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Tetro review
:. Director: Francis Ford Coppola
:. Starring: Vincent Gallo, Maribel Verd�
:. Script: Francis Ford Coppola
:. Running Time: 2:07
:. Year: 2009
:. Country: USA
:. Official Site: Tetro
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It's long gone, that time of mega-productions that built the legend of Francis Ford Coppola. For years now, the Master (a two time Palme D'Or winner, one for an absolute masterpiece in the history of the cinema, Apocalypse Now) has made films with a craftsman budget. With Tetro , the means stick perfectly to the subject. The story, with remotely autobiographical accents, of a family of Italian origin bathed in art, is quite modest and intimate: a father considered a musical genius stifles the dreams of his son the aspiring writer and pushes him into exile. A few years later, Bennie, the younger son now on his own adventure, retraces his steps back to Argentina. Angelo, now Tetro, has since lived aimlessly, having tried to write a play about the history of his family. An unfinished work that Bennie will exhume.
Family: the heart of intrigue. Built like a tragedy, the film explores the atavism which lies dormant in each member of this talented family. But to unearth a jewel to bring out the ultimate literary masterpiece which will be unique and greeted by the most respected critics has a high cost, since this will reveal the hidden secrects which weave the framework of each fate.
Served by an outdated but beautiful black and white, with color flashbacks, and rocked by the torpor of Argentinian tango, Tetro does not rate among the essential works of Coppola's career, but affects with the sincerity and faith of the message it conveys. At the time of his presentation in Cannes, in the intimacy of the Directors Fortnight sidebar, far from the red carpet arrival, the director made a point of dedicating this film to parents who let their children embrace the dream to become artists. In Tetro, the famous director celebrates the ties of blood above all, and the discovery of two people bound by a drama which unites them in spite of their resistance. But it is also creation itself which he questions, and by extension, a critical look at his own career. A look which for the audience is like an invitation to enter creative privacy. Not a testament, but a gift indeed. Coming from Coppola, one cannot politely refuse.
Moland Fengkov
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