I tried hard to give Inarritu’s “Bardo” a fair shot. I stuck with it for its entire 150 minutes, but the “wisdom” this fiom seems to be conveying is pure claptrap. Inarritu basically blurs fantasy and reality by telling a “personal” and “autobiographical” tale of his own personal struggles. The camerawork is sometimes stunning, but that’s about it. The rest is vain, empty and soulless. A lot happens in Bardo, but most of it seems to be a construct of the lead characters’ imagination — over-the-top musical numbers, dream sequences, battle scenes, and non-linear plotting. This is a film that is absolutely full of itself, a supposed “experimental” tackling of Inarritu’s inner-turmoil, his limbo status between Mexico and the United States, and his utter disdain for journalists. There’s also an overusage of fish-eye lenses that feels so dated by now. Nobody asked Inarritu to go full-existentialist on us and I frankly don’t think he has it in him to make something as deep as he wants “Bardo” to be.
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