I know de Oliveira is one of the Old Masters, and I know being an artist at the end of your creative life is the whole point of the picture, but really, it tries the patience.
Individual scenes work well, and the little touches of humour are as welcome as spots of rain in a drought, but those interminably held shots, in those interminable scenes, were just too much.
I wanted to like it. I really did. And at times, I did. Michel Piccoli was superb as the film-maker's alter ego. But, maybe, just maybe, someone should have said to Manuel: "You're in your nineties, you've got nothing left to prove. Just go home and have a rest."
Individual scenes work well, and the little touches of humour are as welcome as spots of rain in a drought, but those interminably held shots, in those interminable scenes, were just too much.
I wanted to like it. I really did. And at times, I did. Michel Piccoli was superb as the film-maker's alter ego. But, maybe, just maybe, someone should have said to Manuel: "You're in your nineties, you've got nothing left to prove. Just go home and have a rest."