In 2010, Chilean writer-director Raúl Ruiz debuted his sumptuous, epic romance “Mysteries of Lisbon” at the Toronto International Film Festival. A month later, it debuted on French television in six 55-minute chapters (the feature version is significantly shorter, but four-and-a-half hours is still no walk in the park). Ten years later, it is finally available on the internet thanks to the hardworking cinephiles at Film at Lincoln Center (FLC).
The New York City film society behind NYFF—where the film played in the official selection in 2010—and a handful of terrific year-round festivals (all of which spotlight great underseen films both old and new) is hosting the six-part version online at its virtual cinema. $15 might seem steep for the rental, but you get a generous seven days to watch, 50% of proceeds go straight to FLC, and relatively speaking it’s a steal, your own little art heist. “Scoob!” costs $20 and helps no one.
“Mysteries” is a poet’s film in every sense. The Camilo Castelo Branco adaptation sprawls across several decades in 18-19th Portugal with some dips into nearby countries, like France and Spain, although the shared customs of bourgeoisie extravagance and the various languages spoken in every room blend the identities of the countries into one. Forbidden romance abounds, accompanied by hefty doses of fainting and ascetic escape. Costumes are resplendent across the board. Hair and makeup is divine. Language is stately and well-disguised in formalities. Histrionics lay waste to every sensible thought. Remorse might as well be a character. Decadent lounges, lush parlors, and opulent ballrooms set the stage for the lion’s share of the film. The only other noteworthy settings are the woods surrounding the many estates and the Lisbon convent where paths cross and secrets unfurl.
In “Mysteries,” everyone is someone else—someone that’s begun and ended multiple lives within one. Everyone has a secret. But more importantly, everyone has a long story to tell before they reveal that secret. Consequently, detailing the plot is a futile gesture. Emotions are in constant flux and relationships are always evolving. Exposition takes place through a myriad of scandals wrung dry of every juicy drop. The narrative itself is a jigsaw puzzle and not a breezy 200-piece afternoon jaunt; rather, one made of fully fleshed out characters across generations, almost all of whom have multiple identities, concealed motivations, and a whirlwind of unknown connections.
Suzie married David, whose son from his first marriage is doting on the cousin (third-removed) of Suzie’s ex-lover’s bastard brother who was killed by a man that had four mistresses, two of whom were sisters, though they didn’t know it, and all of whom can be tied back to someone related to someone already mentioned. Those names and relations are made up, but you get the gist. It’s hard to follow and it’s supposed to be. After all, these are the “mysteries” of Lisbon. The overarching story begins with a boy named João (João Luis Arrais as a child and Afonso Pimentel as an adult).
“I was fourteen years old and I didn’t know who I was at all,” João starts, as if to empathetically relate to the viewer who is soon to find themselves tangled in flashbacks within flashbacks. João is the root of the sinuous narrative out of which every twist and turn develops, but his guardian Father Dinis (Adriano Luz) is the film’s guide. A priest like a prescient phantom, Dinis calmly and patiently drifts from person to person in his enigmatic way. He speaks in indecipherable riddles until he’s ready to yield the harvest of his confidential knowledge. The introductory mystery is the identity of João’s parents, out of which we eventually meet the troubled pirate, Alberto (Ricardo Pereira) who serves as a secondary guide to the priest. As far as the rest is concerned, and in the words of Father Dinis, “Don’t ask anymore questions because I won’t answer.”
André Szankowski’s cinematography is splendid. He and Ruiz use the camera as dynamically as possible. We find ourselves lost in long single takes following a lover chasing another through a crowd or spinning slowly around an embrace at long last. Hazy filters and shots manipulated to have two different fields of focus are effectively employed. The camera peeks indiscreetly through curtains and cracked doors, hands from eavesdropping chambermaids resting in the immediate foreground so as to suggest we’re looking through spiers’ eyes. It also regularly retraces its own steps. If the camera pans all the way to the left, expect it to pan all the way back to the right. If it walks you down a hall, don’t be surprised if it turns around to walk you right back to where you began. The technique draws out central themes of retraced ground—memory, remorse, lives unlived, and all-consuming bitterness.
Lea Seydoux is the only A-list actor involved, but she’s hardly around. Her screen time in “Mysteries” makes Matt Damon in “Interstellar” look like Peter O’Toole in “Lawrence of Arabia.” Seydoux’s inclusion on the cover art is nothing short of a marketing crime. However, the film doesn’t need her, which means her spectral appearance is nothing more than a cherry on top of a wonderfully dizzying, indulgent period piece experience.“Mysteries” is also a philosopher’s film, which is no surprise for those familiar with Ruiz, one of two directors who’s delivered a Proust adaptation that does the thinker justice (the only other being Chantal Akerman with her 2000 film “La Captive”). Memory and artifice drive the story forward and muddy our perspective as intended, but within both lies eternal space for thought, whether it be about the “sanctity of affection versus the demon of social convention,” or the outdated perspectives of the past (“America: where they have conquered the European notion of social status—a place where they trade even human beings.”) and their developments since, or a tabloid-esque plot revelation. No matter what you linger on, once you’re in, you’re in. It would be difficult for anyone to escape a web of love, lies, and loss as ensnaring as “Mysteries of Lisbon.” [A-]