CHE
by Chris Dashiell
Che, Steven Soderbergh’s
new film about the Argentine revolutionary Ernesto “Che”
Guevara, is a daring experiment, one might even say a provocation, an
epic that deliberately avoids all the conventions of the epic form.
I find it astounding, in fact, that a Hollywood director, who admittedly
has never lost touch with his roots in independent film, would not only
direct such a project, but do so in such a bold and unexpected fashion.
It is an impeccably directed masterwork that cultivates an almost forbidding
aura of objectivity.
The
first thing that will inevitably come up in any discussion of Che
is its length. The film has two parts, each a little over two hours
long, and ideally the picture should be viewed in one day. But, of course,
it is usually being shown in separate screenings, simply because the
popular movie theater business can’t afford such length, and audiences
in general are not accustomed to really long films anymore. To my surprise,
I was never bored during Che; its length is not in the nature
of an endurance test, but a fascinating immersion in the gritty and
seldom understood world of guerilla warfare.
The first part focuses on Che’s participation in Fidel Castro’s
victorious 1956-58 military campaign against the U.S.-backed Batista
government in Cuba. The second part is about Che’s failed attempt
at leading an armed uprising against the Bolivian government in 1966-67.
I must emphasize that although these are two discrete sections, both
parts need to be seen in order to understand the film.
Benicio
Del Toro, who co-produced the picture, plays the title role of Che,
and it’s one of those performances where an actor becomes so united
with a role that an almost incredible sense of authenticity is achieved.
Che is not the film's only character, and at times the story strays
from his point of view into the actions of other characters. But Che
is a constant force and presence, and Del Toro is utterly relaxed and
unassuming--no vanity or histrionics here--and we thereby get a very
real sense of Che as part of the scene rather than an isolated individual.
Indeed, the acting of all concerned is in line with Soderbergh’s
style, which is very direct and almost documentary-like. Credit is also
due to the excellent screenplay by Peter Buchman and Benjamin A. van
der Veen, which is naturalistic to a fault.
In
Part One, the painstaking and laborious process of waging a guerilla
war is portrayed in color, intercut with black-and-white sequences involving
Che’s visit to the United Nations in 1964, after Castro was well-established
and the U.S. was still trying to grasp the nature of what had happened.
Soderbergh focuses almost exclusively on process—this, we are
meant to see, is how it might feel to go through the day-to-day labors
and difficulties of an armed struggle. The New York sequences, on the
other hand, provide a glimpse of Che’s ideology in his interaction
with curious (and often antagonistic) outsiders, climaxing in his controversial
speeches before the General Assembly. There’s an ironic contrast
here between the world of high-level politics and diplomacy in New York,
with its sophisticated urban milieu (Julia Ormond is on hand as a chic
journalist who interviews Che), and the scenes of exhausting effort
and hardship in the mountains of Cuba.
Part
Two follows a more linear narrative, beginning with Che’s decision
to travel to Bolivia disguised as a businessman. Once again the film
focuses on the complex logistics of training and supplying a guerrilla
force, trying to get support from the populace, and moving with difficulty
through the jungles and high desert of an unfamiliar land. Here we witness
Che’s single-minded purpose running up against the reality principle,
as it were: the Bolivian opposition is less organized, the Communist
party gets cold feet, and this time the CIA comes in to train and assist
the government forces.
The
two parts have different camera styles and aspect ratios, with Part
Two using a handheld camera in contrast to the widescreen steadicam
look of the first part. Part One traces the upward arc of success; in
Part Two the same elements are present, but in a gradual downward spiral
of failure. Besides depicting two important pieces of history, the dual
structure serves to highlight the perilous nature of the revolutionary
enterprise—Che’s actions reveal the daunting power of the
opposing forces in the struggle.
Soderbergh completely refrains from psychology. He is
not interested in creating a typical “human interest” type
drama--one can imagine the kind of banal film that would have resulted
from a conventional approach, and be grateful that the director didn't
take that road. But this is no doubt a source of puzzlement for critics
and viewers expecting a message, a moral, or, for that matter, an in-depth
portrait of Che Guevara. Soderbergh’s approach, in my 
view,
is an example of a rigorous kind of generosity on the part of the filmmaker—Che
himself would disdain the personal approach because his entire outlook
was about the trans-personal, the sacrifice of self to the collective
effort towards liberation. Therefore, Soderbergh takes on Che’s
point of view and seeks to portray it through the narrative structure
of the film itself. There is no dilution or soft-pedaling of Che’s
Marxist ideology. At the same time, contrary to what some viewers may
think, the film doesn’t really take sides—not in the usual
sense, at least, in which a positive message is framed for the viewer’s
agreement and inspiration.
Whatever emotions we may have watching the film, whatever opinions we
may have about Che, are concentrated in the stark reality of Che’s
desire to effect revolution, and all that this desire involves. All
the action amounts to this one experience of desire and commitment,
an evocation of radicalism that is practically unique in mainstream
film, at least since the 1960s, the era recreated here in all its idealism,
passion, and disappointment.
©2009 Chris Dashiell
CineScene
