It’s kind of insane how underestimated Pedro Costa is on the world stage. Sure, he’s fairly known around the world, but his films never get as much attention as someone like Olivier Assayas or Jacques Audiard receives every time they make a film (even if it’s shitty). Part of me finds this extremely unfortunate because he literally is a master of his craft. In my opinion, I don’t think Costa has made a single bad film in his entire career — they’re all near-masterpieces, save for Horse Money, which I think is a true masterpiece in its right. The other part of me finds comfort in it because the films seem so much more personal to me as opposed to feeling like they’re being created solely for the world stage festival circuit (with Audiard as an example, I hated Dheepan and found it horribly exploitative and unnecessary).
All in all, this film is a bleak assemblage of what feels like embodiments of paintings. And that’s the thing — I can’t use the description of seeming like an assemblage of paintings and say it’s concrete — it’s just how I felt. Feeling is such a strong factor in Costa’s films and is often the best way to make sense of them and to form connections with them. Everything flows together in some sort of spiritual rhythm that I can’t articulate. Some events are inexplicable and rife with empty moments, but they still manifest as vital to the story — which is an extremely difficult element to accomplish and still keep a spectator completely riveted. Absolutely beautiful.
Also, I’m dying to hear the story as to how Edith Scob and Costa met.
It’s kind of insane how underestimated Pedro Costa is on the world stage. Sure, he’s fairly known around the world, but his films never get as much attention as someone like Olivier Assayas or Jacques Audiard receives every time they make a film (even if it’s shitty). Part of me finds this extremely unfortunate because he literally is a master of his craft. In my opinion, I don’t think Costa has made a single bad film in his entire career — they’re all near-masterpieces, save for Horse Money, which I think is a true masterpiece in its right. The other part of me finds comfort in it because the films seem so much more personal to me as opposed to feeling like they’re being created solely for the world stage festival circuit (with Audiard as an example, I hated Dheepan and found it horribly exploitative and unnecessary).
All in all, this film is a bleak assemblage of what feels like embodiments of paintings. And that’s the thing — I can’t use the description of seeming like an assemblage of paintings and say it’s concrete — it’s just how I felt. Feeling is such a strong factor in Costa’s films and is often the best way to make sense of them and to form connections with them. Everything flows together in some sort of spiritual rhythm that I can’t articulate. Some events are inexplicable and rife with empty moments, but they still manifest as vital to the story — which is an extremely difficult element to accomplish and still keep a spectator completely riveted. Absolutely beautiful.
Also, I’m dying to hear the story as to how Edith Scob and Costa met.
