Aïnouz’s film is a melodramatic love letter to a lost Rio de Janeiro. The recreation of 1950s Rio, in this tale of sisterly love, is spellbinding. A place of wild, ragged gardens, of steepling views, of steamy clubs and stifling families. But, significantly perhaps, no guns, no gangs. A poverty which transcends race, but also unites above and beyond race. I have too little knowledge of the city to know whether Aïnouz’s vision is idealised or not, but it is always beguiling and fascinating to see a Latin American film aspire to the sweeping grandeur of early Coppola. The story itself is hung in a somewhat contrived narrative device. Two sisters are separated, pine for each other, both believing the other to be in Europe, when in fact both are stuck in Rio, facing their personal challenges. It’s all slightly clunky, with the separate narratives evolving side by side. There’s one lovely moment of dramatic tension, when their respective offspring meet unknowingly, but as the device is spun out over two hours is starts to lose traction. However, in a sense it feels as though the narrative is just a hook upon which the director can hang his primary theme, which is the role of the female in society. One sister, Euridice, battles to be able to continue playing the piano, at which she is extremely talented, in spite of being a mother. The other, Gilda, fashions a life for herself despite being driven out of the family home, working in a factory, eschewing the role of prostitute which at one point beckoned. The film is full of physicality. Convincing sex scenes, filmed from a female perspective, a gruelling childbirth scene, and more. In these visceral moments, the film becomes more than the story, painting a vivid portrait of womanhood in an evolving Rio.
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