In Zen terminology, "Bardo" describes the state of consciousness between life and death. Alejandro Inarritu's movie is all about transitional phases. Personal and professional. Birth and death -- and all stages in between. It's autobiographical, but the subtitle dares one not to take it too literally: False Chronicles Of A Handful Of Truths.
Inarritu's alter ego here is Silverio (Daniel Gimenez Cacho), a documentary filmmaker who mixes in his personal opinions and dramatized events in his films. More specifically, he's a Mexican national now living in Santa Monica with his wife Lucia (Griselda Siciliani) and two children. Silverio's on the verge of receiving a prestigious journalism award from an American organization. He is feted by his Mexican colleagues, but draws the ire of one of his former associates, Luis (Francisco Rubio) who belittles him as a sellout. It's certainly reminiscent of the attacks on Michael Keaton's Riggan in BIRDMAN by the theater critic - a theme which obviously irks Inarritu. The larger concern is one of identity. Is Silverio a Latin American filmmaker or a Hollywood one? And, what of his family? Are they Mexican? American? Or, do they have to accept being an hyphenate? Have they taken the easy way out by living in California rather than remain in their homeland?
Working with Cinematographer Darius Khondji and shooting on 65mm digital, Inarritu certainly isn't wont for ambition. Dreams, fantasies and flashbacks are all captured across a wide canvas. The lines between reality and fiction are not only slim, they are virtually non-existent. When the movie debuted in Cannes, it was over 20 minutes longer than the current cut, which is still a luxurious 159 minutes. Some of the set-pieces are extravagant but, extremely well executed (the party, the talk show), while others simply befuddle (the Cortez sequence).
It's unclear in the end whether BARDO amounts to an ego trip or a guilt trip -- or some perverse approximation of both, but, compared with all the other autobiographical films being made recently by high profile Directors (FABELMANS, BELFAST, ARMAGEDDON TIME, LICORICE PIZZA etc.), Inarritu at the very least asks some probing questions of himself and the art form, and that's reason enough to see it.
Inarritu's alter ego here is Silverio (Daniel Gimenez Cacho), a documentary filmmaker who mixes in his personal opinions and dramatized events in his films. More specifically, he's a Mexican national now living in Santa Monica with his wife Lucia (Griselda Siciliani) and two children. Silverio's on the verge of receiving a prestigious journalism award from an American organization. He is feted by his Mexican colleagues, but draws the ire of one of his former associates, Luis (Francisco Rubio) who belittles him as a sellout. It's certainly reminiscent of the attacks on Michael Keaton's Riggan in BIRDMAN by the theater critic - a theme which obviously irks Inarritu. The larger concern is one of identity. Is Silverio a Latin American filmmaker or a Hollywood one? And, what of his family? Are they Mexican? American? Or, do they have to accept being an hyphenate? Have they taken the easy way out by living in California rather than remain in their homeland?
Working with Cinematographer Darius Khondji and shooting on 65mm digital, Inarritu certainly isn't wont for ambition. Dreams, fantasies and flashbacks are all captured across a wide canvas. The lines between reality and fiction are not only slim, they are virtually non-existent. When the movie debuted in Cannes, it was over 20 minutes longer than the current cut, which is still a luxurious 159 minutes. Some of the set-pieces are extravagant but, extremely well executed (the party, the talk show), while others simply befuddle (the Cortez sequence).
It's unclear in the end whether BARDO amounts to an ego trip or a guilt trip -- or some perverse approximation of both, but, compared with all the other autobiographical films being made recently by high profile Directors (FABELMANS, BELFAST, ARMAGEDDON TIME, LICORICE PIZZA etc.), Inarritu at the very least asks some probing questions of himself and the art form, and that's reason enough to see it.