3 weeks ago
4
by Mell P
It’s been quite a few days since I walked out of Lincoln Theater after experiencing Pedro Pinho’s ambitious 3-hour odyssey I Only Rest in the Storm at NYFF, and I’m still processing everything this film throws at you. Part sexual awakening, part colonial reckoning, part NGO critique. It’s a lot to digest, and that’s both its strength and occasional weakness.
Sérgio Coragem plays Sergio, a well-meaning Portuguese environmental engineer whose work trip to Guinea-Bissau becomes a journey of personal and political revelation. What starts as a straightforward infrastructure project (building a road to connect rural villages) spirals into something far more complex as Sergio navigates the local queer nightlife scene, confronts his own sexuality, and faces uncomfortable truths about his role as a European “helping” Africa.
The film’s greatest triumph is Cleo Diára, who absolutely deserved her Cannes Best Actress win. As a no-nonsense bar owner and businesswoman hustling to support her family, she cuts through both Sergio’s and the film’s occasional pretensions with surgical precision. Every scene she’s in crackles with authenticity and barely contained fury at the hypocrisies surrounding her.
Pinho isn’t afraid to get messy, literally and figuratively. The film dives headfirst into thorny conversations about race (particularly fascinating exchanges between Black Brazilians and white Portuguese), the NGO industrial complex, and the audacity of having opinions about “dirty money” when all money might be tainted. One particularly uncomfortable sequence involving latrines and rural villagers had audience members squirming, and rightfully so. (I’ve had the not-so-pleasurable pleasure of using some latrines growing up). The camera lingers on the residents’ discomfort as humanitarians lecture them about toilets, exposing the dehumanizing nature of “development” work.
The queer party scenes pulse with life and freedom, offering a vibrant counterpoint to the film’s heavier themes. Watching Sergio tentatively explore his sexuality while navigating his outsider status creates a fascinating tension, begging the question: is he friend or interloper, lover or enemy? The film smartly never fully answers this question.
At three hours, yes, it’s long. Some threads get lost (what happened to that Italian engineer anyway?), and Pinho’s kitchen-sink approach means not every theme gets the attention it deserves. The film might have benefited from choosing fewer targets and hitting them harder.
But there’s something refreshing about its sprawling ambition and refusal to simplify. The sexual fluidity isn’t treated as exotic or separate from the political questions. It’s all part of the same messy, vital conversation about freedom, power, and who gets to define progress.
Fair warning: this isn’t family viewing. The sex scenes are graphic and purposeful, refusing to sanitize desire or its complications. The film asks uncomfortable questions about liberal good intentions and doesn’t flinch from showing how even well-meaning environmentalists can perpetuate colonial dynamics.
Despite its excesses, I Only Rest in the Storm stayed with me. In an era of neat 90-minute festival films, there’s something bold about a movie that takes its time, gets lost, finds itself, and gets lost again—much like its protagonist. It’s scrappy, sexually bold, politically provocative, and features one of the year’s best supporting performances.
The ending leaves much to be desired. I’m still trying to figure out where Sergio was going. Was it home to Portugal or back to the remote African village?
Anyway, if you can handle the runtime and aren’t easily shocked, catch the October 6th screening. Just maybe grab some food beforehand. You’ll want to be alert for every minute of this wild, important ride through contemporary post-colonial reality.
Playing at Lincoln Theater as part of NYFF: October 5-6
English (US) ·