That is a quote from Jessica Winter's review of Diarios de Motocicleta in The Village Voice that basically explains my feelings towards the film. First, I would like to get the politics out of the way: I consider myself a liberal, but I have never cared for Che Guevara's political philosophy. His admirers are very quick to dismiss his totalitarian leanings and repression of civil liberties. However, I can certainly admire and enjoy a film that represents ideas and philosophies with which I do not agree; for example, I am certainly not a Nazi sympathizer, but I acknowledge the artistry of Leni Riefenstahl's films. Diarios de Motocicleta, however, is an insipid and forgettable film based on the memoirs of arguably one of the 20th century's most recognizable individuals.
What should have been a lively coming of age story has been reduced to over-simplistic hero worship. Before he christened himself as "Che," Ernesto Guevara de la Serna (Gael Garcia Bernal) was a middle-class, asthmatic medical student from Buenos Aires who, in 1952 with his biochemist friend, Alberto Granado (Rodrigo de la Serna) set off on a journey across South America on a dilapidated motorcycle. Instead of an exhilarating depiction of a journey that is in itself a fantastic yarn, director Walter Salles and Jose Rivera would rather the audience remain conscious of the influential figure that Ernesto would later become.
An admiring depiction of a person's life is fascinating if it exposes his or her flaws as well, which Diarios de Motocicleta fails to do. Instead of showing him as stubborn and myopic, Ernesto is painted as heroic and idealistic. His only major fault seems to be that he is a terrible dancer. Most people who will see this film are no doubt fond of Che, even if only on a superficial level, so they will buy into the hero-worship hook, line, and sinker. They will also certainly approve of the ending credits' note that Che was "murdered" by the CIA, because "killed" is not as powerful a word. Such blind admiration is disturbingly frustrating, and it is well epitomized by Ernesto's swim across the Amazon to his downtrodden comrades in a leper colony as he is cheered on by them and his colleagues. Apparently his love of the people is so powerful it cured his asthma, which is great for the sake of everyone who owns a Che Guevara t-shirt.
Personally, I was more intrigued by Alberto Granado, wonderfully played by Rodrigo de la Serna. Alberto is a fascinating and flawed individual who blindly chases wine, women, and song. He is depicted warmly yet remains firmly human. If only they had done the same for Che.
While watching Diarios de Motocicleta I couldn't help but think about another Spanish-language coming-of-age film starring Gael Garcia about two friends who embark on a journey that will change their lives; I would recommend to anyone to rent Alfonso Cuaron's Y Tu Mama Tambien instead of sitting through two hours of "white liberal self-affirmation." I'm certain Che would disapprove of the idea of paying to see a film about him, anyway.
What should have been a lively coming of age story has been reduced to over-simplistic hero worship. Before he christened himself as "Che," Ernesto Guevara de la Serna (Gael Garcia Bernal) was a middle-class, asthmatic medical student from Buenos Aires who, in 1952 with his biochemist friend, Alberto Granado (Rodrigo de la Serna) set off on a journey across South America on a dilapidated motorcycle. Instead of an exhilarating depiction of a journey that is in itself a fantastic yarn, director Walter Salles and Jose Rivera would rather the audience remain conscious of the influential figure that Ernesto would later become.
An admiring depiction of a person's life is fascinating if it exposes his or her flaws as well, which Diarios de Motocicleta fails to do. Instead of showing him as stubborn and myopic, Ernesto is painted as heroic and idealistic. His only major fault seems to be that he is a terrible dancer. Most people who will see this film are no doubt fond of Che, even if only on a superficial level, so they will buy into the hero-worship hook, line, and sinker. They will also certainly approve of the ending credits' note that Che was "murdered" by the CIA, because "killed" is not as powerful a word. Such blind admiration is disturbingly frustrating, and it is well epitomized by Ernesto's swim across the Amazon to his downtrodden comrades in a leper colony as he is cheered on by them and his colleagues. Apparently his love of the people is so powerful it cured his asthma, which is great for the sake of everyone who owns a Che Guevara t-shirt.
Personally, I was more intrigued by Alberto Granado, wonderfully played by Rodrigo de la Serna. Alberto is a fascinating and flawed individual who blindly chases wine, women, and song. He is depicted warmly yet remains firmly human. If only they had done the same for Che.
While watching Diarios de Motocicleta I couldn't help but think about another Spanish-language coming-of-age film starring Gael Garcia about two friends who embark on a journey that will change their lives; I would recommend to anyone to rent Alfonso Cuaron's Y Tu Mama Tambien instead of sitting through two hours of "white liberal self-affirmation." I'm certain Che would disapprove of the idea of paying to see a film about him, anyway.