NYFF Day Twelve: Two Revolutions, One Film
Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara is probably going to go down in history as the symbol of the Third World in 20th Century history. He has had a major impact both on the shape of the Third World and the ideologies that have been read by the most brilliant of minds. Although his cultural status on a T-shirt may seem a bit pedestrian, it only serves to comment on his popularity. The truth is, Che would probably have never wanted any of the fame.
Similarly, Steven Sdoerbergh has always been a filmmaker to defy the status quo. His first film sex, lies, and videotape helped launch American independent cinema, and he went on to make some of the most entertaining films of the 90s and new decade, like Traffic and Ocean’s 11. But between those films, he has made experimental films that could be described as personal projects—the ultra-minimalist Bubble, the 40-s homage, The Good German, or the remake of Tarkovsky’s Solaris.
Guerilla is then the much more curious film in a lot of ways, simply because it ends with a failure. The film restarts with Guevara not in the leader we have seen him become throughout The Argentine, but instead hiding his identity, ready to go into the heart of South America and start a new revolution in Bolivia. Of course, the luck that led to his success in Cuba has not come with him, and Che finds himself in one predicament after another. Guerilla really exposes the luck that Che had in Cuba—even though he brings the same passion and enthusiasm, he is not greeted with the same circumstances. Similarly, Soderbergh shoots the film in much more appropriate manner. The film is shot in standard widescreen (1.85:1), as opposed to the epic widescreen (2.35:1) of the first film. Soderbergh also shoots with a lot more handheld and frantic energy. As the walls begin to close on Che, the camera runs and searches for something, anything, to keep the spirit going. The second film is less David Lean and more Michael Bay (yet with a lot more control), going for panic instead of the grand scale. It’s a personal tragedy, as opposed with a grand success. I have to also comment that the film’s sequence in which Guevara meets his end is one of the most painful scenes I have probably watched in theaters this year.
His latest project, and probably the most anticipated film of the New York Film Festival, surely fits into the later project. Entitled Che, the film stars Traffic and 21 Grams star Benicio Del Toro as the controversial leader. But the film isn’t a biopic in the standard form—in fact the use of the word biopic would surely be the wrong way to explain this film that rarely documents the life of Guevara. The film is in fact two films, known as The Argentine and Guerilla, and together with an intermission, lasts five hours long. But that being said, all five hours of Che are truly worth your time.
The two films, which played with neither opening titles nor credits, follows Che’s two revolutionary campaigns—the successful on during the 50s in Cuba, and the failure that resulted in Che’s death in Bolivia during the late 60s. Che isn’t even the center of these pictures in a way—he is the protagonist, but the film is much more about the fragility of the revolutions.
The Argentine, the film which covers Cuba, is probably the more accessible of the two films. It will end in victory of course, but also Soderbergh’s narrative and stylistic structure make it easier to handle. The Argentine skips around in time between the revolutionary campaign, Che’s first meeting with Castro in Mexico, and his presentation at the UN in 1964. Soderbergh shoots the film at an epic pace, yet never makes this into a standard film. He allows score the enter and leave at improbable times, and often drowns out sound with sections of an interview Che did about the campaign to an American reporter. Fitting in with the guerilla style, Soderbergh shot the entire film on the new Sony RED cameras—handheld high definition cinematic cameras that weight 10 pounds. In The Argentine, he keeps the high paced frantic style to a limit though, yet at the same time, gives it a very much documentary style feeling. In a way, The Argentine feels like Soderbergh’s Lawrence of Arabia—its big and epic, with a powerful leader in the center (and even makes homage to it through a train derailing sequence).
Of course, five hours of Che could never be possible without a man who could accurately portray the man, and Benicio Del Toro redefines the biopic performance. He plays Che in a reserved, introverted manner, which refuses to lead to epic and big speeches, and “oscar-bait” sequences. Del Toro’s performance is quiet and often muted, making the leader into a real person instead of a grand figure. Even Soderbergh’s capture of Che is often played similarly—he is often shot from behind, or off frame. He is rarely centered, and rarely the crucial role.
What makes Che into the grand film it is, is the title could have been “Two Revolutions, with Che.” The film uses his presence in these two moments in time to show the nature of a revolutionary campaign. It’s one of the most intellectual epics I have ever seen, and it is surely one of the best as well.
Che will be released by IFC Films in December
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© 2008 Peter Labuza