[yasr_overall_rating]
Clara, a 65-year-old widow and retired music critic, vows to live in her apartment until she dies after a developer buys all of the units around her.
When I was a kid, I had a favorite painting of a burning forest. I remember looking at it, sunburnt after a day of troublemaking, and getting utterly lost in the scarlet, aquarelle embers, feeling like I was going to burst out of my own charred skin. Throughout the years, that painting gained value to me; when I look at it, I see my late grandfather’s kind face as he raises a toast; I see my bloodhound Dumbo crunching on watermelon, parched on a thirsty day; I see my entire life in those brushstrokes and hues. It’s more than just a painting – it’s an extension of my identity, and no one can take it away from me, like a lung or an artery. Director Kleber Mendonça Filho’s “Aquarius,” which was rightfully nominated for the Palm d’Or at the 2016 Cannes Film Festival, is about a woman, Clara (Sonia Braga), whose apartment is as much a part of her as her organs. While a mastectomy may have left her with one breast, Clara is not about to part with that organ, which serves as her soul, heart and brain. With a mesmerizing lead performance and as many brush strokes as that burning painting, “Aquarius” will quietly tear you up inside.
Told in three parts and set in the beautiful city of Recife, Brazil, “Aquarius” begins with the chapter entitled “Clara’s Hair,” set in 1980, a year after young Clara’s intense battle with cancer. Her hair still short (and very stylish), Clara rushes back from a carefree evening at the beach to her Aunt Lucia’s 70th birthday party, where her husband gives a touching speech – the cancer cast a dark shadow, but also brought the family closer together. The music swirls – and then we seamlessly transition to today, as Clara, now a widow and prominent writer, her dark hair long and luscious, hears the same upbeat tune out of her window. She leads a quiet, unassuming life, attending yoga-like “energy” classes, swimming in tumultuous ocean waters under the watchful eye of a lifeguard (who literally becomes her life’s guard as the film progresses) – until, that is, a construction company approaches Clara about selling her apartment, offering her way more than the market value. They are calling the project “The New Aquarius,” in memory of a building that, as Clara points out, hasn’t even been demolished yet.
Part two, “Clara’s Love,” sees the matriarch take a stand, refusing to abandon her place, despite the rest of the residents absconding, while the evil corporation, along with her own family, continuously urges her to leave. Clara has essentially become Aunt Lucia, clinging to the remnants of her past, reliving memories, her nephew being the closest person in her life. In an incredibly touching sequence, Clara goes out with her giggly friends and meets a handsome widower, who, upon finding out about her breast surgery, wants nothing to do with her. Like life itself, what starts as a night of debauchery ends in grimly nostalgic retrospection, loneliness… and a bit of dancing. Aroused by the orgy of new residents next door, Clara promptly gets a gigolo. Unlike the young love that blossoms around her, this brief “affair” resembles a wilting flower. Part three, entitled “Clara’s Cancer,” brings everything full circle, a malignant lump of termites spreading and consuming everything in its path.
“Aquarius” is about many things. It’s about the power of memories, how certain places and objects can carry tremendous nostalgic value, never better personified than in the scene where Aunt Lucia gazes longingly at a cupboard, as her kids read birthday speeches. Lucia is immersed in memories of her first sexual encounter, on top of that furniture piece, with Augusto, a married man and her consequent partner of 30 years. “Aquarius” is about the passing of time, time’s relevance and role in our lives. It’s about transition; in an era where everything is digital, Clara still listens to vinyl records – “this is like a message in a bottle,” she explains. It’s about generational differences, exemplified in a scene where Clara is confronted with changing her whole life by an arrogant kid, the grandson of the main architect, who gleefully announces the project to her. Finally, Filho’s film is about inevitability. As the construction company closes in, akin to death, putting stickers on apartment doors, Clara is “pissed but not stressed”; it affects her, but like the looming presence of death, she deals with it calmly and resolutely.
Sonia Braga is astounding in the lead. Gorgeous, classy, determined, fragile and lonely, her Clara is a sight to behold, a powerful depiction of a middle-aged woman trying to assert herself, distinguish her place in the modern, constantly-changing world. Despite the film’s intimidating length – at well over two hours, it could have used a bit of trimming – you will never be able to take your eyes off Braga. It’s a powerhouse of a performance. The rest of the cast keeps up, but she is the sun around which the small planets revolve.
I love the “Barry Lyndon” poster in Clara’s room. If Filho feels gracious, he can feel free to reach out to me and discuss a transaction. I would treasure this poster forever, like Clara treasures her vinyls. I’m sure with time the poster, like “Aquarius,” will gain nostalgic value and slowly morph into an extension of myself.
Opens at the Angelika Film Center in Plano November 11th
