filters make these bedrooms look like they’re being viewed through infrared illumination of night vision.   Like a film-within-a film, their living quarters are also part of the movie set, where one of the defining features of a movie set is overwhelming tedium and boredom, as you can sit around for hours waiting for the proper conditions to shoot, where we see different actors rehearsing the exact same lines as one scene bleeds into the next, a peculiar, non-natural technique that initially seems confusing, while we also see a silly argument with one of the cooks over breakfast about the proper way to cut an onion, or posing the question whether they should all eat individually or collectively, where viewers are besieged by a consuming air of banality.  There’s a strange and mysterious juxtaposition between solitary moments and collective gatherings, where easily the most joyful moments happen with others, sharing special moments, perhaps a commentary on what we are all missing most during the pandemic.  We find the three actors swimming in a pool, apparently cooling down under the hot sun, but Carloto suggests they get naked, pulling off his trunks and swimming over to the others, which João finds particularly obnoxious, placing unnecessary pressure on them to conform to Carloto’s wishes, which they have no desire to do, eventually driving them out of the pool altogether.  They are also seen cleaning out a contaminated swimming pool filled with the putrid smells of standing water, draining the polluted water, spending a lot of effort bailing out the last bit on the bottom, while a jet-cleaning spray device helps eliminate the remaining bacteria.  It takes quite an effort to make the pool usable, with several others joining in to help, where a spontaneous idea to clean the pool seemingly springs out of nowhere, as this would never have been written in any original script.  The director himself, along with screenwriter Mariana Ricardo, sits with his three actors discussing the film, where the lack of definition is concerning, yet perfectly captures the uncertainty of the times, with the actors questioning what they are supposed to do without specific guidelines of direction, leaving them in creative limbo, as the film may actually suggest they are playing themselves as opposed to playing a character onscreen, The Tsugua Diaries Excerpt | SGIFF 2021 YouTube (2:50).  Since the story is told backwards, where “Tsugua” is a backwards spelling of “August,” there is no place for character development, becoming more about performing routine tasks around the farmhouse, where they have tremendous freedom each day about what they can choose to do, given complete autonomy, discovering the theory and practice of filmmaking have become one and the same.  While Crista is seriously earnest, Carloto stuffs himself with snacks, showing no real interest, while João is apparently suffering from a toothache.   

When João is alone in his room at night, we see him writing a letter that he reads out loud, which is the only reference to this farmhouse setting, suggesting they are stuck over a prolonged period of time, with echoes of loneliness, like being stuck in a cage, but they’re making the best of it.  As the film evolves over time, a wryly clever and mischievous backdrop to the storyline is filled in, becoming more absurdly funny as the film develops.  A delivery man in a mask provides a clue, but the first real sign of Covid is another meeting of the actors with some of the crew where Crista is incensed that Carloto ventured into an unannounced visit to a nearby beach to go surfing, a selfish act blatantly violating the health and safety protocol, as it could have ominous implications for the rest of them, concerns he quickly dismisses (mirroring exactly what is happening around the globe), yet she is particularly upset, as she has a kissing scene with him, wondering if perhaps they can rewrite that scene (which explains the kiss with João instead).  While Covid is never mentioned, those of us familiar with the social distancing recommendations immediately connect, with many finally seen wearing masks.  Maureen happens to be near the end of her pregnancy in this movie, offering the serious news that her doctor recommends she stay off her feet as much as possible, as the birth may be premature, so we hear her voice on a walkie-talkie device at one of those meetings, appearing virtually while watching on a video monitor.  The film is dedicated to their daughter Helena, as her birth is the culmination of this highly unusual film collaboration, where for her this film may play out like a home movie.  Bickering about emails or improvements in the daily breakfast menu, the behind-the-scenes aspect of filmmaking offers insight into the group collective, as everyone’s voice has a chance to be heard, with the director acting as a mediating force as he continually challenges his cast and crew to the tasks at hand, suggesting he’s pleased with the overall result.  Very late in the film there’s a wonderful scene of the director and his wife walking off into the distance, as she describes a book by Italian novelist Cesare Pavese that she’s been re-reading (The Devil in the Hills, 1948, though never mentioned), discovered initially about ten years ago when she was working in France, recalling a storyline of two men and one woman on summer vacation in the countryside of the villages of Piedmont, not really doing much of anything, where much of the story consists of doing nothing.  The leisurely idleness of the opening soon grows into tension and jealousy, giving way to a random mix of chaos and tedium, including a technician complaining Carloto is wearing his socks without permission, where people are continually at odds about how to proceed, basically questioning how to live during times of Covid.  Among the more gorgeous shots are the three of them watching the stars though a telescope, with close-ups of constellations and what appears to be shooting stars, while another is a random discovery of a tractor, with the director wanting to make use of it, not for any specific reason except he happens to love tractors, hoping one of his actors will know how to drive it, an idea his wife immediately discounts as stupid.  When Crista pulls out driving the tractor, it defies the male stereotype of boys being mechanically inclined, knowing how to fix cars and things, setting a new standard of unfilled potential for women, as she seems to be having a blast driving the thing around (with the director ecstatically riding in the back, of course), beautifully expressed in a slow-motion joyride, THE TSUGUA DIARIES clip | BFI London Film Festival 2021 YouTube (1:41), amusingly shot on the sly while his wife was away seeing her doctor, becoming a picturesque journey through the countryside, reminiscent of the pastoral beauty in Bertrand Tavernier’s A SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY (1984).  Yet when we see a man in a hazmat suit and protective face guard reading the riot act in an official proclamation of strict quarantine regulations to the cast and crew, recommending color-coded cloths for cleaning different surfaces, for instance, it resembles a Monty Python comedy skit, as no one really pays him any mind, tuning him out completely, yet the impact of his public decree is a chilling reminder of the message heard round the world.  The whimsical nature of what’s shown in this film provides an unexpected respite during Covid lockdowns, becoming uniquely innovative, delightfully charming and often hilarious, showing a playfulness that can be infectious.      

Miguel Gomes and Maureen Fazendeiro on The Tsugua Diaries | NYFF59  YouTube (24:52)