A Gorgeous Aquatic Road Movie From Brazil

Movies about dystopian near futures are a dime a dozen, but it’s hard to recall one that sweeps you up in the defiant joy of liberation like The Blue Trail (O Último Azul). Gabriel Mascaro’s imaginative fable is a slap in the face of age discrimination, with hallucinogenic gastropods, dueling tropical fish and “wrinkle wagons” — trucks with caged flatbeds in which non-compliant oldsters are hauled off while kids snap cellphone photos. The subversive spirit gradually awakened in the 77-year-old central character is echoed in the cheeky pleasures of the plotting in a film both fantastical and grounded in earthy reality.

Mascaro had his international breakthrough in 2015 with the intoxicating Neon Bull, a ripely sensual contemplation of the thin line separating man and beast, which upended conventional notions of machismo through its observation of a makeshift family of animal handlers working the rodeo circuit in Northern Brazil. The cowboy with a taste for delicate colognes and aspirations to design women’s clothing was a rejection of gender stereotypes via one of the sexiest, most tender male screen protagonists of the past decade.

The director, who got his start in documentary, followed in 2020 with Divine Love, a satire of the unholy intersection between evangelical Christianity and far-right conservatism. Taking aim at religious hypocrisy and autocratic governmental meddling in everything from marriage to pregnancy to sex, the film conjured a scenario both futuristic and scarily plausible, in which procreation has become political. A J.D. Vance wet dream.

Bodies have been a thematic motif in Mascaro’s narrative features. That continues with The Blue Trail, in which ownership of the aged body of Tereza (Weinberg) is invalidated by bureaucratic edicts. But in a glorious FU to authoritarian rule, the director and his co-writer Tibério Azul celebrate Tereza’s physical vitality and even her resurgent eroticism as her transformative journey unfolds.

A breathtaking drone shot near the end of the movie shows an alligator shimmying along the surface of an Amazon tributary. It symbolizes Tereza’s emancipation in an elegant reversal of where she was at the start, working in a processing plant for alligator meat. The village where she lives is almost a shantytown, surrounded by factories.

Exultant public-address announcements and banners fluttering from passing planes proclaim, “The future is for everyone.” But happily self-sufficient Tereza is skeptical of her place in that future. She’s less than thrilled to come home and find government employees hanging golden laurels over the door to her humble shack; they award her a medal that declares her a “national living heritage.” “Since when is getting old an honor?” she mutters with a scowl.

At 77, Tereza figures she still has three years left before her mandatory removal by the government to the “Colony,” an isolated settlement for seniors. The policy is designed to free younger generations from responsibility and thereby encourage productivity and growth.

The fact that no one subjected to this forced relocation ever resurfaces raises doubts about an even more sinister form of generational cleansing, though the script shrewdly maintains ambiguity. Glimpses of graffiti saying “Give me back my grandma” or “The elderly are not a commodity” point to discord among the people.

When Tereza is informed by her boss at the plant that she’s being involuntarily retired, she also learns that the state has lowered the age for relocation from 80 to 75, and until her removal, her daughter Joana (Clarissa Pinheiro) becomes her legal guardian. Without hammering the point, Mascaro notes the bitter irony of a woman who raised her daughter on her own while working two jobs then being stripped of her autonomy while Joana collects subsidy checks.

Tereza has always dreamed of flying in a plane and in an attempt at wish-fulfillment before she’s carted off, she tries to buy a ticket at the airport to “wherever the next flight goes.” But all travel is closely monitored, with ultralight aviation banned and government-controlled commercial flights the sole option. That becomes a moot point when Joana declines to authorize her purchase.

Refusing to abandon her dream, Tereza slips shady-looking riverboat pilot Cadu (Rodrigo Santoro) a chunk of her savings to transport her down the Amazon, to Itacoatiara, where rumor has it she can find an illegal flight.

Communication between them is terse at first and he bristles at her questions. But when a firework signal tells him the route is temporarily closed, they pull into a tributary to wait it out, which is when Mascaro introduces the first element of magic realism that gracefully reshapes the story. Memo Guerra’s electronic score also takes on more soothing tones, echoing the gentle rhythms of the river.

While floating on an inflatable raft, Cadu finds an elusive “blue drool snail,” a species that secretes a cerulean slime which, when used as eyedrops, is said to illuminate a person’s path to the future. He wastes no time trying it.

Tereza is initially concerned as the boatman starts burning up with fever. Half-delirious, he babbles about going to find his lost love, the woman he let slip away in favor of his boat. When the all-clear signal comes, telling them it’s safe to proceed, Cadu is in no shape to steer the vessel, so he gives Tereza a crash course. In a key piece of info, he tells her if she can drive one boat, she can drive them all.

Another important nugget comes when she goes ashore to investigate a glider. The light aircraft is out of commission, but Tereza pays the owner, Ludemir (Adalino), to try fixing it. He encourages her to bet on an animal-based guessing game, telling her that first-timers always win. She declines, but files that information away for later, along with the name of a gambling den, the Golden Fish, where it’s possible to make a lot of money. What happens there is a jaw-dropping scene as beautiful as it is violent and strange.

A setback threatens to halt Tereza’s momentum, but she has grown wilier in her escape instincts, leading to an exploit that borders on the farcical. She also meets an ideal traveling companion in Roberta (Miriam Socarrás), known as “The Nun,” an ebulliently free-spirited woman of a similar age who captains a boat on which she cruises up and down the Amazon selling digital Bibles to gullible river communities.

At each step of her journey, Tereza acquires knowledge that expands her world. From Roberta, she learns that it’s possible for people to buy their freedom when they hit the age limit and thus avoid the Colony. When the two fast friends find another blue drool snail, they pop in the eyedrops together, and Tereza’s destiny becomes clear as she learns to dream bigger.

The picaresque quality of the story means it’s full of surprises, developments that range from alarming to absurdly funny, without ever veering into cutesiness. Much of this is thanks to the wonderful actors, Weinberg in particular. Tereza lightens up physically, mentally, emotionally and perhaps even spiritually as she continues her travels, though despite being a natural salesperson with the Bibles, she learns from Roberta that the only thing worth believing in is freedom. The way she rediscovers her body in an impromptu dance or a wash with a bucket of water and a ladle is enchanting.

Socarrás is equally captivating, with bright eyes, a big hearty chuckle and an infectious joie de vivre. Together, she and Weinberg feed off each other’s energy in a joyous exchange of life-giving warmth. And it’s good to see Santoro playing down his matinee-idol looks as a rough-around-the-edges, probably disreputable tough guy, whose evolving rapport with Tereza takes unexpected turns.

Mascaro’s films have been notable for his mastery of color and light, a quality still very much in evidence in his first collaboration with DP Guillermo Garza. The lush green jungles flanking the river are almost iridescent, the skies are a pristine blue, and the sparkling ripples of the Amazon and all its sinuous curves are hypnotic. Shot in the tight 1:33 aspect ratio, the movie has an intimacy that contrasts nicely with its expansive natural vistas.

Mascaro doesn’t downplay the ugly and all-too-real specter of authoritarianism, but it’s conveyed with scruffy sci-fi economy, mostly in billboards and those cheery, propagandistic public broadcasts. The nifty-looking backpacks provided to Colony-bound seniors and stuffed with adult diapers are an amusing touch. What’s remarkable about The Blue Trail and makes it such a delight is that despite all the oppression in the air, it’s a movie filled with hope and faith in human resilience at any age. The closing image will make your heart soar. And no, it’s not the one you were expecting.