About three minutes in to the London Film Festival press screening of Porto, the film paused unexpectedly, and a loud voice could be heard from back, apologising for delay, claiming it to have been shown, thus far, in the wrong aspect ratio. The voice belonged to director Gabe Klinger, and such is the indelible beauty to this film’s aesthetic you can see why he was so incensed on cutting it short, as the film restarted from the top, and the audience were given a proper chance to see how he truly wanted his vision to be presented, to allow them the chance to fall in love with this endeavour. Aesthetically, and tonally, Klinger isn’t asking too much of the viewer in that regard, but narratively speaking the film can be a struggle to get on board with, growing frustrating tedious towards the latter stages.
Anton Yelchin, in one of his very final performances, plays Jake Kleeman, an American living in Portugal, where he meets Mati Vargnier (Lucie Lucas) – a coming together that appears to be ineffably romantic, as though cupid himself had intervened. The pair speak earnestly to one another, citing the universe as a reason for their meeting, a chance encounter that was evidently meant to be. We meet up with Jake many years later, alone, with just a dog for company, roaming the same streets the couple once adorned. We gather from this it didn’t work out between the two, that their one-night stand may have remained as just that – and we progress back in time, peering into the very same flashbacks with a contrasting perspective, as this intense, short-lived affair turns remarkably sour.
Klinger shoots the backstreets of Porto with a certain affection, a grainy aesthetic that evokes a sense of romanticism that derives from classic cinema, but this film deviates far off the typical Hollywood path. Adding to the ambiance is a beautifully arranged piano, one of the only real constants in this otherwise convoluted, non-linear production.
The first-time filmmaker plays with our perceptions throughout, initially we believe the pair to be the real deal, and then we revisit the very same sequences we once marvelled at, now from differing perspectives, having gathered new information along the way, allowing the viewer to watch exactly the same scene except in an entirely different way, spiked with a profound sense of regret and melancholy to contrast with the initial sense of endearment.
Yelchin turns in a wonderful display, so nuanced and subtle, particularly in his physicality when we see him in flashbacks and the present day, always able to tell exactly where we are after a seconds glimpse. But what doesn’t leave his demeanour is a distinctive intensity, an intensity that is sincere and romantic at first, and dark and threatening later on. Porto is flawed, it wanes somewhat in the middle stages (which takes some doing in a film just shy of 80 minutes), but nonetheless it serves as an upsetting reminder at what an immensely talented young actor we recently lost.
