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Much has been written about the fact that Portuguese filmmaker Manoel de Oliveira
is the oldest living filmmaker on the globe today. At age
ninety-six, he continues to craft original, idiosyncratic
works nearly every year, and has done so ever since the early
1980’s. His 2003 effort, A Talking Picture,
opens with text on-screen describing its austere scenario:
"In July 2001, a little girl crosses thousands of years
of civilization, along with her mother, a distinguished history
professor, while on their way to meet her father". No
doubt one would note the significance of the date Oliveira
sets his film -- only a couple months before the terrorist
attacks of September 11th, 2001 in New York City -- and, indeed,
this tends to remain in the back of one’s mind throughout
the picture. This date, however, doesn’t seem to have
any merit until the final six minutes in which there’s
a drastic tonal shift as a result of a shocking climax that
leaves the viewer with new meanings for all that came before.
At the beginning of the film, Oliveira introduces us to a
mother, Rosa Maria (Leonor Silveira), and her eight-year-old
daughter, Maria Joana (Filipa de Almedia), aboard a cruise
ship departing from their native Portugal. Rosa Maria speaks
to her daughter of the mythologized King Sebastian and how
many people believe that he will return "on a misty morning
like this" to save Portugal. This is the first of many
history lessons she will give Maria Joana throughout the course
of the film, as they move from west to east through Marseilles,
Naples (where Maria Joana questions "what is a legend?"
contrasting with her previous query, "what is a myth?"),
Pompeii, Ceuta in Spanish Morocco, Athens, the pyramids of
Egypt along with the Suez Canal (accompanied by Portuguese
actor Luis Miguel Cintra, playing himself), and, finally,
Istanbul. The intended destination of Bombay, India is never
reached and these lessons prove futile, never to be drawn
upon again.
Up until the halfway mark, the film acts as a picturesque
travelogue in which Rosa Maria attempts to separate myth from
fact for her impressionable daughter. Both myths and facts
have their place, Rosa Maria explains, but both should be
clearly defined so as to not cause confusion, because myth
can never be taken as fact. Oliveira calmly and deftly moves
from location to location, just as Rosa Maria efficiently
moves from story to story, never dabbling in one area for
too long. Oliveira favors the long take, usually for several
minutes at a time. He resists lingering his camera on such
rich beauties as the Pyramids of Giza, instead opting to capture
Rosa Maria and Maria Joana in the foreground as the mother
speaks of the construction of the Sphinx. The ship’s
prow is intercut intermittently throughout the picture at
the very same angle, always pushing forward in the sea lunging
towards progress and different cultures of civilization.
In the dining section of the ship, we are formally introduced
to the Polish-American captain, John Walesa (John Malkovich),
and three famous international beauties: a successful French
businesswoman (Catherine Deneuve), a former Italian model
(Stefania Sandrelli), and a Greek actress (Irene Papas), who
were all given their own entrance as they boarded at different
ports of call. As Rosa Maria and Maria Joana casually look
on and dine at their own table, Oliveira presents this roundtable
of discussion between the four participants in a relaxed colloquy
that broaches a variety of topics involving the legacies of
Western civilization. Each speaks in his or her own language:
English, Greek, French and Italian, but communication is not
a problem. It is only when the captain invites Rosa Maria
and Maria Joana to the table that the discourse breaks down,
for only the captain speaks rough Portuguese and the trio
of women absolutely none. In some readings of the film, this
scene is seen as signifying that Portugal is not yet part
of the global community and remains uncorrupted. Indeed, all
three international actresses make very few efforts to even
acknowledge Rosa Maria and when they do, such as the Italian
model’s apparent jealousy for Rosa Maria’s daughter,
it’s not for very long.
Near the close of the film after Helena, the Greek actress,
sings a traditional song about peace from her home country,
the captain informs the table that terrorists have planted
a bomb on board and they must evacuate. Maria Joana runs back
for her doll but when her and her mother return to board the
rescue ship, it’s already sailed. They perish off-screen
during the closing credits as Oliveira cuts to a medium close-up
of the captain’s screams to turn the boat around, the
explosion sounding off in the background. The history of his
ship and the lives of two of its passengers are forever lost
in this wreckage of destruction. The film’s date takes
on a plethora of new meanings during these closing moments,
including the previously mentioned link with September 11,
but Oliveira masterfully leaves such meanings ambiguous, instead
asking us to draw upon our own conclusions as the closing
credits roll. I wondered if Oliveira was commenting upon the
American psyche with the suggestion that the captain seems
to readily leave his ship in the final moments, despite the
scene at the dinner table in which he expresses his life’s
devotion to the sea. Also in light of the final moments, one
wonders the significance of the taxicab scene in Vesuvius,
Italy where Rosa Maria speaks of their famous volcano as being
"punishment for sinful lives". Among such tropes,
Oliveira makes one idea abundantly clear: civilization is
on a decline and is fast approaching the denouement that is
brought upon Rosa Maria and Maria Joana. If one were to sum
up A Talking Picture in a few words, one
could do no better than to express that it’s the history
of destruction along with the destruction of history.
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© Copyright Aaron W. Graham 2005. No part of this article
may be reprinted without permission of the author.
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