CINEMA – The film is hypnotic. From there to being soporific, there is only one step.
At least the ambition is there. We cannot blame Arthur Harari for planting his camera in a two-room apartment and for getting attached to the procrastination of bourgeois voting Hidalgo. To immerse yourself in the history of this Japanese soldier dispatched in 1944 to an island in the Philippines and who will fight until 1974 because he did not learn of the end of hostilities deserves our commendation.
For this failed suicide bomber, there is now only one watchword: survive. It will erase his shame at not having managed to die at the controls of a plane. His special mission turns into destiny. His companions disappear one by one. There he is alone. The enemy is far away, invisible. Where have the Americans gone? There is Beckett in this interminable wait – for what? There are many references. The author, who seems not to undervalue himself, surely thought of The 317e section, at Apocalypse Now, even if the passages in the jungle have an irresistible side Junior Beaver Handbook.
The film is slow, nocturnal, rainy.
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