Director Kleber Mendonca Filho’s The Secret Agent begins with a visual detail that lays bare the corruption that is rampant in the world it is set in, which is Brazil of the 1970s. A man named Marcelo (Wagner Moura) drives to a gas station to refuel his car; there is a corpse at the property, but nobody except for him cares about it. The gas station guy acts as if the body belongs exactly where it should be, and the police are only concerned about what the man has in his yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Right from the first frame to the very last, Marcelo faces the pressure and paranoia of being constantly watched by such corrupt and authoritative officials. Wagner Moura embodies these traits of his character in a wonderfully understated performance that holds the film together even as its storytelling wobbles on occasion.
His character lives a dual life, as a refugee in Recife with a fake name (Marcelo) at a national identity card office, ironically hiding his real identity as a research company employee (Armando). It takes about one hour or so for us to know exactly who is after Marcelo and why. Let us just say that he has messed with some extremely powerful and corrupt people in Brazil, despite receiving multiple warnings against the same. Consequently, Marcelo is on a travel ban that keeps him from visiting his son, Fernando (Enzo Nunes), something which frustrates both him and his child to a great extent. The whole film plays out as a procedural, but Filho smartly switches between multiple timelines to weave a compelling tale of a man who spends a good part of his life hiding from his enemies.
Director: Kleber Mendonca Filho
Cast: Wagner Moura, Robério Diógenes, Carlos Francisco, Luciano Chirolli, Tânia Maria
The greatest pleasure of watching The Secret Agent lies in how it lets us gradually revel in its carefully curated visual world and the occasional dark sense of humour that comes out of its grim material. For example, Marcelo/Armando is part of a group of refugees in Recife, one of whom (a scene-stealing Tânia Maria) owns a cat with two faces. It is a metaphor for the dual lives these people lead in Brazil. Elsewhere, there are constant references to cops dumping off human feet into the river, only for these parts to pop up inside big sharks. It is another metaphor for how one should not dabble their feet into the territory of such ruthless and corrupt authoritarians. Honestly, yours truly has little idea about the political world the film is set in, but it is not like the movie requires you to have this understanding to enjoy it. One can interpret it in their own way and be entertained in the process thanks to the rich detailing and the sharp writing by Filho.
The shark references make you wonder why the dead people deserve this fate. Are they victims of violence in Brazil and/or of showing dissent at some form of political authority? Considering the absence of violence among the public for the most part of the film and how Marcelo keeps being hunted, some form of dictatorship is presumably at play, in addition to all the corruption. There is also the mention of a family in Sao Paulo influencing Marcelo’s pathway to free movement. How can a family do that unless an entire government is void or ineffective? The film leaves it up to the viewer to look into its layers instead of spoonfeeding them with the details.
The visual department also deserves much appreciation. The film serves as a ‘time capsule’ of Brazil from the 1970s where lawlessness is the only norm. People have threesoms openly in public places, such as parks, and body parts appear in broad daylight and at random, yet nobody bats an eyelid. Even the story of 'a walking foot' causing trouble for the men and women at a park does not seem as fantastical as Filho’s wild imagination makes it out to be. It is also there for the satirical humour, while adding a layer of fantasy to an otherwise realistic tale.
Further, there are quite a few transition shots that give the film the feel of flipping through pages of a graphic novel. Some of these shots shift you from one character’s point of view to another's perspective, thus maintaining the film's elegant visual aesthetic that is evocative of its period setting. Such choices keep you from being distracted by the film's occasional languid pacing.
The beauty of the Oscar-nominated film also lies in the way it laces its gruesome story with meaningful humour. For example, when a man enters a barber shop and shoots another, who chases him, in the head from behind, the saloon operator lights a candle and puts it right next to the dead body immediately. Funnily enough, it is as if he has seen it coming all along.
That said, not everything works in The Secret Agent. The film takes a while to get going. Its occasional digressions from the main story to that of the refugees do not yield the same emotional impact that Marcelo’s plight does. A climax that tries to connect the gruesome past of Brazil with the ‘Google Era’ present appears to be a case of being surplus to the requirements, because the central story itself is so compelling. Then again, this present day stretch is intriguing, too, because of the contrast that Moura brings to the table. It is only towards the end you realise how good the actor is in the film, summing up the weight of a man who spends more time in his life looking over his shoulders than actually living it.