Cannes Review: I Only Rest in the Storm Skims Across Numerous Concepts Without Fully Engaging With Their Significance

      Late in I Only Rest in the Storm, Sergio (Sérgio Coragem) faces a question that eludes him: what matters to you? As a Portuguese environmental engineer brought in to assess the ecological effects of a major road project that will cut through Guinea Bissau, he finds himself in a state of existential paralysis during his time there. While the job has taken him to various locations—from the affluent villas of the capital to villages that stand to be destroyed—he is yet to reconcile his purpose in a locale he has never visited and whose future he has been tasked with influencing. “Sooner or later,” muses a character in Graham Greene’s The Quiet American, “one has to take a stance, if one is to remain human.” This remark looms over I Only Rest in the Storm like a prophetic warning. If there’s a central theme in this sprawling film, it’s the denial that has engulfed its protagonist. It’s unfortunate that Sergio remains an enigma, and that Pinho’s latest project skims over thought-provoking concepts without fully engaging with their significance.

      This critique could similarly apply to Pinho’s The Nothing Factory, which transformed a strike at a Portuguese lift factory into a scathing commentary on 21st-century capitalism. One character describes it as a “neorealist musical” (despite the musical number appearing only toward the end), as Pinho’s debut feature in fiction combines social critique reminiscent of Ken Loach with breaks in the fourth wall that introduce an almost contradictory tone. I Only Rest in the Storm appears to share this foundation, being both lengthy (The Nothing Factory runs just under three hours, while this one exceeds that by 30 minutes) and willing to delve into a multitude of ideas. Initially, Sergio’s journey to Guinea Bissau unfolds as a straightforward passage from point A to point B, but it gradually evolves into a more complex, collaborative portrait of the environment he navigates. Consequently, identifying the white outsider as the sole protagonist of the film seems somewhat misleading. Sergio's encounters intersect with those of others he meets, including Brazilian cross-dresser Gui (Jonathan Guilherme) and Gui's close friend Diara (Cleo Diára), a young Guinean woman with whom he predictably becomes infatuated.

      However, unlike The Nothing Factory, which seemed crafted to subvert its observational, documentary-like style by frequently reminding viewers that what they were witnessing resembled a play rather than true-to-life realism, Pinho’s new film strives for a different approach. Cinematographer Ivo Lopes Araújo and editors Rita M. Pestana, Akerman Karen, and Cláudia Rita Oliveira create a visual style characterized by extensive, mostly handheld shots that blur the line between fact and fiction rather than emphasizing it. This stylistic choice reflects Pinho’s background in documentary filmmaking and is meant to allow his cast the freedom to express a naturalistic performance. While this does occur to some extent, it is often undermined. Several scenes capture a fly-on-the-wall essence, with Coragem and others engaging in lively, often alcohol-infused discussions that suggest more improvised than scripted dialogue. Nevertheless, the film frequently veers into didacticism. As time progresses, Sergio's neutrality is challenged, both by those who will benefit from the new road and those who will suffer because of it. Yet the criticisms directed at this outsider in a foreign land come across as oddly muted, presenting a repetitive perspective on his savior mentality.

      This creates a stark contrast with the few instances where the film achieves a level of authenticity for which it has been striving. A brief excursion to the desert evokes elements from Dino Buzzati’s The Tartar Steppe: stranded in the so-called middle of nowhere and separated from loved ones for years, the Portuguese workers sharing Sergio's quarters appear like guardians of a desolate purgatory. In one gripping sequence, an internal conflict among the group elevates I Only Rest in the Storm to a match for its tumultuous title. The theme of toxic masculinity—how extended isolation in a foreign land can push men to their limits—is just one of many topics Pinho explores. Environmental destruction, gentrification, and the legacy of Portuguese colonialism in the region are also woven into the narrative. Like The Nothing Factory, I Only Rest in the Storm grapples with numerous themes, yet these ideas do not amalgamate into a cohesive whole but rather clash against one another. This disarray, however, conveys a different impact this time. The loose threads left hanging in The Nothing Factory seemed apt for a critique of capitalism, serving as the film’s defiance against corporate efficiency. In contrast, the surplus evident here is less justifiable.

      Is the film’s persistent zigzagging a reflection of Sergio’s own unease—his difficulty in really being present, as Gui teasingly points out at one moment? Or is it Pinho’s effort to break away from conventional, Western storytelling