Steven Soderbergh’s Che Guevera biopic is a revolution of two halves. By BRANNAVAN GNANALINGAM.

TWO HUNDRED and seventy-seven minutes is a long time to spend in a cinema. And it’s no surprise that this immense biopic of Che Guevera has been split into two movies for its general release, given the film’s narrative is similarly split: the first half of the film looks at the fight for Cuba and the second looks at Guevera’s attempt to do something similar in Bolivia. Despite its four-and-a-half-hour running time, Che isn’t actually a film about Che Guevera. We’re no closer to knowing about his motivations or his personality (see Motorcycle Diaries or read his books instead for that). Instead, this is about revolution, the way in which social change can, or won’t be, affected by armed conflict.

The first half (The Argentine) is revolution actually achieving social change. The narrative’s focus is on the Cuban Revolution, starting from when Guevera, Castro etc. landed in Cuba in late 1956. Interspersed with the ensuing conflict is Guevera in New York addressing the United Nations, as he explains the rationale for armed conflict, and baits (and is baited) by other Latin American/American delegates. The first half is also where the iconic images of Guevera come from – the cool, imposing, charismatic figure which transcends the mucky politics of civil wars. The first half shows how a revolution can work if a groundswell of support from ordinary people is gained, how revolution will succeed if what is being fought for is easily understandable and target-able.

If the first half of the film is the success, the second (Guerrilla) is the long hangover. Eschewing Guevera’s other failed attempts in Congo and Venezuela, the narrative solely focuses on another failure: Bolivia. Whereas Cuba had some inexorable momentum, Bolivia was the complete opposite. The narrative slows down to match the inability of Guevera and his small band to gain resonance with the masses. Part of the reason was that Guevera was a foreigner stirring things up, but the main reason was that no-one was able to sell to the people why on earth they should have sacrificed themselves like they did in Cuba. It’s dark, desolate, almost like the asteroid-blasted purgatory of Brazilian film Antonio das Mortes – a man walking towards his death, and taking a whole bunch of others down with him.

Aesthetically, Soderbergh’s film is restrained (although the new hyped RED camera looks fantastic), and perhaps doesn’t have the rigour to justify its lengthy duration. The narrative could have been shortened to accommodate this, without adversely affecting its thematic preoccupations. However, given that this is two movies, individually, the lengths of each part would have been justified. Though, heaven knows why you’d want to watch this as separate movies. The juxtapositions, the contrasts, the complements, and above all, the narrative resonance, all suggest that the two will only succeed if they fight side-by-side.