In
polite late Portuguese Eighteenth Century society, everyone was either distantly
related, ardent lovers, or sworn rivals—sometimes even two out of the three.
Everyone who was anyone would have their own flashback—at least one for each of
their previous identities. It is an epic tale of passion, scandal, and retreat
into holy orders that might sound familiar. Eight years after the release of
the four-and-a-half-hour theatrical feature, the full six-hour TV miniseries
version of Raul Ruiz’s The Mysteries of Lisbon opens virtually this
Friday in New York.
Although
produced concurrently, the film and TV cuts were conceived by Ruiz to be very
different and cohesive wholes. Both have scenes that are exclusive to themselves. Reportedly,
Ruiz also altered his approach to the narrative. It has been a while since I
originally reviewed the feature-cut, but as memory serves, characters had a way
of making surprise returns that are more logically established in the TV series
(yet, that was part of the film’s charm).
Nevertheless,
there is still plenty of charm to the 6-hour-cut, which more fully explores the
depths of the characters’ profoundly felt emotions (I think). Regardless, it is
easy to get swept up again in their agonies and ecstasies (again), especially if
it has been years since you have seen the other incarnation, or if you have never
had the pleasure.
Ostensibly,
Pedro da Silva is the hero of Mysteries of Lisbon and its over-riding
meta-narrator. When we first meet him, he is a waifish orphan known simply as “Joao.”
However, he will largely be over-shadowed by two mysterious men, who will
directly shape his destiny. One is the virtuous Father Dinis, who serves as
young Joao’s protector and will play a decisive role defending the honor of the
mother he has yet to meet, Angela de Lima, the wife of the abusive Count of
Santa Barbara. The other is Alberto de Magalhaes, a Brazilian merchant (pirate
would probably be more accurate)—or at least that is what he calls himself now.
It will be years before da Silva meets him face-to-face, but the rakish
adventurer will forge an unlikely informal alliance with Father Dinis.
Admittedly,
coincidence factors heavily in either version of Lisbon, but we should
expect that from anything based on a big, fat 19th Century novel.
Indeed, it is those crisscrossings of fate that make it so much fun to watch.
Everything is connected and karma lives up to its reputation, in gloriously
tragic fashion.
Both
Lisbons also look like oil paintings that could have been produced by
one of the era’s elite art academies. Ruiz’s careful visual compositions often
offer shrewd perspectives on the social hierarchies of the times and the power dynamics
within the narrative (servants overhear much). This is a richly detailed period
production, but Ruiz executes with a postmodern sensibility. His motif using a proscenium
arch stage diorama to literally frame some of the transitions is probably more
prominent in the film, but it is still present in the series.
Adriano
Luz’s portrayal of good Father Dinis remains the rock-solid, humanistic anchor
of the full series. Arguably, Ricardo Pereira gains the most in stature and
screen-time with his mercurial but charismatic performance as the roguish de
Magalhaes (or whoever he is). Regardless, Maria Joao Bastos (the Portuguese
actress well-known to Brazilian audiences for TV shows like The Clone and
The Mechanism) remains an arrestingly sorrowful and dignified presence
as da Silva’s long-suffering mother. Ironically, da Silva, at every stage of
maturity, is still the least engaging figure of the series, as he was in the
film.
Mysteries
of Lisbon is
a grand historical drama that boasts the elegance and craftmanship of a true
master filmmaker. It combines old world refinement with new world attitudes,
but in a manner that never conflicts. Very highly recommended, the even longer Mysteries
of Lisbon series opens virtually in New York this Friday (5/22), with
virtual engagements to follow in LA, Chicago, and Seattle, before its 7/2 VOD
release.
