The Magistrate (Sir Mark Rylance) is an unnamed bureaucrat perched at the top of a remote outpost in a distant region of an indeterminate colonial empire. He maintains a good relationship with the locals – he’s a kind-hearted and genial man who immerses himself in the culture, and longs for nothing other than a peaceful existence. This proves to be impossible with the arrival of Colonel Joll (Johnny Depp), a representative of the empire sent to do a routine inspection. Thriving on controversy and stirring trouble, Joll finds himself delightfully relishing in the realization that all isn’t how it seems in this corner of the empire – just out of sight lurk the “barbarians”, natives who have yet to subscribe to the colonial project, and who reside in the surrounding mountains. The Magistrate has never had a problem with them – he has maintained a strong co-existence with everyone, and they have created an unspoken pact that neither will impinge on the other, in return for leaving them to live in peace. Joll isn’t pleased with this arrangement, believing that the milquetoast Magistrate is too weak to assert his power – and he takes matters into his own hands, venturing into the mountains to confront the population he views as nothing but violent savages, believing that the strength of colonial power will protect him at all costs. However, it becomes very clear that there is a reason The Magistrate has insisted on a laissez-faire approach to governing the region, since the “barbarians” don’t carry that epithet for nothing – and when it becomes clear that Joll is one willing to put the lives of his cohorts in danger rather than sacrifice his honour, a growing sense of unease begins to infiltrate the region, and the person who is forced to deal with the aftermath is the one who has spent his entire career preventing warfare from breaking out in the first place, and whose fragile existence is now gradually being tested by the steady erosion of the socio-cultural ecosystem he has spent years building up, only to have the greed and corruption of evil individuals dismantle everything he’s dedicated his life to achieving.

Despite being one of the greatest writers of his generation, J.M. Coetzee has been somewhat elusive when it comes to his work being translated to the visual medium. Not to many of his novels have made it to the screen, with the most high-profile adaptation being a solid but unremarkable adaptation of his magnum opus, Disgrace, a film that carried some meaning but seemed to lose the spark that made the source material so compelling. He recently made his first foray into the realm of screenwriting by adapting one of his most acclaimed novels, Waiting for the Barbarians. It’s difficult to conceive of whether this film was entirely successful – there are moments in it that seem absurdly brilliant (undoubtedly a result of director Ciro Guerra implicitly understanding the message embedded in Coetzee’s words), but also those that have devotees of the author yearning for something more. One of his more abstract novels, Waiting for the Barbarians was always going to be difficult to adapt in many ways, so the fact that Guerra managed to take what was an already complex text and siphon it into one of the year’s most thought-provoking works of historical drama is an impressive achievement in itself, with the only real question being whether or not this approach was enough, considering the wealth of material Guerra had to work with, as well as the opportunity to work directly with the author, whose perspective was clearly valued here, since there was so much more involvement between the director and the writer in realizing the latter’s intentions through the former’s incredible vision. Waiting for the Barbarians is bound to be a divisive work – it doesn’t have many of the more conventional tropes that normally tend to be associated with period dramas, and it tends to be far more bleak and harrowing than many similar films. However, for those with even just a passing interest in any of the factors that went into the making of this film – the celebrated career of the author, the steadily-rising profile of the director, the impressive cast or simply the themes of colonial terror, there is something of immense value in Waiting for the Barbarians, a film that could either be seen as a success or a failure, based on one’s perspective of its message.

The colonial project has frequently been a subject of discussion in many works over the past century. Coetzee’s work often reflects the alienation that came from living in a former colonial state in the years after imperialism declined – and Waiting for the Barbarians is one of his most direct eviscerations of the system. True to form, the film isn’t directly related to any particular set of ideas – taking place in an indeterminate part of an unnamed empire, and thus could be situated in absolutely any corner of the world, and thus standing independent of any historical context that would cause the viewer to look too deeply into the events depicted, Coetzee’s story is remarkably simple, and manages to be a scathing dismantling of imperialism, without being weighed down by external factors that inevitably play a part in such narratives. For the most part, the film retains many of these same ideas and executes them with the precision we’ve come to expect from a director like Guerra. Beautifully-made, but where the film really succeeds is in how it is so intent on being as meticulously detailed as possible – every moment carries some deeper meaning, which hints at something far broader than what we’re seeing on screen, with the playful allusion intermingling with the sinister sense of dread that lingers throughout being profoundly important to establishing the sensation that something is amiss in the world we’re seeing, and that danger is lurking just out of sight. Putting this film together could not have been an easy task, since the source material is notoriously impenetrable, even though the prose is truly extraordinary. Coetzee manages to break down the text to its fundamental ideas, keeping the plot of the piece intact, and retaining the spirit of the story, but brushing aside the qualities that could’ve derailed the film’s chances of being nearly as compelling as it was.

One of the major factors that went into the promotion of Waiting for the Barbarians centres on the cast. Mark Rylance is a veteran of the stage who only truly made a mark in cinema over the course of the decade, where he established himself as a very gifted actor on a much bigger stage than he was normally used to. Unfortunately, despite having grown in stature outside of theatre circles, Rylance is still an actor who the film industry is struggling to decipher. He’s undeniably gifted, but his talents are so offbeat and unconventional, he doesn’t fit into any preconceived pattern that we tend to associate with actors. However, this has hardly been the obstacle it would appear to be, since it has afforded Rylance the chance to take on roles like The Magistrate in Waiting for the Barbarians, which is a fascinating part that makes great use of his unique talents. Playing the most gentle of souls (or as much as a bourgeois representative of the colonial empire could be), Rylance is relatively placid throughout the film – soft-spoken, sophisticated and gentle, he makes for a very compelling protagonist. However, it’s in the moments where he has to erupt that this performance demonstrates its true mettle – something that hasn’t been made very clear in his cinematic endeavours is just how much Rylance is able to command the screen, demonstrating a despair in certain moments that truly prove why he’s such a wildly respected thespian. He’s supported by Johnny Depp, who is giving one of his better late-career performances to date (undeniably the result of playing a character who is interesting, but doesn’t have the seed of excess we’d expect from Depp at this point in his career), and the incredible Robert Pattinson, who arrives quite late into the film, but takes control of nearly every scene he is in. However, Rylance is the heart of the film, and should be duly recognized for accomplishing the intimidating task of carrying such a complex story almost entirely on his own.

Undoubtedly, Waiting for the Barbarians isn’t a particularly easy film, and there are numerous areas in which it could’ve substantially improved. However, what it lacks in nuance it more than compensates for in ambition, and throughout the film, we’re witness to certain elements that make it far better than initial expectations would have us believe. The aspects of Guerra’s films that are most often celebrated are his distinct visual prowess, and his ability to infuse them with a strong story. At first, it would appear that Guerra and Coetzee wouldn’t make for the most logical pair – but considering both hail from countries that were previously colonial states, and have an intrinsic interest in portraying the darker recesses of culture in their work, they seem to work well together. Waiting for the Barbarians is something entirely new – as mentioned previously, it makes good use of the ambigious setting, with the director managing to create the sense that this could be taking place absolutely anywhere in the world. The locations and languages spoken are just vague enough to prevent them from being pinpointed to a particular geographical region, which some may find unconventional, but certainly aids in creating the feeling that this is detached in both time and location. Not only does it prevent it from carrying the burden of more pressing real-world issues that would be associated with it had it been more clear in its background, but it also gives the film the feeling of displacement – the sinister mysteries underlying this film work, since escape seems impossible. Like The Magistrate, the viewer is immersed in this world that is only vaguely recognizable and thrust into a position where we have to try and make sense of it, or face the consequences of becoming even more lost in this enigmatic world. There are so many discussions that could be had about Waiting for the Barbarians and its approach to deeper issues of colonialism – but these are addressed in a more natural way, persistent and omnipotent, but never overwhelming to the more straightforward narrative that makes this so fascinating. 

It’s understandable why Waiting for the Barbarians hasn’t made much of an impression since it first premiered – this isn’t the definitive historical epic on colonialism that many expect it to be. Instead, it’s a slow-burning, character-driven drama about the darkened souls of individuals who are driven by greed, lust for power and a hunger for influence that knows absolutely no bounds, and who will go to any lengths to take control of what they genuinely believe is their god-given property. Almost an expressionistic work inspired by Heart of Darkness and other tales of the descent into madness that comes with imperialism, Guerra’s film is a poignant exploration of some incredibly complex themes. Inarguably, some of these ideas don’t manifest quite as well as others, and there’s certain aspects of this film that beg for a more nuanced approach. However, taking it for what it is, it’s certainly the most coherent of the few Coetzee adaptations made over the years (undoubtedly the result of the author being directly involved in this film’s creation), and it has a genuine sense of curiosity to its premise, which is more than can be said for many historical films, which genuinely believe that impressive production design and an atmosphere of self-importance is enough to keep audiences engaged. A relatively minor work, albeit one that does manage to achieve exactly what it set out to, Waiting for the Barbarians is a decent work that may not appeal to everyone, and may require an active interest in the subject to fully enjoy, but still manages to counteract the cynicism inherent to its premise to be a masterfully-executed piece of period drama that feels far more intimate than it does epic, and in the process manages to make some profound statements that may take a while to fully manifest, but gradually leave a remarkable impression that speaks with great resonance than anything said directly on the subject of individuality and independence, both primal themes to this otherwise exceptionally layered film.