This is a movie-within-a-movie. João takes on the role of Liberada, a fictitious gender non-conforming saint in a biography based on the Inquisition. The more the crew film these scenes, the more they query their views on representation during a turbulent time in Portuguese history. Worse, a spectral version of Liberada haunts João through the medium of dreams. Two Times João Liberada blurs the line between sanity and fantasy, culminating in a visceral journey into identity.
This is a tale of progressive ideals set in a regressive era. Stylistically, Two Times João Liberada uses vibrant colour designs, changing from kaleidoscopic brights to stark black and whites, depending on what history mandates.
“I was expecting to find some things in common with her,” an actor explains, suggesting that their research and internal journeys do not always correlate with the finished project. The creative artists have to ask themselves whether or not a fictionalised version of the events do a disservice to the history they are supposed to exhibit. Marques invites the viewer to engage with the conversation, offering another voice to the proceedings.
The movie cleverly adds a kinetic element to the work by incorporating a quasi-animated segment, as drawings go across the screen to deliver some plot exposition. When it returns to live action, there are harrowing scenes. Rehearsing for the project, João is forced to spend more time underwater, an uncomfortable experience for any actor to undergo. Where Cuchí’s work critiqued intimacy co-ordination and casual misogyny on Hollywood sets, Two Times João Liberada casts a wider net that wags a middle finger at the power directors hold over their ensembles.
While the central story is admittedly convoluted – audiences may need another viewing in order to better understand some of the emotional themes – Marques compensates by maintaining an impressive colour palette. During one intricate chase scene, blue covers the screen, as if evoking 1960s’ psychedelia.”You are to blame for my ill fortune,” screams one of the people onscreen, as if evoking the aqua flavours the camera depicts; “..and you dare offend me so?” As one liners go, this is a good one, detailing the power struggle between creative and actor on a set. Metatextual, too.
When the ghost of Liberada appears to haunt João, it is to serve as an entry into the character’s internal voice. The representation is left relatively vague, offering the viewer an opportunity to impart their reading onto the proceedings. Some of the more striking scenes are done in 16mm photography; beautifully shot by Mafalda Fresco. Although Two Times João Liberada chastises aspects of modern-day cinema, it is nonetheless written, directed and produced by a team who adore the genre.
Two Times João Liberada is a dissertation on Portugal, and its 18th-century values. Marques assumes knowledge of the viewer, but those unversed in this particular history will enjoy it for the rapid-fire cuts and intricate directorial interpolations that cement the work.
More impressively, Marques holds cinema to task in the hope of making it a safer place for men, women and non-binary artists to journey, digest and create. Films need total co-operation if it wants to develop as a human art form, starting from the bottom, reaching to the very top.
Two Times João Liberada premiered at IndieLisboa, when this piece was originally written. Also showing at Karlovy Vary, and San Sebastian.
