Where are you going? From his wife, from children... The writer receives from the editor an offer to go from prosperous France to the ends of the world. Brazil. It was somewhere in the depths of the tropical Amazon lost and was probably eaten by a tribe of cannibals, a scientist anthropologist. Left of him, no - not horns and legs (as from the grandmother's goat), but a much more promising thing - travel notes, diaries. Which one? Eat and eat! Like what? It's a bomb. It is necessary to "dig" this story properly and - the bestseller can be presented to an exalted, eager for novelty to the public. Money is a river. Know how to open your pockets.
Alberto, get on the road! One leg here, the other leg there. It's hollow. It's fast. Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho! I don't want to drive from a young, sexy girlfriend. There is almost every day a bed bullfight in hot fights. You could say it's the height of the battle. Then he takes the enemy's fortifications from a scoundrel, then the enemy, pliably bowing his head, kneels before the winner. . .
Awwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
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And suddenly, Brazil. Sticky heat. The heat of the hot sun, rip off the skin ready. Sweat and dirt on the face, on the body. Head like a swollen calgan. Goodit. Noise. The temperature is skyrocketing. Well, I got... Here we go. . .
And the director begins to feed the viewer all the charms of a tourist trip for one. A taxi with a half-crazy guide, a lodging house full of extravagant personalities, men, women, children annoying with various idleness. Climatic latitudes - sleepless, anxious night. Not even in the night. Forgetting, a failure in disturbing memories. Half a day? Sleep? Yes, but not refreshing, just bombarding consciousness extra. Moroca. What a mess. . .
The author entangles us, the audience, with a veil of fog created by him. It's like a space corridor, and we're destined to get into time. Wandering to the touch is like blind people off-road anywhere you look. . .
No, we gotta get out of here, we gotta get out of here, run, run. . .
But that's not possible. How so? Like this? This is almost Homer’s Odyssey with an ancient Greek hero without a team of accompanying, open palaces. How long did the king of Ithaca get home after the Trojan War? Ten years? And there were on his way and the cyclops-man-eater, and the beautiful Calypso seven years keeping in love nets a prisoner on the island, and the songs of sirens, and the sorceress Kirk. Now the characters are less colorful, but they are just as sticky. It's like bloodsuckers. You can't take a step.
Of course, here the visual range is not as impressive as, say, the same A. Konchalovsky in 1997 in a two-part epic with Armand Assante, but the associations arise by themselves. Maybe I'm embellishing. Maybe it just seemed to me.
Where are you going? From the wife, from the children,
Odysseus, Odysseus,
Dear Odysseus, dear Odysseus.
- Well, you should go home to Penelope.
The drive picture is devoid. He's not here. It's different. Here the immersion of European man in an alien, almost pristine world. Everything is different: mentality, feelings, manifestations of emotions. Two cultures touch each other. And sparkle... Well, almost. And the similarity? Any similarities? Oh, yes, sexuality is a unifying principle. With this movie begins, this ends... What do you want? France and Brazil are the producers of the film. Paris - cinema without lamours does not remove.
6 out of 10