VIFF ´25: Magellan

I know that what I am about to say may sound pretentious, but even though this is the first time I have seen a film by Lav Diaz, I must confess that, despite its nearly three-hour running time, I would have loved for Magellan to be twice as long. It is an achievement in every sense within the current cinematic landscape.

The film follows Magellan's life from the conquest of Malacca to his arrival in Cebu and his final days. As I understand it, this is the first time Lav Diaz has worked with such a high budget, and yet I am surprised at how he manages to retain his characteristic voice, that slow cinema style that moves between the contemplative and the poetic. Here he manages to balance that sensitivity with the monumentality of a large production: costumes, sets and visual effects that, far from diluting his style, enhance it. Above all, he maintains a healthy distance from the glorification of the hero or conqueror, avoiding the temptation of war spectacle or traditional historical drama.

Those looking for a 'great performance' in the conventional sense, where the protagonist cries rivers or shouts to demonstrate his intensity, will not find it here. Gael García Bernal plays a restrained, almost impenetrable Magellan, a man who becomes the vessel of his own actions. Lav Diaz suggests that violence and the desire for domination do not arise from the power he acquires, but were already present in his character and the very structure of the system to which he belongs.

The film draws fascinating parallels. Its slow pace invites contemplation, but also discovery. Some scenes resonate deeply, such as when Magellan suffers an infection in his leg and his future wife assists him. He interprets what could be seen as a gesture of love as an opportunity to conquer. Later, when he offers help to the sick daughter of the leader of Cebu through the image of the Baby Jesus, he repeats that pattern: disguising domination as compassion.

The film is full of moments like this, where power and faith become confused, where the act of helping conceals the desire to possess. One of the most poetic moments occurs when Magellan returns from an expedition as the sole survivor. On the beach, the widows wait for him, dressed in black, looking out to sea, hoping for an impossible return. An hour later, we see the women of Cebu throwing the bodies of their dead into the ocean to return them to the spirit world—two opposing rituals, united by faith and tragedy.

But what is most impressive about Magellan is that, despite being a blockbuster, it adopts the language of a cinema that is now often considered 'niche'. Lav Diaz tackles colonialism without resorting to drama or morbidity, and breaks with the European paradigm of 'civilization' as a justification for subjugation. The violence is there, rapes, murders, invasions, but Díaz does not revel in it. He shows us its consequences, not its spectacle. Through Enrique's character, we also witness the inner transformation of colonized peoples, that spiritual loss that goes beyond politics.

Magellan is undoubtedly a milestone in international co-productions. It is a film that demonstrates that the authorial voices global cinema deserve not only space but also the resources to realize their vision. Despite its monumental scale, Lav Diaz delivers a work that retains a profound humanity.