Saturday, December 13, 2008

Che

by Ari

Steven Soderbergh’s Che represents the type of uncompromising ambition that always results in heated debate. The fact that the film has polarized audiences is a testament to its provocative nature, not only because the subject is a polarizing historical figure, but because the film itself is sort of a rebellious coup de cinema that dismisses traditional narrative at nearly every turn. Calling Che a biopic is even a stretch. Soderbergh and writer Peter Buchman have constructed a film about military campaign and guerilla warfare more than a detailed account of Guevara’s life. Part I covers the revolution in Cuba, while Part II deals strictly with his failure in Bolivia. The events are portrayed as non-politically and objectively as possible for what it is, though the exclusion of certain atrocities will certainly inspire debate as to whether the film has an agenda or not.

Soderbergh’s neutral standpoint won’t change anyone's view of the man in any way. What you bring to the theater will determine how you feel about the character portrayed on the screen. The film isn’t pro-Che, it’s not anti-Che, it just is. Some critics have brought up comparisons to Rossellini’s work, though I think the closest stylistic connection is to Costa-Gavras (Z) or Francesco Rosi (Salvatore Giuliano). Soderbergh’s direction echoes the same attention to detail, the same naturalistic approach to the people and places we see, and to the events that unfold. I’ve read complaints that Che is slow, tedious, and “defiantly non-dramatic”. When you have a film that never adheres to a set formula or remotely bothers with a three-act structure, then yes, people will understandably be turned away.

I would say if something like The Thin Red Line appeals to you, then it’s a pretty good bet you’ll find Che engrossing and fascinating. In defense of the audacious two part structure at play here, I bring up something Scorsese said at one point early in his career: “Film isn’t theater. Why are we thinking in three acts? Why can’t there be five, six or seven acts?”. This is exactly the mentality Soderbergh displays through both sections of the story. I wouldn’t say the film is really about following a plot with points 1, 2 and 3; it’s about recreating an experience.

Part I has a rising tension and energy to it as Che (Benecio del Toro) and Fidel Castro (Demián Bichir in an excellent performance) spread through Cuba in their effort to overthrow Batista’s dictatorship. The heroic notion of fighting for their idealism is never romanticized as it would be in a standard biography. There’s certainly a level of excitement and thrill to what we see, but Soderbergh never glorifies or stylizes the violence. Many times the battle sequences are muted so we can hear a voice-over of Che’s translator explaining his tactics. Between the march through Cuba is Che’s address to the U.N. in the mid ‘60s. The cross-cut editing and use of black-and-white photography creates a docu-realism that completely transports the viewer into the period.

There’s a sweeping, epic quality to Part I as victory gets closer and closer. What happens in Part II is exactly the opposite. Soderbergh switches the aspect ratio from the wide glory of Part I’s cinemascope imagery to the claustrophobic, suffocating feeling of 1.85:1. The Bolivia campaign is dirtier, uglier, less organized. The second chapter touches on issues regarding unwanted foreign influence (something still relevant today), but for the most part it focuses on living under the harsh conditions of guerilla battle. The tone shifts to a constant state of danger and threat.

Thankfully the slow descent to Che’s demise is handled with the same objectivity and detachment that makes Part I so interesting. It’s not directed as tragedy. It’s not directed as a call for a communist revolution or a way to inspire some young rebels to buy a few more Che T-Shirts. Again, it’s just an experience, as if to say, “here’s how this happened”. In the wrong hands that sensibility would be flat and meaningless, but with Soderbergh’s masterful craftsmanship and the subtle, contemplative performances by Benecio del Toro and the rest of the cast, the experience feels real and immediate, provocative and challenging. What would be the point of making it any other way?