by Jason Adams
How many wood puns would a reviewer chuck into his review of a movie about wood puns? Admittedly not quite as tight a tongue-twister as the “how much wood would a woodchuck” original, but we work with what we’ve got. And I’ll try to rein myself in when it comes to queer sensualist and provocateur João Pedro Rodrigues’ Will-o’-the-Wisp (aka Fogo-Fátuo) as far as such woody things go, but when he’s got his own characters talking about the trees being “tumescent with sap” I can only be so discreet. But I know when I’ve been beaten, and this wood master already beat me at my own game. Point João once more!
At sixty-seven minutes Will-o’-the-Wisp is as slight as is its central figure, a dazzled Portuguese princeling named Alfredo (Mauro Costa) in an alternate-reality timeline...
The royal twink has a mop of Raphaelite blonde curls that continues down into a beard as if the angels couldn’t stop. This human cascade of ringlets was meant to pose against heavy fabrics and crosses with a wan expression set across wet lips. “Gay gay gay,” we cry, even before he speaks or starts macking on men in explicit close-up.
But when Alfredo does speak it’s with a surprising passion – quoting Greta Thunberg’s famous “How dare you” speech about Climate Change he tears into his father and mother, the King and Queen, over dinner – they can’t be bothered much, of course, but it’s nice he makes the attempt. So, prepped to watch the world burn (and all of that beautiful hard wood with it) he decides to go work for the Fire Department. Alfredo means to work his way from the bottom up and, uhh, hoo boy does he ever.
Immediately hitting it off with his fellow fireman Alfonso (André Cabral), their CPR practise begins getting sloppy with tongues. The new pair watch their jockstrap-clad (or less) firehouse compatriots strike art-world poses they name from made-up paintings. Director Rodrigues’ locker-room fantasies are like the opening moments of Carrie directed by Derek Jarman. It's a beefcake fantasia of masculine camaraderie that’s spills into dance and forest-floor mutual masturbation fast.
It’s nigh impossible to not shout-out Titane here, with its own fleet of gyrating firemen and all that enthusiastic queering of macho spaces. But Rodrigues’ film never goes so dire as Ducournau's provocation. Even though Will-o’-the-Wisp stares down the end of the world it springs back and forth in time to sixty years in the future, giving humanity hope that we have at least that much time left. Plus its mood remains steadfastly light, feeling like a purposeful tonic against despair. Its titular wispiness is very much on display so you get the sense Rodrigues is choosing hope, rather than fully believing in it... for sixty-seven divine minutes anyway.
Will-o'-the-Wisp plays NYFF one final time on Saturday, October 8th.