The plot of this film develops like good minimalist music. A pleasant tune repeated over and over with minor variations. For a film such as "The Limits of Control", the number of repetitions may seem excessive, but they are essential in building a subtle interpretation that crystallizes at the end. At every repetition a different actor or actress interacts with the hero. Notice their continent or country of origin: African, Haitian, French, Spaniard, English, Japanese, Mexican, Palestinian, even an American. I may have gotten some of the nationalities wrong, but the crucial point is that they represent a diverse sampling of the world population. What do they have in common? They are all working together for a common purpose. Their enemy is revealed at the end. Arrogant, imperialistic, trying to control everyone and everything on this earth. Its symbolic representations in the film may not be picked up early on, but by the end one can easily replay its omnipresence right from scene one.
It should be easy to understand the political message before the curtains come down, but just to be sure, the final call to arms that accompanies the credits makes obvious the film's anarchist leaning. In this there is a delightful irony. For a story whose overarching philosophy is the destruction of excessive control in the world, the minimalist plot development is controlled to a precise degree. The steely hero is a model of self-control, precise habits, and consistent suits. Each stage in the travels of the hero is almost a replay of the previous state: the same two espressos, the same Boxeur matchbox but for alternating red and green, the same hiding place for secret messages, the similar three lined letters-and-numbers coded message, the same method of disposing of the message, the same introductory question and similar subsequent culture-laced monologue we eventually come to expect from each co-conspirator cameo.
Superimposed on this repetitive structure are the cultural references. Some are clearly meant to be humorous and subject to additional interpretation. The best for me what a wig wearer who uses a skull to hold the wig when not in use. A camera close up reveals this to be the cadaverous head of Andy Warhol.
Art plays a part. Our hero is a museum goer. It is natural to suspect that each visit to the museum to see one particular work of art whose subject matches a prop that will be used to contact the next co-conspirator serves a purpose. Are these part of the secret instructions? I think the answer is given by the last visit to the museum. The piece is a white sheet covering an underlying canvas. We don't know what is painted on that canvas. We only see the white sheet. Precisely! There is nothing that needs to be seen. That's the point for that stage in the film. Well done!
There are bits of cinema commentary that I saw as poking fun at Hollywood. The multiplex crowd expects James Bond to get in bed with the first beauty that crosses his path; our hero does not do sex while working. The same crowd wants guns to be used; our hero dumps the only gun in the film in the trash bin. The crowd cares to see the hero fight to get his quarry; our hero never fights, corners his quarry with imagination and we never see how he does it. The crowd is thrilled by lots of silly threatening dialogue and much action before good vanquishes evil; our hero is terse and wastes little time. The typical Hollywood villains have to be at least equal and often more cunning than the good guys so that the battle is suspenseful; our villain is a bumbling fool who gets trapped by his own paranoia-driven security apparatus. And so on. It's the anti-Hollywood film par excellence. No wonder it does not do well with that crowd.
Commentary on cinema culture is also there. When a cell phone rings inside the bag of a co-conspirator, our hero takes the phone, throws it on the floor and stomps on it. Ah, quiet! I wish I could do the same to all the electronic gadgets with their bright screens that more and more people are using during movie screenings.
In short, there is more than meets the eyes here. The film is made enjoyable by the need keep track of three components. One, the easiest, following the plot, which is simple and advances slowly. Two, picking up the political message, which is mostly done late. Three, deciphering the asides and symbolic clues that are peppered throughout.
If that were not enough, add to the overall enjoyment superb cinematography and delectable music. And don't be upset by the occasional pessimist view on the human condition. When the guitar player concludes his monologue with "La vida no vale nada," you'll come to understand it later. (And by way there is no accompanying legend.)
A final word for those cinephiles in the Third World. Remember how you felt at the end of the closing scene of the film "Queimada", when Brando gets it? "The Limits of Control" will make you relive it.
It should be easy to understand the political message before the curtains come down, but just to be sure, the final call to arms that accompanies the credits makes obvious the film's anarchist leaning. In this there is a delightful irony. For a story whose overarching philosophy is the destruction of excessive control in the world, the minimalist plot development is controlled to a precise degree. The steely hero is a model of self-control, precise habits, and consistent suits. Each stage in the travels of the hero is almost a replay of the previous state: the same two espressos, the same Boxeur matchbox but for alternating red and green, the same hiding place for secret messages, the similar three lined letters-and-numbers coded message, the same method of disposing of the message, the same introductory question and similar subsequent culture-laced monologue we eventually come to expect from each co-conspirator cameo.
Superimposed on this repetitive structure are the cultural references. Some are clearly meant to be humorous and subject to additional interpretation. The best for me what a wig wearer who uses a skull to hold the wig when not in use. A camera close up reveals this to be the cadaverous head of Andy Warhol.
Art plays a part. Our hero is a museum goer. It is natural to suspect that each visit to the museum to see one particular work of art whose subject matches a prop that will be used to contact the next co-conspirator serves a purpose. Are these part of the secret instructions? I think the answer is given by the last visit to the museum. The piece is a white sheet covering an underlying canvas. We don't know what is painted on that canvas. We only see the white sheet. Precisely! There is nothing that needs to be seen. That's the point for that stage in the film. Well done!
There are bits of cinema commentary that I saw as poking fun at Hollywood. The multiplex crowd expects James Bond to get in bed with the first beauty that crosses his path; our hero does not do sex while working. The same crowd wants guns to be used; our hero dumps the only gun in the film in the trash bin. The crowd cares to see the hero fight to get his quarry; our hero never fights, corners his quarry with imagination and we never see how he does it. The crowd is thrilled by lots of silly threatening dialogue and much action before good vanquishes evil; our hero is terse and wastes little time. The typical Hollywood villains have to be at least equal and often more cunning than the good guys so that the battle is suspenseful; our villain is a bumbling fool who gets trapped by his own paranoia-driven security apparatus. And so on. It's the anti-Hollywood film par excellence. No wonder it does not do well with that crowd.
Commentary on cinema culture is also there. When a cell phone rings inside the bag of a co-conspirator, our hero takes the phone, throws it on the floor and stomps on it. Ah, quiet! I wish I could do the same to all the electronic gadgets with their bright screens that more and more people are using during movie screenings.
In short, there is more than meets the eyes here. The film is made enjoyable by the need keep track of three components. One, the easiest, following the plot, which is simple and advances slowly. Two, picking up the political message, which is mostly done late. Three, deciphering the asides and symbolic clues that are peppered throughout.
If that were not enough, add to the overall enjoyment superb cinematography and delectable music. And don't be upset by the occasional pessimist view on the human condition. When the guitar player concludes his monologue with "La vida no vale nada," you'll come to understand it later. (And by way there is no accompanying legend.)
A final word for those cinephiles in the Third World. Remember how you felt at the end of the closing scene of the film "Queimada", when Brando gets it? "The Limits of Control" will make you relive it.