UPDATE: The reviews are in and they’re worse than I expected them to be. A 38% on Rotten Tomatoes. I’ll leave it to the legendary Dave Kehr and his filthy thoughts on Inarritu’s “Bardo”:
Alejandro G. Inarritu has reached the inevitable 8 1/2 stage of his career with BARDO, 172 minutes of unbridled ego I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. Let's see if Netflix survives this one.
You got that? Oh, and it gets worse. The Telegraph gives it 2 stars. A 3/10 from Slash Film, and a total pan from Vanity Fair. The other negative takes come from Variety, Deadline, and Screen Daily.
IndieWire’s David Ehrlich is a little kinder on Inarritu’s film, giving it a polite C+ grade. The Guardian’s Peter Bradshaw is even nicer (3/5) with a semi-positive review. The only rave I’m seeing is from Inarritu’s Mexican compatriot Carlos Aguilar (good writer) who calls it “masterful.”
I’ll leave with this little nugget from Richard Lawson’a Vanity Fair review:
Eventually, and at length, Iñárritu entertains that most vain of fantasies: how sad would it be if I died? A haughtiness and a curious petulance descend over the film, as if Iñárritu could only stand to name his mistakes for too long. Eventually, of course, he must be celebrated.
EARLIER:
Oof. This one will be hotly debated. Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu’s “Bardo” has received mixed reactions so far at Venice. Some are saying “masterpiece!” and others conclude “pretentious bore!” The embargo should be lifted in the afternoon.
There was footage circulating last night of Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu’s “Bardo” on Twitter before finally being taken down. One thing you noticed about this tiny montage of scenes was the ambition and scope.
The shots were Malick-esque, but Inarritu’s go-to DP Emmanuel Lubezki has been replaced here with the equally talented Darius Khondji.
A sampled reaction:
Feels like a Terrence Malick movie, handled by a much more technical director. A surrealist sleepwalk with obnoxious spiritual undertones (again a nod to Malick), a solid core idea and what I felt was a single message to convey. Over and over again. In increasingly pretentious ways. Did you ever want to hear a monologue about colonialism by Cortés on a giant pile of corpses? No? Maybe a bit too on the nose? Too bad because it’s one of many scenes during the „last“ one and a half hours that goes on and on and on after which you think the movie ends. But it does not. It goes on. And on. And on. All those creative audiovisual ideas, all this inventive camerawork, all those impressive choreographies, tracking shots and a beautiful score wasted on an egocentric director who only wants to prove he‘s a very smart guy. Iñárritu shot a love letter to himself.
I’m still not entirely sure what Inarritu’s 3-hour movie is about. Many are speculating that it’s his own personal take on Fellini’s “8 1/2” — a meta autobiographical statement. The early reactions are pointing to a TON of existentialism.