Taken together, Walter Salles’s The Motorcycle Diaries, and Steven Soderbergh’s new Che Part One and Che Part Two, form a trilogy chronicling the most important stages of the life of that legendary beret-toting figure we see on t-shirts everywhere, Che Guevara. Where The Motorcycle Diaries was about the young Che, the medic, learning about the injustices and difficulties in the world, Che Part One and Part Two are about the legendary revolutionary he later became. Che Part One covers the Cuban revolution from1958-59; Che Part Two covers Che’s failed attempts at a Bolivian revolution, which lead to his execution.
Che Part One begins in Mexico, where Che and Fidel Castro sit down to a very calm, normal dinner amongst friends; it is hard to believe that these seemingly common men would go on to accomplish such feats. Fidel enlists Che in his 26th of July band of revolutionaries, and they head off to Cuba, secretly, by boat, to begin the campaign to overthrow the United-States- backed Cuban dictator, Fulgencio Batista. Castro’s campaign spread slowly across Cuba, starting in 1958, easily finding volunteers in a country where everyone was disillusioned by the corrupt and fascist government. While Che initially signed on as the group’s medic, he soon became a soldier and revolutionary leader.
In Che Part One, we watch as the 26th of July army trains in the luscious green forests and fields of Cuba. We watch as they begin their battles, in what, we are told, is a sequence of strategic moves towards taking over Havana. Unfortunately for any viewer like me who is not extremely well-versed in the historical events, we are unable to follow the significance of the strategic moves since backstory and strategy are more hinted at than ever explicitly explained. We watch with fascination as Che transforms from a man unwilling to give orders when another man tries to usurp him, to a man willing to kill his own when he disobeys the revolutionary code by raping the locals and stealing their money. The revolution, after all, is supposed to be about freeing the locals of oppression, and not merely a power struggle from one malicious dictator to another.
Here is where Che, as played thoughtfully by Benicio del Toro in an understated performance, becomes a fascinating character study. At each new town, he greets the locals, gives them medical attention, and listens attentively and carefully to their problems, engaging them in conversation with his quiet charisma. This is a man that wants strongly to help. He is willing to kill his own for justice, yet one wonders if taking lives is perhaps an unnecessarily brutal way of seeking justice and enforcing good rule. Del Toro plays Che as an observer, always on the outside, yet agreeable, well known and well-liked, who can calm or assure with a simple turn of phrase or kind look. And yet this is a man who trades in his medical duties for the glory of a revolutionary soldier’s life.
The build-up to the victorious revolution is interspersed with “flash-forwards” to Che’s visit to the United Nations in the United States after the revolution, where we see the reception he and hence Cuba gets from these other nations. Although Che is intensely articulate and charismatic, this American, urbanised world is not one in which Che belongs. To begin with, his clothes don’t fit in. Soderbergh’s cinematographer, Peter Andrews, highlights Che’s alienation – and also the fact that we have jumped forward in time – by filming these “flash-forwards” in black and white, reminiscent of Jean-Luc Godard’s early films and communist manifestos. Soderbergh plays with light and dark, and an old film look, in new and skilful ways, which he began to explore in his short film in Eros, but which come to fruition wonderfully in Che Part One.
The war scenes are shot with luscious greens in the gorgeous wilderness, or towns, of Cuba (well, they were mostly shot in the Dominican Republic masquerading as Cuba). Yet these scenes are not your typical war scenes. They do not glorify the battles and they don’t sweep around with passion and heart-wrenching music to pull you into the wonders of war, the way, for example, the war scenes in Joe Wright’s Atonement did. In fact, these scenes have very much the feel of a skilled documentary – I’m thinking Errol Morris or Werner Herzog, and NOT Michael Moore. It is almost as if each scene begins a few minutes before the Hollywood highlights version would begin. The battles are clumsy; people make mistakes; death happens quickly and unexpectedly. And each of the battle scenes does not carry the weight of the historical consequences: they are merely one step in a long, strategic revolutionary process.
Che Part One is an engaging, well-put-together stand-alone film, with exquisite visuals. While it gives some historical insight, it lacks the depth of a historical film, leaving many basic (and known) factual questions unanswered, which is unsatisfying and prevents the film from ever becoming not just good, but great.
Che Part Two is a very, very long coda, that could have been chopped down from two hours to forty minutes and latched on to the end of Che Part One. Che Part Two follows Che to Bolivia, where he is now the mastermind behind the revolution, instead of a budding soldier for Fidel. He exudes more confidence; he is more meticulous; and he is in charge. Unfortunately, the same problems from Che Part One pervade Che Part Two: not enough historical information for events that are even less familiar to the world, rendering it increasingly difficult to engage in the film and appreciate the slice of history. Che Part Two is weaker in story, and simpler in visual aesthetic, though still well-shot. It is Benicio del Toro’s performance, and historical curiosity for the few details that are revealed, that propel the film. Unfortunately, this just isn’t enough. Skip or rent Che Part Two. And treat Che Part One as its own film, a worthwhile see: flawed but well put together. It is so nice to see Soderbergh returning to more serious artistic film with Che Part One instead of wasting his time and ours with Ocean’s Fourteen.
——————————————————————————————————————————–
Originally published in The Gargoyle, The University College Undergraduate Newspaper at the University of Toronto
