Director: Miguel Gomes
Writers: Miguel Gomes, Mariana Ricardo
Photography: Rui Pocas
Music: Les Surfs, Mickey Gilley, Ramones
Editors: Telmo Churro, Miguel Gomes
Cast: Teresa Madruga, Ana Moreira, Laura Soveral, Isabel Cardoso, Ivo Muller, Carloto Cotta, Henrique Espirito Santo, Miguel Gomes, Telmo Churro, Maya Kosa
I have to admit I have never entirely seen the connection (or perhaps the point of the connection) between this 21st-century Tabu by Portuguese director and cowriter Miguel Gomes and the 1931 “docufiction” by director and cowriter F.W. Murnau with producer and cowriter Robert Flaherty, Tabu: A Story of the South Seas. Yes, there is the seemingly unusual spelling of the title and, yes, some incidental or metaphorical (but not primary or straightforward) concerns with colonialism. Black and white was still the only way to make a movie in 1931 but Gomes also chose to shoot his Tabu that way, in silvery tones that look far more polished and nuanced.
Looking at these two movies more closely together in recent days I see there is an interesting inversion in the structures. Both are divided into halves, with two parts labeled “Paradise” and “Paradise Lost,” but the order is reversed. Gomes starts his Tabu with the latter, “Paradise Lost,” and then presents a flashback or memory sequence of better times in the second half. And both movies, obviously, involve certain degrees of flouting norms. In the 1931 picture these norms come from native superstitions whereas in the Gomes it’s more a matter of conventional adultery. Taboos are certainly a primary theme in both. More than that, however, let alone why, I have a hard time seeing.
I have to admit I have never entirely seen the connection (or perhaps the point of the connection) between this 21st-century Tabu by Portuguese director and cowriter Miguel Gomes and the 1931 “docufiction” by director and cowriter F.W. Murnau with producer and cowriter Robert Flaherty, Tabu: A Story of the South Seas. Yes, there is the seemingly unusual spelling of the title and, yes, some incidental or metaphorical (but not primary or straightforward) concerns with colonialism. Black and white was still the only way to make a movie in 1931 but Gomes also chose to shoot his Tabu that way, in silvery tones that look far more polished and nuanced.
Looking at these two movies more closely together in recent days I see there is an interesting inversion in the structures. Both are divided into halves, with two parts labeled “Paradise” and “Paradise Lost,” but the order is reversed. Gomes starts his Tabu with the latter, “Paradise Lost,” and then presents a flashback or memory sequence of better times in the second half. And both movies, obviously, involve certain degrees of flouting norms. In the 1931 picture these norms come from native superstitions whereas in the Gomes it’s more a matter of conventional adultery. Taboos are certainly a primary theme in both. More than that, however, let alone why, I have a hard time seeing.
To me, the newer Tabu fits better with at least two other movies from 2012, Cloud Atlas and Holy Motors. It seemed to be a popular time for these kinds of wallowing exercises—I think there may be more I can’t remember at the moment—which still strike me as indulgent and arty to a fault. They have their virtues. They look good, come with interesting performances and fun musical interludes, and they almost add up. But in the end I can’t get past any of their mystifying obscure narrative approaches and general auras of pretension.
Tabu confronts us first with a strange story about an old woman, Aurora (Laura Soveral), who intimates she is controlled by the mysterious voodoo-like powers of her housekeeper, Santa (Isabel Cardoso). More likely she is addled, but Santa does indeed seem a little sinister and malevolent. On Santa’s part, that could just as easily stem from her responsibility for minding Aurora, who sneaks away when she can, pawns her valuables, and loses all the money until it’s gone. Apparently she does it a lot, which would put anyone responsible for her in a bad mood. A neighbor, Pilar (Teresa Madruga), is also involved as a kind of witnessing figure. Some aspects of her life are explored too as we go along.
The setting in the first half is explicitly Lisbon, which makes sense—Gomes is Portuguese and Portugal was once an early and significant colonial power. But it also feels like it’s supposed to be more significant than it is and is undercut by a sense of being played as merely quirky, with for example a young Polish woman speaking stilted English for comic relief.
In the second half, “Paradise,” we get Aurora’s backstory from when she was living in 1960s Portuguese Africa (the colonial note) with her white husband who operates a tea plantation at the foot of Mount Tabu. Now she is played by Ana Moreira. The ‘60s was the period when colonialism was steadily and remorselessly and too slowly dying away. When Aurora becomes pregnant by her husband she takes up with another white fellow in the area, Gian Luca Ventura (Carloto Cotta). He’s the drummer in a tame 1960s pop band (think Gary Lewis & the Playboys), handsome in a pretty-boy way and at loose ends in Africa. The affair is passionate but also feels random and inexplicable. It’s more like becoming pregnant has made Aurora aware her life is changing, she wants one last fling, and she has it, the kind of thing that also happens just before a marriage.
There’s a murder of a minor character in this murk but it feels pointless. Nothing changes in the immediate moment except the love affair ends. We learn that many years later her marriage ends too. In many ways the story does indeed explain much of her behavior as an old woman in the first part of Tabu, “Paradise Lost,” but at that point I was frankly beyond caring. Tabu doesn’t work for me as either doomed romance or colonial metaphor. My favorite parts are the whimsical uses of music, as when the band is shown lip-synching the Ramones’ 1980 cover of “Baby I Love You” or, in a movie theater, when a Les Surfs’ cover of (Phil Spector again) “Be My Baby” shows up in a movie Pilar attends. We never see that movie, only hear the soundtrack.
Tabu is genial enough as it goes, with bolts of humor and a gentle, intriguing way of constructing scenes. It just never adds up to enough for me, alas. I should say also that the very first time I looked at it, circa 2014 on DVD, the subtitles were too often exasperatingly illegible. I know many directors object to subtitles or captioning as harmful to the visuals, but art-directing them into the palette as a subtle element is not the solution. I’ve seen the attempt elsewhere, but I haven’t seen it work yet. Looking at Tabu more recently on my computer got me close enough to the screen to solve the problem, but still. It shouldn’t have to be so hard.
Tabu confronts us first with a strange story about an old woman, Aurora (Laura Soveral), who intimates she is controlled by the mysterious voodoo-like powers of her housekeeper, Santa (Isabel Cardoso). More likely she is addled, but Santa does indeed seem a little sinister and malevolent. On Santa’s part, that could just as easily stem from her responsibility for minding Aurora, who sneaks away when she can, pawns her valuables, and loses all the money until it’s gone. Apparently she does it a lot, which would put anyone responsible for her in a bad mood. A neighbor, Pilar (Teresa Madruga), is also involved as a kind of witnessing figure. Some aspects of her life are explored too as we go along.
The setting in the first half is explicitly Lisbon, which makes sense—Gomes is Portuguese and Portugal was once an early and significant colonial power. But it also feels like it’s supposed to be more significant than it is and is undercut by a sense of being played as merely quirky, with for example a young Polish woman speaking stilted English for comic relief.
In the second half, “Paradise,” we get Aurora’s backstory from when she was living in 1960s Portuguese Africa (the colonial note) with her white husband who operates a tea plantation at the foot of Mount Tabu. Now she is played by Ana Moreira. The ‘60s was the period when colonialism was steadily and remorselessly and too slowly dying away. When Aurora becomes pregnant by her husband she takes up with another white fellow in the area, Gian Luca Ventura (Carloto Cotta). He’s the drummer in a tame 1960s pop band (think Gary Lewis & the Playboys), handsome in a pretty-boy way and at loose ends in Africa. The affair is passionate but also feels random and inexplicable. It’s more like becoming pregnant has made Aurora aware her life is changing, she wants one last fling, and she has it, the kind of thing that also happens just before a marriage.
There’s a murder of a minor character in this murk but it feels pointless. Nothing changes in the immediate moment except the love affair ends. We learn that many years later her marriage ends too. In many ways the story does indeed explain much of her behavior as an old woman in the first part of Tabu, “Paradise Lost,” but at that point I was frankly beyond caring. Tabu doesn’t work for me as either doomed romance or colonial metaphor. My favorite parts are the whimsical uses of music, as when the band is shown lip-synching the Ramones’ 1980 cover of “Baby I Love You” or, in a movie theater, when a Les Surfs’ cover of (Phil Spector again) “Be My Baby” shows up in a movie Pilar attends. We never see that movie, only hear the soundtrack.
Tabu is genial enough as it goes, with bolts of humor and a gentle, intriguing way of constructing scenes. It just never adds up to enough for me, alas. I should say also that the very first time I looked at it, circa 2014 on DVD, the subtitles were too often exasperatingly illegible. I know many directors object to subtitles or captioning as harmful to the visuals, but art-directing them into the palette as a subtle element is not the solution. I’ve seen the attempt elsewhere, but I haven’t seen it work yet. Looking at Tabu more recently on my computer got me close enough to the screen to solve the problem, but still. It shouldn’t have to be so hard.
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