Directed by Gabriel Mascaro
Written by Gabriel Mascaro, Rachel Daisy Ellis, Esdras Bezerra, Lucas Paraizo and Marcelo Gomes
Starring Dira Paes, Julio Machado, Emílio de Mello and Teca Pereira
Language - Portuguese
Running time: 1 hour and 41 minutes 
MPAA rating: Not rated

by Audrey Callerstrom

There is something about seeing bright, luscious colors that begs us to pay attention. During Divine Love (Divino Amor), I waited for the momentum to pick up, for the universe in which it takes place – a dystopic (utopic?) future in Brazil, circa 2027 – to expand. It never does, and it ends abruptly, but I found that I had a renewed interest whenever a burst of color enters the frame.

Divine Love has terrific opening credits. Neon-colored lines grow in circles as the soundtrack pumps ‘80s synth music. As the lines are complete, they form a rainbow with a dove inside, a neon sign that represents the symbol of a church called Divine Love. Joana (Dira Paes) is a devoted member of the church along with her husband, floral artist Danilo (Julio Machado). Joana is a civil servant, a notary, but her true passion comes in reconciling couples coming to her to finalize a divorce. Reunited couples send Joana framed photos which she keeps at home on a shrine. In Brazil 2027, the country has phased out Carnival (a weeklong celebration that begins around Ash Wednesday) and celebrates the new festival of Supreme Love, which looks like a giant rave, complete with black lights and stilt walkers. Joana and Danilo have been struggling to conceive, even resorting to bizarre measures like drinking the tears of orphaned babies and a contraption that hangs Danilo upside-down and shines red light on his testicles. Neither of these moments are played for laughs.

We get suggestions of what this future is like, but it’s never clear when it started or how it affects anyone besides Joana and Danilo. In 2027, pregnant women are revered – they get reserved massage chairs in every waiting room. Every public space has a scanner that identifies a woman by her marital and child-bearing status, i.e. “Divorced,” “Pregnant – Fetus Registered.” It seems like a missed opportunity that these scanners are not played for comedy. A drive-up service wherein people can pull up to talk to a pastor (Emílio de Mello), who plays hymns from a recording and turns on a fog machine for dramatic effect, is also played straight. The film is impartial about this universe. Pregnant women are revered and producing families is encouraged, but how is that significantly different than it is today? It’s not like we see what this future is like for those who cannot have kids, or are childless by choice. We don’t know how Danilo and Joana feel about it, either. They struggle to conceive, but it never seems particularly burdensome on their marriage.

The sets, the art design and the textiles are absolutely gorgeous, though. In any scene where light peaks through curtains, they are always a semi-sheer shade of red, purple or blue. During a Divine Love ritual, women perform a song while wearing jade green lace blouses and peach-pink skirts. Danilo and Joana sit in a doctor’s waiting room, shot through a bubbling blue partition. When Danilo and Joana fight, he destroys one of his floral displays, and petals of various colors are strewn across the white floor, equidistant from each other. I would be remiss if I didn’t call attention to the film’s sex scenes, too, which are artfully filmed. The church of Divine Love encourages swinging to rekindle a couple’s love, provided such encounters are not “productive,” so to speak. When Joana and Danilo warm up a young couple, each is doing so on two separate but adjacent surfaces (a bed and a couch), in a room surrounded by red drapes. The camera never moves, never goes in for shots of their faces or bodies, and the scene itself lasts just long enough to be erotic, but not pornographic.

So how does a film about a horny, dystopian future end up so dull? For one, the script had input of five different people, sacrificing a clear vision in the process. The revelation that Joana, devoted to God,  appears to conceive immaculately never feels properly executed. We don’t understand how her devotion to her religion and her taken-upon role as a matchmaker are related. We never feel invested in her. She is kept at arm’s length, literally, like all other characters. The camera never gets very close to anyone. The default shot is from several feet away (not a COVID measure, as this was screened in 2019 at the Philadelphia Film Fest, et al). Some tighter close-ups would have made things feel more intimate. A heated argument between Danilo and Joana is shot from a bystander’s point of view. Divine Love is nice to look at, original and, at times, erotic, but it’s uncertain and emotionally detached.

Available to watch in virtual cinemas starting tomorrow, November 13.