The Secret Agent

Brent Marchant

The key to making a successful political thriller is to maintain a taught sense of mesmerizing, edge-of-the-seat intrigue. Unfortunately, that’s precisely the element that’s missing in this overlong, annoyingly convoluted tale set in 1977 Brazil during the waning days of its military dictatorship. The story follows the life of Armando (Wagner Moura), a former university researcher targeted for manipulation and framing by a corrupt, influential businessman (Luciano Chirolli) when the educator refuses to play ball with him. This, in turn, leads to a death threat against Armando, who must do whatever it takes to try and clear his name and stay alive. In the process, however, Armando gets caught up in a web of deceit, criminality and personal peril involving a shady police chief and his dubious associates, a pair of ruthless hitmen, a group of Brazilian and Angolan political dissidents in hiding, and a Holocaust survivor mistakenly believed to be a Nazi refugee. From this, it would appear that the film has a premise filled with potential to make for an engaging yarn, but, regrettably, it fails under the weight of its many shortcomings, most notably an overextended narrative that excessively delves into the details of government research funding and sociopolitical clashes involving regional Brazilian cultural and political differences, material that’s often tedious and not especially engaging. To complicate matters, director Kleber Mendonça Filho has compiled a mishmash of filming and storytelling styles that frequently impairs the picture’s flow and style, including a wealth of easily excised incidental material that tries viewer patience the further one gets into the story. This is clearly a case of a filmmaker in need of reining himself in, knowing when to kill his darlings, and unsuccessfully maintaining a level of suspense that, sadly, largely evaporates about an hour into the picture. In addition, this offering incorporates a present-day story thread involving a history student (Laura Lufési) assigned to transcribe surveillance tape recordings of Armando made at the height of his ordeal, a task that inexplicably captivates her, prompting her to learn more about the fate of her subject. It’s a needless subplot that evokes a huge “so what?” quality and could have readily been eliminated without damaging the picture in the slightest. I’m truly mystified how this bloated release ended up being the most honored candidate at this year’s Cannes Film Festival, capturing four awards, including best actor and director, as well as a Palme d’Or nomination, the event’s highest honor. This is a genre with so many other better offerings that one would be wise to watch in place of this disappointing effort.