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Not His Godfather | Tetro is perhaps not Coppolla at his finest.

Tetro
Written and directed by Francis Ford Coppolla
Starring Vincent Gallo, Alden Ehrenreich, and Maribel Verdu
Playing at Metro Cinema, Jan. 22 and 24 at 9.05 p.m., Jan. 23 and 25 at 6.45 p.m.
**

The story is simple. Bennie, a young man goes looking for his older brother Tetro in search of answers about his family and to ask why Angelo disappeared in his youth, never to return, despite promises to the contrary. Over the course of two-hours and seven minutes, family secrets are revealed, new drama emerges, women take their clothes off, and the film builds towards an ambitious conclusion. Central to the plot is a twist that, if you don’t see it coming, is likely to elicit an audible gasp, however, I saw it coming an hour into the film, which reduced the impact of what would have been better as a surprise.

Tetro is played by Vincent Gallo, who effectively portrays a psychologically-fragile writer. Bennie, played by newcomer Alden Ehrenreich, is compelling as the no-longer-a-boy-not-yet-a-man seeking answers about his family. Both actors were strong in their portrayals, but limited by roles that while complex, failed to demonstrate a sense of consistency in character. Maribel Verdu as Miranda, Tetro’s girlfriend, felt the most authentic of the trio, though plagued by some contradictions in her behaviour also.

Like the lead characters, the film as a whole felt inconsistent. There was certainly enough brilliance to hold my attention; the cinematography, especially the lighting, was phenomenal. The acting was great, given the material the actors had to work with. The majority of the film is done with subtle shifts in monochromatic tones; however, when the story refers to the unfinished play that tells the story of their family, those scenes were done in vibrant, saturated colors. I found the subtle shifts annoying; but the scenes from the play were gorgeous.

Sometimes the whole is greater than the sum of its parts; but not in the case of Tetro. There were certainly masterful parts worthy of admiration, both to the actors and the director; however, when put together, there was something lacking. And for such an experienced director, it oddly smacked of a director trying too hard. The film felt like pieces of several masterpieces mashed together: the cinematic equivalent of a painting that took chunks of a Picasso, a Monet, a Dali, a Van Gogh and glued it together onto one canvas.

My last word? It’s well worth a look for those who identify as film buffs. There is genius scattered among the pieces, moments that take your breath away.

If you can appreciate those for what they are, the unevenness in story and characters can be forgiven.