A white person adrift in an “exotic” land, losing themselves in order to find themselves in the perceived primitiveness, peculiarity, or freedom of their strange new locale. A whole world has thus been seen, rendered, and interpreted by European eyes throughout the history of cinema, from the overtly racist adventure films of decades past to more sympathetic (though sometimes equally contemptuous in their depictions of Indigenous cultures and peoples) titles of the 21st century — Lost in Translation, Stars at Noon, Grand Tour, amongst many others.
To that list one might now add Pedro Pinho’s I Only Rest in the Storm, in which Sérgio (Sérgio Coragem), a Portuguese environmental engineer, travels to Guinea-Bissau in order to produce a report on the construction of a new road, a project with European financing in a nation with a troubled history of European involvement. En route to the capital Bissau, Sérgio’s car breaks down; by the time he arrives to commence work on his report, he is alone and reliant on the aid of others for almost all his needs and wants in a country in which he is a total stranger. Unmoored, and with apparently little urgency to complete his work, he explores Bissau, meeting a variety of vivid characters who will come to shape his experiences here, and reshape his perspective on life, more than he may initially expect.
It’s far from a fascinating story, not least rendered by European eyes, yet I Only Rest in the Storm is a fascinating film. Pinho is a patient, perceptive, generous filmmaker — no detail is too superfluous to be denied attention or even rumination, no character unworthy of development or compassion, no sequence unnecessary to the overall vision, which is remarkable given the film’s 210-minute runtime and numerous situational deviations. A slow canoe ride through the rural wetlands indulges in a discussion about the price of oysters between figures we’ve neither seen before nor shall see again; a confrontation between Sérgio and a colleague is followed by a further confrontation between said colleague and a local man, again appearing only in this brief exchange. Sometimes, these ephemeral narrative asides are diegetic, as when Diára (Cleo Diára), a woman toward whom Sérgio harbors largely unreciprocated romantic affection, takes him on a mystery trip to spend a day with her family. He only learns of the purpose of this excursion after the fact: he’d previously told her he wanted to get to know her better.
I Only Rest in the Storm is strongest when it maintains some of this mystery, meandering off in surprising directions with uncertain outcomes, or with seemingly no consequence — a shocking incident on a rural road is forgotten within seconds, the ambiguity of this choice adding depth to Sérgio’s story in its lack of clarity. Like him, the viewer spends much of this film slightly on edge, not knowing where Pinho will take us next, nor what meaning it will have, nor even the nature of certain encounters. Romantic developments between Sérgio and several characters are tentative, implicit threats of violence against him generate moments of potent tension, all with no obvious promise of fruition. Good humors and bad tempers, hope and disappointment, acceptance and dismissal intermingle in fleeting moments and long scenes fraught with the contradictions of real-life emotions, and the effect is richly compelling. Rare is such a film that grasps the viewer’s attention so tightly over so long a duration.
It’s weaker, however, when it makes its purposes more overt. Pinho strains a little too hard to negate the inherently paternalistic nature of his European eye observing the actions of his European protagonist in West Africa. A discussion on Guinea-Bissau’s colonial past diverges from the verisimilitudinous tone otherwise established with great sensitivity, feeling both ill-suited to the characters engaged in it, and over-emphatic, a quality that creeps into a few of the film’s more dialogue-heavy scenes. And yet these moments, cumulatively but a small fraction of the film’s total runtime, still contribute to Pinho’s vision in their truthfulness, eloquence, and thematic concordance; their only real flaw is inelegance. Shot in a fluid, observant style, Pinho crafts subtle but impactful stylistic effects from his characters’ environments — a heated workplace argument is intensified by the barrenness of its desert surroundings, a tetchy political debate becomes vibrant in the bustle of a colorfully-lit bar. There’s something to savour in every moment, every element of this deceptively bold film, dense in the breadth of its conceptual concerns and in their elusive, ever-malleable potential meanings, yet swift, light, and blessed with a sweet sense of humor.
Material as accomplished and as lavish with interpretive possibilities as this is a gift to any artist, and Pinho’s care with all departments is evident. The film is scored with occasional lively West African music, accenting but never overwhelming the scenes it furnishes. Similarly, Ivo Lopes Araújo’s cinematography is lucid and graceful, full of striking imagery without ever becoming overly intrusive. And the cast, wholly either non-professionals or actors undertaking the most substantial roles of their career to date, is uniformly magnificent. There’s hardly an aspect of I Only Rest in the Storm that doesn’t feel true, natural, and completely plausible, even when the plot may take a sudden bracing swerve into unexpected territory. It ought to seem as adrift as its protagonist, yet Pinho’s conviction, and the superlative strength of his technical skills, ensure that his project never seems less than sure in its course. This is a truly impressive film.
Published as part of Cannes Film Festival 2025 — Dispatch 1.
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