As the adage states, history truly is written by the victor – why else would we find some of the most brutal and bloodthirsty individuals being hailed as heroes, when their actions would have them positioned as treacherous villains in most other contexts. It has proven to always be a matter of perspective, as Lav Diaz knows all too well, as he chose this as the starting point for Magellan (Portuguese: Magalhães), his fascinating exploration of the life and times of Ferdinand Magellan, the world-renowned explorer who is often cited as one of the most important historical figures of the 16th century, but who has conveniently found most of his questionable acts (to put it lightly) being erased, replaced with centuries of celebration for his supposed bravery and willingness to push the boundaries of what was possible for navigators at the time. Diaz has never been someone who intends to follow conventions, and he instead chooses to position Magellan as a conscious refusal of the kind of heroism that usually lingers over the edges of historical cinema – and in focusing on a very specific era tied to the act of discovery (even the use of such a term feels somewhat inappropriately, considering none of these people actually discovered anything), and how it was all part of the European colonial project. In telling this story, Diaz strips it of all pageantry and splendour, focusing instead on the core ideologies that drive the narrative – the forcing of religious and political beliefs on peaceful populations who were viewed as lesser, the continuous labour asserted on people who became nothing more than expendable tokens of the empire, and the violence that befell those who did not quite meet these standards. Taking popular conceptions of Magellan – or perhaps mythology is a more apt term – and using it to critically engage with the core themes of the film, Diaz creates a stark portrait of the disenchantment felt by populations for centuries, showing the impact that historical perceptions can have on the psyche of entire generations of individuals, who still carry the burden of imperialism in every aspect of their lives. A bold and uncompromising vision that is also something of an acquired taste, Magellan is a fascinating film, albeit one that does require some patience and willingness to follow the director’s lead as he guides us through this unconventional and challenging version of the past.

Diaz is very much focused on the act of exploring the history of European conquest in a way that is historically accurate. However, to get to that particular point, he puts in a lot of effort to develop the film as more than just a didactic exploration of these themes – and the process involves the forceful rejection of heroism, which is a challenging approach considering this is essentially all that the titular character and his cohorts in Magellan have had their reputation built upon. It takes a lot of work to essentially redefine these iconic historical figures, but the director has clearly never been one for fawning over folkloric fallacies. Where most of the narratives that tackle this subject fixate on destiny, the bravery of venturing into the unknown and the spreading of civilisation to those which were viewed as barbaric, this film chooses to present these voyages as they were: harrowing, violent and filled with suffering. Some may consider this historical revisionism, and while there is certainly going to be some degree of artistic liberty taken (especially when the film was produced by Albert Serra, who has often taken a more laissez-faire approach to facts), the film builds itself on its desire to be a more frank, honest exploration of what likely transpired on these journeys. Perhaps it’s more appropriate to describe this as the thoughtful and concerted attempt to counter the falsehoods that we have been misled into believing to be true, as well as ultimately interrogating not only the myths that have popularly been associated with Magellan, but also the very act of constructing these legends, showing how even at the time, there were clear efforts to maintain a certain image, one forged in the shadow of an empire that genuinely believed that it would be expanding forever, not realising how future generations would look back at the suffering that was endured during these periods. It’s a tricky approach, but one that is exceptionally creative and shows the many nuances that are unsurprisingly elided from the sanitised, glory-filled textbooks that are still positioned as being truthful.

Magellan chooses to position its titular character as a frustrated visionary, a man who genuinely believes that he is destined for greatness and will go to any lengths imaginable in order to manifest what he considers to be his ultimate destiny. We find Gael García Bernal to be a fantastic choice for the part, since he is someone who constantly demands our attention – and in playing Magellan, a man small in stature but thunderous in ambition, he’s capable of leaping straight into the heart of what makes this character so compelling. The focus is on presenting the titular protagonist as someone whose existence orbits around insecurity more than it does charisma, or rather, they exist in symbiosis, one informing the other, made clear by the gradual unravelling of his psyche, revealing him to be a rigid, self-conscious man whose desires far outweigh his skills. It’s a fascinating character study, and García Bernal creates a portrayal of Magellan that contains many distinct shades – his physical presence is slightly more controlled and ceremonial in formal situations, but as his authority (as well as his moral grounding, whatever was left of it when the film starts) gradually erodes at a startling pace. As with all of his films, Diaz does not require his actors to engage in emotional excess, and García Bernal shows an abundance of restraint, avoiding the temptation to depict Magellan as an overly florid, unnerving villain and instead choosing to focus on the quieter, smaller details that make it such a thrilling performance. The growing paranoia and resentment that enshrouds this vessel as it makes its way across the ocean and onto the various islands that the protagonist intends to claim under the name of the Spanish throne are reflected not only in García Bernal’s stunning performance but also in those that surround him. It’s a strong ensemble, most of whom are non-professional actors from the regions where the film takes place, giving Magellan an added sense of authenticity and nuance that would otherwise be lost with massively trained actors. It’s powerful work from the entire cast, and it contributes directly to the many complex themes that define this film as a whole.

It is always important to remember that Magellan is a film helmed by a director who has always been very much focused on form more than content, which is something that we find defines much of what Diaz is doing throughout this film. This is a very long film – at 160 minutes, it would be considered challenging under the guidance of any other director, but for Diaz (who has been known to stretch his films to over eight hours in some instances), it feels almost inconsequential in terms of running time. However, there is method to the madness, and choosing to set this film over multiple hours can be an artistic statement in itself, as it forces viewers to experience the process rather than the results on their own. Far too many filmmakers would assemble this film as a series of dramatic peaks with a few inconsequential moments of filler to help the transition between scenes – Diaz has no interest in this approach, and instead prioritises the art of waiting. There are long stretches of the film where the camera simply does not move, being frozen in place, with whatever appears in frame being the focus. He’s not the first filmmaker to build his films as complex, rigid tableaux, but he is certainly one who makes it a point to acknowledge the impact that it can have when done effectively. It often feels as if we have been transported into this era, suspended in a state of perpetual voyeurism as we peer into Magellan’s conquests, being close enough to him to observe his actions, but still too detached to actually feel like we are being given much access to his mental process. It’s extraordinarily beautiful, and every frame could stand as a painting on its own – the cinematography by Diaz and Artur Tort is incredible, each composition being striking and unforgettable. The use of long takes means that there is more than enough time to spend observing the gorgeous landscapes (and the period-accurate detail in terms of production design and costuming does give it an additional layer of nuance), and the colours are extraordinary, with the natural landscapes contrasting beautifully with the garish, hideous splendour brought to these idyllic islands by the conquerors. Purely as an artistic achievement – both visually and aurally – Magellan is quite extraordinary, taking us on an unforgettable and frankly haunting journey into the past.

Ultimately, you get what you pay for when stepping into the world of Magellan, and no one should be surprised that it is not a swashbuckling epic that relies on adrenaline-fueled action sequences and exciting setpieces to tell its story. However, it should be noted that this is by far the director’s biggest film to date, and therefore many viewers will be introduced to Diaz, whose approach to filmmaking is not always easy to comprehend, especially when it becomes very clear that he’s not willing to shift his own style too far to accommodate the scope of this project. Some may perceive this as a weakness, but in reality, it’s just a sign of his incredible mastery, which is so exceptionally captured in every frame of this fascinating film. The core of Magellan is less concerned with providing an overview of 16th century colonial politics and more with the enduring spectre of domination, and how this was the main currency used by those who wielded both power and ambition. Magellan was a man who represented the entire imperial project; his quest to be the most important explorer of his generation certainly was his primary motivation, and something this film does set out to explore. The ideological nuances that populate this film – ranging from the political to the religious, both inextricable components of the institution that facilitates these endeavours – are always intriguing, especially when it comes to the director’s refusal to insert moments of redemption or reconciliation where most other filmmakers would try and humanise their protagonist or force him to pay some small consequences, rather than the bleak ending Magellan got in reality. There isn’t much relief in this film, and it is quite daunting – it is exceptionally long, moves at a very slow pace and is less about the narrative and more about the atmosphere, lacking the epic framing (the titular character’s death is treated as just another insignificant loss of a man whose delusions of grandeur stripped him of all humanity) and focusing instead on some smaller but not any less impactful themes. Magellan challenges audiences to not only reassess history but also to critically engage with the past, interrogating the myths that have become an indelible part of the culture, deconstructing the falsehoods that justify and comfort the imbalance of power that still remains to this very day.