Review: Life is an act of enigmatic cartography in Ana, en passant

Life is an ongoing act of discovery, creation, and (most interestingly) cartography in Fernanda Salgado's deeply touching Ana, en passant, which makes its world premiere at the Festival de Brasília do Cinema Brasileiro later this month (it'll also play at VIFF and BFI). It's rare to see a movie that's so aesthetically alive. The visual dynamism underlines and enhances the thematic concerns, adding depth and texture to every scene (often, literal depth and texture). It's a thrill to watch, to behold. It reminded me of watching Olivia & the Clouds, so multi-faceted and fascinating is its approach to telling its story.

Ana lives in Paris, where she was raised by her recently-deceased grandmother, who herself emigrated from Brazil many years ago. Paris is Ana's home, but it feels less like home without her grandmother, who was a kind of North Star, a grounding force, a friend, a guide. Following her passing, Ana finds a box that was left behind for her, a kind of collection of puzzle pieces for her to untangle: some documents, a letter with an address in Brazil, a set of keys, a photograph. Ana's grandmother always gave her good advice, helped her know where to go, so it's perhaps easy for Ana to decide to pursue this new lead across the ocean.

When she arrives at the address in Brazil, she discovers an apartment that her grandmother (unbeknownst to Ana) owns. The keys from the box unlock the front door. Inside, Ana peruses the closets, finds her late grandfather's old instant camera, not much else. But then, the apartment's resident arrives: Alice, who is Ana's doppelgänger. So begins an ongoing mystery, a tangle, a new course to chart through the passing days. Why do they look alike? Why does Alice share the name of Ana's late grandmother? Why did these clues lead Ana here? What is the message, the goal? What does any of it mean, life?

Ana, en passant is an answer full of big questions, and less full of big answers. As it should be. It understands that each of us is just another person passing through the world, trying to find our way, occasionally finding people to walk alongside us and help us understand our place in the grand scheme of things, as much as there can be a grand scheme. As I watched, I found myself volleying different theories. Maybe Alice was a younger version of Ana's grandmother, and we're in some sort of time travel scenario. Maybe Alice is representative of another path Ana's life could've taken, a kind of Sliding Doors thing going on. Maybe they're long-lost twins, but then why wouldn't Ana have known she had a twin sister? I have to imagine these are exactly the kinds of scenarios Salgado hopes to inspire in her viewers, the furious attempts to connect dots that don't necessarily connect. There isn't always a picture to complete.

The film opens with a conversation about maps, which plays out over dreamy, impressionistic imagery and grainy photographs. It does a magnificent job setting the tone for the film to come, and put me in a pensive place. The emphasis on charting out and documenting new places and spaces runs throughout the film. Ana uses her grandfather's camera to take photos of various views and buildings. It made me think of how each person has their own map of the world, which we fill in as we explore, go down new streets, travel to new towns and cities and countries and continents. The world is so big, but so small, and our world only get bigger, at least until they can't anymore. What a gift it is to be able to fill out more of our personal maps, to find new landmarks that loom large in our memories, to have our world fill with more color and texture and shape.

Which brings me to the film's visual approach, which had me swooning. Just as Ana is discovering herself and the world around her, so the film feels like it's going through a similar exercise. There's so much creativity in how this world is rendered, and the very components and materials of creation are part of that rendering. Sometimes, you can see the jagged edges of cardboard, the lined surfaces of paper, paper clips holding various plans together. In Paris, the Eiffel Tower is represented by a looming postage stamp. Some of the background characters look like they were cut out of photographs or magazines, while others look like quick doodles. The settings, too, have this multi-faceted approach: a tree might by a splotch of paint, while an interior may have elements that look like they've been clipped from a catalogue. I was consistently surprised and enthralled by what I was looking at, the ways the world could (and would) fold and tear and bend and unfurl to reveal new wrinkles, textures, and ideas. It's like a living collage.

Even when we have a map, a plan, a destination in mind, life doesn't always go how we think it will. They say it's about the journey, not the destination, which feels like it's true in Ana, en passant to some degree. But also, the journey is the destination. Finding people to connect with, being able to revive memories, exploring new places -- that's all part of the point, if there is a point. I think there is, and it seems like Salgado does, too. We have infinite paths to choose from, some laid out for us by others who want to make our journeys safe and easy, but ultimately, we have to choose our own way, make our own mistakes, find our own dead ends and turn around and try again.