BARDO, False Chronicle of a Handful of Truths

"I am fine. I'm just sad! And that's okay, feeling sad is good for you sometimes." BARDO is an experimental film, loosely a semi-autobiographical drama from director Alejandro G. Iñárritu, which feels like an existential crisis. By becoming an American citizen and trying to fit into a country that has yet to value you, so you change your ways and lose your identity. I understand that Iñárritu's films are not for everyone, but this movie deserves much better.

[Netflix] The acceptance of the approaches of this film is proportional to the way in which Iñárritu's cinema is accepted as a show that is less superficially banal than it seems. Picking up the psychological/surreal look of "Birdman or (The unexpected virtue of ignorance)" (2014), it achieves less identification with the protagonist, although it is understood that it is a more personal film, but with a very Italian texture (echoes of Fellini and Sorrentino are seen), in which He describes his concerns about creation, the halfway point between fiction and reality, his own unease about being nowhere when the decision to be an immigrant is made, and the tragedy of losing a child. But these ramblings of the Mexican privileged class seem trivial and predictable, hardly interesting despite the condition of his personal confession. The responsibility as director, co-writer, editor and even composer of the soundtrack is so personal that, this time, the formal elaboration, the extraordinary photography of Darius Khondji or the humanist interpretation of the great Daniel Giménez-Cacho have nothing to do to avoid boredom.