***SPOILERS*** ***SPOILERS*** `Before Night Falls' is a compelling film that works on several different levels simultaneously: as a biography of the late Cuban poet and novelist Reinaldo Arenas; as a scathing indictment of Castro's repressive Communist regime; and as a celebration of the human spirit flourishing under even the most adverse of circumstances. What it doesn't quite do, though, is dig very deeply into the mind and spirit of its main character. We are fascinated by the atmosphere and events that define this life story. We just don't feel like we get to know very well the man at its core.
The film, which spans five decades (from 1943 - 1990), stars the brilliant Javier Bardem as Arenas, a homosexual writer caught in a culture openly hostile to both homosexuals and writers. One of the theses that the film posits - one taken directly from Arenas' writings - is that governmental repression often has the paradoxical effect of actually ENCOURAGING the very elements it is trying to stifle. Thus, for a while at least, Arenas is allowed to express fairly openly his homosexual nature. In fact, it is even pointed out to us that a number of high government officials are allowed to flagrantly display their sexuality with little or no consequences. Yet, at the same time, the government has set up concentration camps filled with gays and other political prisoners. But it is not so much for his sexuality that Arenas is eventually incarcerated and tortured - it simply provides a convenient excuse - but for his radical anti-Castro ideas as reflected in his poetry and novels. For it is ideas that most threaten any totalitarian regime, and Castro's is certainly no exception.
The movie is so ambitious in its scope and time frame that it occasionally loses us along the way. Every now and then we are not quite sure who is who, where we happen to be, or what exactly is happening in the story. This is partly the result of Julian Schnabel's rather impressionistic directorial style, providing us with quick cuts of imaginings and/or memories that flash through Arenas' mind. The problem is that we can't always tell which is a memory and which a mere fanciful vision. For instance, in one scene, a desperate Arenas, in an attempt to evade the authorities, sails out for Florida in nothing more than an old inner tube. The way the scene is shot we are led to believe, initially, that he has made it safely to America's shore, only to discover later that he is still on Cuba. It is a minor point, but the style often leaves us feeling unnecessarily disoriented at times.
On the other hand, the style also contributes a strangely dreamy, otherworldly feel to the film. This matches perfectly the rather exotic nature of Arenas himself, a man who seems to be torn between accepting his homosexuality and fighting the demons that come along with being a societal outcast. When Arenas finally makes it to the `land of freedom' as part of the Mariel boat lift of 1980, fate deals him another cruel blow in the form of AIDS. Yet, Arenas' words live on, a testament both to the cruelty and brutality of life under a dictatorship and to the strength of spirit reflected in any artist who tries to overcome it.
As Arenas, Barkem gives a riveting performance, going far beyond the subtle effeminate mannerisms that define the character's surface. Yet, strangely enough, even though the film runs well over two hours and there is almost no scene in which Arenas is not present, we never feel like we really get to know him very well. Perhaps it is because, in his romantic relationships, in particular, Arenas remains such an inscrutable enigma. Apart from his sexual orientation, we often can't tell what makes this character tick. This is why Barkem's performance is so indispensable to the film. The richness he provides in his every word, facial expression and gesture makes Arenas a very real and very recognizable figure. Without Barkem, `Before Night Falls' would be much less compelling than it is.
And the fact is, that for all its imperfections, `Before Night Falls' IS a very compelling film, in terms of style, performance, atmosphere and theme. Despite the dissatisfaction we may feel with the film at times, the truth is that the story itself is so gripping that our interest never flags for a moment. And if for no other reason than for the uncompromising glimpse it affords into the hitherto unexamined world of Castro's Cuba, the film cries out to be seen.
The film, which spans five decades (from 1943 - 1990), stars the brilliant Javier Bardem as Arenas, a homosexual writer caught in a culture openly hostile to both homosexuals and writers. One of the theses that the film posits - one taken directly from Arenas' writings - is that governmental repression often has the paradoxical effect of actually ENCOURAGING the very elements it is trying to stifle. Thus, for a while at least, Arenas is allowed to express fairly openly his homosexual nature. In fact, it is even pointed out to us that a number of high government officials are allowed to flagrantly display their sexuality with little or no consequences. Yet, at the same time, the government has set up concentration camps filled with gays and other political prisoners. But it is not so much for his sexuality that Arenas is eventually incarcerated and tortured - it simply provides a convenient excuse - but for his radical anti-Castro ideas as reflected in his poetry and novels. For it is ideas that most threaten any totalitarian regime, and Castro's is certainly no exception.
The movie is so ambitious in its scope and time frame that it occasionally loses us along the way. Every now and then we are not quite sure who is who, where we happen to be, or what exactly is happening in the story. This is partly the result of Julian Schnabel's rather impressionistic directorial style, providing us with quick cuts of imaginings and/or memories that flash through Arenas' mind. The problem is that we can't always tell which is a memory and which a mere fanciful vision. For instance, in one scene, a desperate Arenas, in an attempt to evade the authorities, sails out for Florida in nothing more than an old inner tube. The way the scene is shot we are led to believe, initially, that he has made it safely to America's shore, only to discover later that he is still on Cuba. It is a minor point, but the style often leaves us feeling unnecessarily disoriented at times.
On the other hand, the style also contributes a strangely dreamy, otherworldly feel to the film. This matches perfectly the rather exotic nature of Arenas himself, a man who seems to be torn between accepting his homosexuality and fighting the demons that come along with being a societal outcast. When Arenas finally makes it to the `land of freedom' as part of the Mariel boat lift of 1980, fate deals him another cruel blow in the form of AIDS. Yet, Arenas' words live on, a testament both to the cruelty and brutality of life under a dictatorship and to the strength of spirit reflected in any artist who tries to overcome it.
As Arenas, Barkem gives a riveting performance, going far beyond the subtle effeminate mannerisms that define the character's surface. Yet, strangely enough, even though the film runs well over two hours and there is almost no scene in which Arenas is not present, we never feel like we really get to know him very well. Perhaps it is because, in his romantic relationships, in particular, Arenas remains such an inscrutable enigma. Apart from his sexual orientation, we often can't tell what makes this character tick. This is why Barkem's performance is so indispensable to the film. The richness he provides in his every word, facial expression and gesture makes Arenas a very real and very recognizable figure. Without Barkem, `Before Night Falls' would be much less compelling than it is.
And the fact is, that for all its imperfections, `Before Night Falls' IS a very compelling film, in terms of style, performance, atmosphere and theme. Despite the dissatisfaction we may feel with the film at times, the truth is that the story itself is so gripping that our interest never flags for a moment. And if for no other reason than for the uncompromising glimpse it affords into the hitherto unexamined world of Castro's Cuba, the film cries out to be seen.