Reaching for the Moon

However truthful to Elizabeth Bishop’s tragic love affair with Brazilian architect Lota de Macedo Soares, Bruno Barreto’s Reaching for the Moon is more generally engaged with the question: Is the examined life worth suffering?

In this corner, Elizabeth (Miranda Otto), a wan, fragile, painfully timid and insecure poet who is mortified to hear one of her poems read aloud. In her insecurity and sense of powerlessness she is Woman. She dresses like an office manager’s wife and wears her hair tight to her face. She compulsively observes and anatomizes her observations. Her life is at first nothing but her examining it.

In contrast Lota has a large strong face, flowing long hair, a man’s stocky build, and a man’s aggressive stride and nature. She never questions herself or her impulses and she has the money not just to do what she wants but to get others to do so too. When she tells Elizabeth that she and her current amour, Elizabeth’s college friend Mary (Tracy Middendorf), were just roommates, she admits Mary hasn’t thought that. Probably Lota hasn’t either. To draw Mary back into her fold as a friend Lota buys her a child. 

Lota is also creative, designing her sumptuous country estate and — after she helps friend Carlos (Marcello Airoldi) get elected Governor — designs and supervises the construction of a large public park, with towering standards to provide the magic of moonlight. But she’s not a thinker, a meditator. She just acts. Not given to self-analysis, when the new guest Elizabeth arrives Lota leaps to wrong conclusions about her.

Part of their antithesis is cultural. As Elizabeth drunkenly tells the Rio audience at her National Book Awards dinner, “How can someone raised in the desert swim like a fish?” The withdrawn Elizabeth doesn’t understand the Brazilian exuberance, constant joy, and carefreeness, as they celebrate everything — even after the military coup has reduced their freedoms.

But the contrast is mainly in the women’s character. Still, though Lota is the first to express her love for Elizabeth — which the poet only reciprocates when Lota is asleep — in their first clinch Elizabeth assumes the ardent initiative. And despite -- or because of -- her relentless analyzing, Elizabeth is an alcoholic.

With her deep pessimism and self-doubt, Elizabeth stumbles from success to success: the Pulitzer, the NBA, a slot in The New Yorker, the man Aldous Huxley’s approval, a teaching gig at NYU. Her life examining works for her. 

But the ebullient, confident Lota breaks down at her first defeat: the new government corrupts her vision of the park, converting it into the cliche sterile paved soccer court. When Elizabeth asks if her going to New York caused Lota’s depression, Mary clearly blames the ruin of her project. “How could you think anyone could be that confident?”

For her part, Mary begins as a jejeune, non-thinking sort who doesn’t expect her college friend to steal her lover. Dumped, Mary realizes she has “no other option” than to love Lota. But by film end she has learned to read people and situations. Motherhood may have taught her wariness. When she aborts Elizabeth’s correspondence with Lota it is not out of selfish malice, but because she knows that Lota’s losing Elizabeth again would destroy her. Events prove her right.

Hence the poem Elizabeth ends too soon at the start of the film and rounds out at the end. “The art of losing isn’t hard to master.” Not if you’re a thinker. The frightened self-doubter sees enough loss to handle her own and not just thrive but survive. The robust willful woman who never paused to consider human vulnerability is defeated by her first loss — and kills herself at the second.
     There’s another unthinking element in this film. The thoughtful, analytic drama of high passions is attended by a score of vapid, pseudo-Rio popular love songs. The unexamined soundtrack isn’t worth much either.