The Way He Looks (Hoje Eu Quero Voltar Sozinho), 2014.
Directed by Daniel Ribeiro.
Starring Ghilherme Lobo, Fabio Audi and Tess Amorim.
SYNOPSIS:
A blind teenage boy falls in love with one of his classmates.
There’s a particular branch of film theory that deals entirely with the sense of touch in cinema; about how you experience what the protagonist feels onscreen. Not in some emotional, empathetic way, but as a physical response. The reeds on Russell Crowe’s hands as he wonders through Gladiator’s Elysian fields. The taste of the scrambled eggs at Michael Fassbender’s bedside in Hunger. The knee being caved in by the hammer of Kill List. It’s called ‘haptic visuality‘. In The Way He Looks, it’s ones lips practicing a kiss on the window of a shower.
The film’s title is a pun, so the movie had won points before it began. Director and writer Daniel Ribeiro’s feature debut tells the story of Leonardo (Ghilherme Lobo), a blind teenage boy who falls in love with his new classmate Gabriel (Fabio Audi), much to the annoyance of his best friend and “guide dog” Giovana (Tess Amorim). Gabriel’s arrivance at the school is the inciting incident, his and Leonardo’s relationship developing slowly and naturally, the two subtley testing responses, hinting at underlying feelings, feeling out objects in the dark.
The antagonist is not as much in society’s reaction to their feelings (Leonardo in particular doesn’t appear to be phased by a awakened homosexuality), but in Giovana’s displacement in the trio’s friendship. The three leads’ performances are incredibly nuanced, appearing wholly naturalistic and likeable. Of course, the foreign languague might be hiding a few imperfections, but for a non-Portugeuse speaking audience, they are superb.
Oddly, Leonardo and Gabriel’s relationship feels too easy, the obstacles either too unchallenging to overcome, or not built up enough to ever be a threat to their inevitable hooking up. It is Leonardo and Giovana’s bond that tugs at the heartstrings, their friendship geuninely going through turmoil.
Though as subtle as the performances are, the direction outstrips this by leagues. The film is shot and edited conventionally enough, but there is something ever so slightly off. An emptier frame than usual, a camera that doesn’t pivot all the way, an occassional shallow depth-of-field. They’re all limitations on what you can see, slyly repositioning you to Leonardo’s perspective. Other elements of the film, however, are heightened. The sound of Leonardo’s phone, for instance. You check your own pocket for its vibration.
Which is where that ‘haptic visuality’ stuff comes in. With limited sight – in both subject and form – the film overcompensates the other senses for you. The technique builds to a crescendo, so that although the relationship could have done with a bit more peril, and the entire film with a spot more at stake, that final kiss feels much, much better than the shower pane we practiced on at the start.
Flickering Myth Rating – Film ★ ★ ★ / Movie ★ ★
Oliver Davis is one of Flickering Myth’s co-editors. You can follow him on Twitter (@OliDavis)
