An expansive yet intimate epic, I Only Rest in the Storm (2025) is Pedro Pinho’s huge three-and-a-half-hour treatise on neo-colonialism, capitalism and the ever-shifting relationship between Europe and Africa. Exhaustive in its minute examination of the future of Guinea-Bissau and its dependence on foreign investment, while somehow avoiding a typical reproduction of the colonial gaze, this complicated film asks if an outsider can ever truly understand another culture or if unequal nations can ever work together on the same level playing field. It’s a remarkable achievement, both on a minute character level and in the way it evokes a much more problematic larger picture.
The opening evokes classic images of colonial conquest, a lone white man driving through the desert. Is he in search of adventure? Meaning? Sexual excitement? Maybe a combination of all three.
He is Sergio (Sérgio Coragem, the spitting image of Mo Salah), an engineer working for an unnamed NGO, tasked with assessing the environmental impact of a new road that will cut through the country and supposedly boost the economy. Already, the scene feels set for a classical case of colonial conflict.
But things immediately get interesting when he is stopped on his drive by a local man. It is unclear whether he is a police officer or a border guard or something else. But this man does not ask him for money, only for a book. He is bored and he wants to read something. Right from these opening scenes, Pinho is interested in subverting conventional images of West Africa in favour of something far less stereotypical.
Take love interest Diára (Cleo Diára), for example, a chaotic individual who owns a local bar and is constantly owing men money. At first, she feels like Sergio’s local Manic Pixie Dream Girl, the answer to his ennui, his search for the other. However, as the film develops, their relationship becomes increasingly complicated, culminating in a startling scene that might come as a surprise but actually feels of a piece with the rest of Pinho’s epic vision.
As, thanks to the ultra-long runtime, Pinho is able to create a truly panoramic exploration of what this road could mean for the country and the various types of people that live there — from the queer community in the city to the self-sustaining villages in the countryside to the nouveau-riche and their deep, corrupt pockets. Sergio remains the star — a man who would do anything to fit in with and become one of the locals — but he is neither a true sleazebag conqueror or a typical white saviour, simply a flawed man navigating this new world in his own unique way.
His often-blank expression and well-meaning demeanour make him privy to the many, many opinions of others. What I appreciated was how these many different ideas are presented in the context of character and plot, and people never feel like the mouthpieces of the director. There is no simple binary between the honourable Westerner and the “locals who simply don’t understand” or “live a simpler, better way of life” (my quotation marks). Instead, Pinho presents a much knottier picture, with nefarious and self-interested players across both sides of the racial line. My favourite scene is when there’s a huge argument on the site and the Chinese foreman turns up to calm everyone down; a clear reminder of which nation is truly in charge of this current century.
And this moment, the mid-point of a brilliant confrontation scene, is just one of many stand-out scenes, shot simply yet effectively with an unadorned handheld widescreen camera, that more than justify this film’s runtime and tip it over into essential viewing. Whether it’s a romantic dance to the sounds of a Chinese-language cover of Laura Brannigan’s “Self-Control” or an explanation of the way Europe was built on “blood and blood and blood” in the middle of a club, Pinho has a knack for building out standalone scenes that will linger long in the memory.
Perhaps it’s a little too drawn-out. Perhaps some anecdotes and local colour could be cut out and the film wouldn’t sacrifice any of its meaning. But these are minor quibbles. This is a monumental work. It should’ve been in competition.
Redmond is the editor-in-chief of Journey Into Cinema.