Eureka

The movie starts off black and white with Viggo Mortensen dropped off in the middle of the Extremely Wild West by a sulky lady on a cart delivering a child's coffin. Little do we know we are at the beginning of a hypnotic trip full of enigmas and feathers, where at one moment everything feels very real and fleshy to say the least, and at next, a huge red-necked stork appears and transfers us back in time again, to a Brazilian selva, where we're listening to yellow-armed dreams. Gold will be washed and the bird will return making someone else disappear. Eureka!

Knives and guns, basketballs, police codes, a magic potion, heavy snow, wild waterfalls: all of those tell us a mystic never-ending story of America's indigenous population, ignoring the notion of time, structure or shape.

Eureka

Three stories, three periods, three treatments. All connected by a blurred frontier between life and death.

A gritty black and white western condensing most of the usual tropes of the genre in a badass and powerful first part.

A clever transition to a more naturalistic Fargo-like main part where we follow a police officer played by (very believable because she's an actual police officer) Alaina Clifford. She's on duty at night in the freezing cold of Pine Ridge Reservation South Dakota dealing with a native population struggling with poverty and slow suppression.

Alaina's character niece, a young basketball trainer played by very talented and poignant Sadie LaPointe will lead us to a third part through a more symbolic and spiritual treatment.

Like the first two, the third act is also treating the theme of colonial oppression on a native population. This time in the 70s somewhere in Brazil (and/or different locations?) following a young man who has to leave his village and work with gold prospectors.

This is unconventional storytelling, sometimes pushing the shot economy to the limit of bearable, working partially with non actors, improvising a lot, leaving open questions and resolutions.

This can be frustrating or confusing. But there's definitely beauty, spiritual elevation and powerful images in this cinema, which is in my opinion precisely made to be experienced in cinemas.

Greetings again from the darkness. Part of my attraction to arthouse films is the often-unconventional path to storytelling that the filmmakers take - sometimes expending more effort on the look and style than on the characters and plot. These films once only had life in film festivals, and today many also carry on in the streaming revolution. I'll go ahead and admit upfront that this latest from Argentinian filmmaker Lisandro Alonso (JUAJA, 2014) and co-writers Martin Caamano and Fabian Casas is a bit esoteric for my tastes ... although it looks beautiful.

There are three pieces to Alonso's film (a triptych) and they are not connected by character or location or time, but rather by spirit and the journey of indigenous people. The opening segment plays like a traditional western (filmed in black and white) with Murphy (Viggo Mortensen) searching for his daughter who has been taken by an outlaw. After catching a wagon ride from a nun in tattered habit, Murphy deals with the town's lady boss (Chiani Mastroianni). The segment ends abruptly, and we find ourselves in modern day with Alaina (Alaina Clifford) and her niece Sadie (Sadie LaPointe). Alaina is a Sioux reservation policewoman in South Dakota and Sadie is an upbeat basketball coach at the local high school. We ride along with Alaina on her frustrating evening route, and Sadie visits her brother in jail, and makes a final call on her grandfather. A giant pelican-type bird then takes us back a few decades to a South American jungle for the final segment. A ragtag gold prospecting crew is made up of locals trying to get rich and those trying to take advantage.

No more should (or even can) be told about these three segments, and filmmaker Alonso purposefully leaves any message up to individual viewers' perspective and interpretation. Most will agree that each segment is beautifully filmed and acted, even if a traditional story is nowhere to be found.

In limited theaters on September 20, 2024.

I love slow film- but this film is pretentiously long with nothing to say. It's like the director watched Kelly Reichardt's Certain Women and wanted to recreate the temperament but didn't know why. The direction is quite weak, all actors don't seem to feel much of anything when they speak their lines. They don't seem to mean anything. The annunciation seems to always be at the wrong parts of the words, might be a non native English director thing?

146 characters to go. I don't have much else to say. Just disappointed something like this can be accepted into Cannes. Maybe because of indigenous people and first time actors and Viggo and nice glass behind the camera? I can't think of other reasons why.

A new film by critically acclaimed Argentinian director Lisandro Alonso portrays a transcendental reverie divided into 4 separate pieces that shifts between time and space. A long awaited comeback from the author who had been silent for nearly 10 years since his last aesthetically crafted - Jauja.

It starts right off the bat with a middle-aged cowboy who is off to find his stolen daughter. As it usually occurs with Alonso, he is not genuinely bothered about present tense on screen. For the first half an hour, it narrates a standard black and white western story of a main hero (Viggo Mortensen) wandering around a Wild West town seeking his daughter. A sophistically portrayed picture conveys and transcends viewers into the cowboys and Indians old fantasy world where drinking and prostitutes fill up pretty much the whole space.

Out of blue story twists and pushes us into a modern life stance where a Latin female lieutenant patrolling night streets of a small U. S. reservation while her niece reunites with her grandfather. With a pelican flap of wings, it slowly but irrevocably flies us into rainforest jungles where locals struggle with life. The action slowly flows through visually aesthetic references to Tarkovsky and silent, almost motionless Bresson shades. It is also worth mentioning how casually Lisandro intertwines the same actors playing different characters and archetypes as the film shifts gears.

Overall, Alonso nearly three-hour-long odyssey is arguably the most exciting and soothing ciné experience of the passing season.