Presented in competition at the Venice Film Festival 2022, Bardo, or false crónica de unas cuantas verdades it is an immersion of almost three hours in the overflowing poetics of Alejandro González Iñárritu, here suspended halfway between immoderate and engulfing Fellinisms and Sorrentinisms. Comedy, drama, reality, dream, personal and artistic-intellectual history, Mexico and the United States, life and death, sex and fatherly love and all that follows. Much, too much.
Tu vuò fa ‘or Fellini
The intimate and moving journey of Silverio, a well-known Mexican journalist and documentary maker who lives in Los Angeles. The man, after having received a prestigious international recognition, is forced to return to his native country, unaware that this simple journey will push him towards a profound existential crisis. The madness of her memories and his fears manage to pierce the present, filling her days with a sense of bewilderment and amazement. Amidst emotions and abundant laughter, Silverio struggles to find answers to universal yet intimate questions regarding his identity, success, the fragility of life, the history of Mexico and the deep emotional bonds he shares with his wife and children. In short, what it means to be human in these very special times … [sinossi – labiennale.org]
Alejandro Gonzalez Iñarritu’s talent and remarkable technical-artistic expertise are undeniable, but we already knew it widely. Beyond the overall judgments on the works, films like Birdman (or The Unpredictable Virtue of Ignorance) And Revenant – Revenant in fact show off an unusual, complex, perfect staging, ecstatic. A staging that, even with Bardo, or false crónica de unas cuantas verdades, however, continues to seem suffocating, almost an act of self-cannibalism. There is always something too much in Iñarritu’s cinema, so perfectly smooth, so demonstrative, so distracted on the narrative level. An accumulation that tends to annihilation.
Born in Mexico City in 1963, the same year as 8½Iñarritu probably could only end up confronting the very high Fellini rod, with that irresistible temptation that seduces the directors of talent. Fellinisms, but also an inevitable party with Sorrentinian reflections, in an intertwining of poetics that are difficult to keep at bay.
Polished with extreme care, never able to dig under the seductive surface, Bardo, or false crónica de unas cuantas verdades consciously plays all possible cards, from the reflection on success and prizes to the history of Mexico, from the relationship with the United States of the author and his homeland to the life / death binomial, from the family to grotesque parentheses, to dreamlike, spiritual drifts, to narrative plots, to circularity. A lot, yet everything constantly seems a mere exercise in style that misses the appointment with Fellini, but also with Sorrentino – if only the directors with Fellini dreamlike etc. aspirations were confronted with the episode Bitter honey (The Sting, 2003) of the series Futurama…
Strictly Netflix, a lush display of authorial ambition, Bardo, or false crónica de unas cuantas verdades it is a (self) promotional operation, a medal to be affixed to the chest of the platform – thanks, first of all, to the partnership with the Venice Film Festival, which unlike Cannes immediately jumped on this wagon, perhaps a winner, perhaps losing and harmful. It has this annoying self-promotional taste even if compared to its author, who sews himself on Silverio’s wanderings, analyzing, defending himself, absolving himself: from the bond with the Yankees to the prizes, from immoderate intellectualism to an alleged creative / narrative freedom, everything brings us back to an all too easy parallel and which, precisely in its making and showing itself, brings us back to the useless habits (for us) of Birdman or Revenant. The river duration itself, after all, seems more a limitation than a real necessity.
Hernán Cortés and the predictable circularity, the fish (not flying) and the dimensional intertwining (with visual solutions that limp in front of the wonders of Satoshi Kon or, to stay in the live cinema, of the latest work by Park Chan-wook), despite the flawless packaging, they are ideas and intuitions piled up, suspended in a limbo that looks to auteur cinema and entertainment cinema, missing the appointment with both. Iñárritu’s cinema, smooth and fascinating, continues to be sterile. Perfect perhaps for today’s awards, less so for tomorrow’s history.
Info
The Bardo card (or falsa crónica de unas cuantas verdades) on the site of the Biennale.