When one thinks about Lisbon, it’s natural to get a very specific picture in mind: the grandiose architecture, the cobbled streets (which are unusually slippery, as I’ve learned firsthand) and the winding alleys that always lead to some astonishing sight. However, the Portuguese capital is a much more varied place than this often very sanitised image would suggest, as we see when we look beyond the immediate surroundings. If you venture towards the outskirts of the city centre, you discover the neighbourhood of Reboleira, which has become infamous for being home to individuals who tend to dabble in criminal activity, being one of the more dangerous regions of the city, or at least one that has proven not to be as safe as the rest of the city. Yet, it is still a fascinating place, and one that most certainly deserves to be examined, especially since it is the home of quite a large immigrant community, which piques the curiosity of anyone who is interested in exploring how urban spaces are often most intriguing when they function as cultural melting pots. In his film O Jacaré, we find Basil De Cunha unravelling the reputation of this neighbourhood, both ratifying certain aspects while challenging others, in his fourth endeavour to explore a neighbourhood that has perhaps unfairly been labelled as a slum. The film is set within the community of immigrants in Reboleira, and follows a group of criminals who are planning an armed robbery. However, their seemingly perfectly constructed plan quickly falls apart, which leads to panic amongst the community, leading to far too many people becoming embroiled in a scheme, including innocent bystanders who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. A vibrant, compelling blend of dark comedy and gritty crime thriller that may sometimes skirt along the edges of decency, but in a way that is always compelling, O Jacaré is an intentionally peculiar film that feels extremely daring, even at its most uncomfortable and challenging.

Since he emerged nearly twenty years ago with some well-received short films, De Cunha has made it clear that he is fascinated by the Reboleira neighbourhood, particularly the stories of the community of Cape Verdean immigrants who have called the area their home. O Jacaré is a continuation of his fascination with their lives – and unlike other filmmakers who tend to look at immigrant communities from a distance, almost as if they are observing rather than actually being willing to engage with them, De Cunha becomes actively involved, integrating himself within the population and, as a result, gaining unfettered access to their routines and lifestyle, which immediately establishes his work as being more authentic. Thematically, we find that this film is a relatively straightforward story of a criminal scheme gone wrong, following conventions in a way that is not necessarily predictable, but instead has its roots within a recognisable version of modern Lisbon and its community. The foundation of this story is not on the heist itself proving to be unsuccessful, but rather settles in the aftermath, where the stolen goods suddenly go missing, leading the film to transition from a straightforward crime drama into something far more enticing: a game of cat-and-mouse between the different residents as they steadily grow more paranoid. De Cunha is evidently intrigued by the idea of looking at how even the most tightly-knit of communities can become victims of interpersonal tensions in times of crisis, and without actually glamourising the criminal lifestyle, the director crafts a film that investigates the connections between these people as they slowly and methodically try to make their way through a challenging situation, working together to solve the central mystery while also offering fascinating insights into the relationships between different individuals who are all in proximity to one another, revealing secret connections that make for quite enthralling viewing.

We soon come to learn that O Jacaré isn’t so much about the story as it is about the execution. De Cunha is as intrigued by the lives of these people as he is by their culture, and considering how little of contemporary Portuguese cinema seems to revolve around celebrating culture beyond the centuries-old traditions that usually are associated with the country, we can most certainly appreciate a filmmaker who steps away from the status quo and chooses to embrace something much deeper and more profoundly complex in its cultural nuance. The film moves with a very distinct rhythm, reflecting the fast-paced lives of this community – these are not people who abide by the traditional approach of the “easy life”, and instead have to hustle for their survival, leading to a frenzy that is perfectly encapsulated in this film. It may not be an outright comedy, but there is certainly no shortage of humour that punctuates this film (not in the least due to the presence of the titular creature, with the momentary interludes where we encounter the crocodile that kickstarts the premise being wonderfully absurd, injecting the film with a very unconventional energy), which helps move the film along, giving it a clear identity and a much stronger approach than a lot of other contemporary crime films. De Cunha is clearly inspired by the genre as a whole, and he works closely with his collaborators on both sides of the camera (which also includes a tremendous ensemble cast, composed primarily of non-professional actors, which gives the film an added layer of authenticity) to evoke the kind of rapid-fire crime thriller that influenced so much of what this film was attempting to convey. The vibrant nature of the culture, particularly the collision between Cape Verdean and Portuguese traditions, is reflected in every frame, which bursts with colour and energy, the likes of which we don’t often find when looking at much of contemporary Portuguese cinema, immediately setting this film apart from the many other films that attempt to provide a thorough examination of the lives of the residents of one of Europe’s most fascinating cities.

O Jacaré is a film that succeeds primarily because it moves away from presenting Lisbon in the way that we see on postcards, and instead ventures into a part of the city that is not often afforded the same level of attention on film as its historic centre. In looking at the lives of people in Reboleira, the neighbourhood becomes a character in itself, just as chaotic and fascinating as any of the people we encounter throughout the film, the director suggesting that there is much more to the area than its reputation as an impoverished slum may suggest. In placing the Cape Verdean immigrant community at the heart of the narrative (which also avoids turning them into bland stereotypes), the film develops a unique identity that is both thrilling and deeply intriguing. Built from the intimate relationship the director has to the area and its people, the film’s willingness to shift between violence, tension and outright absurdity becomes incredibly effective, a labour of love from a director who is deeply invested in telling the story of these people. It may have some rough edges, and the chaos of its construction may prevent it from being entirely polished – but when dealing with such a story, perfection seems like a betrayal, since it’s these more eccentric elements that give the film its distinctive personality. It feels like a film borne from within the community rather than constructed according to conventional expectations, and instead of challenging our perception of Reboleira, the director explores the dynamic between this neighbourhood and that of Lisbon as a whole, reminding us that a city can only be understood through its people, much more than the monuments and architecture alone. It’s a celebration of culture disguised as a relatively conventional crime thriller, revealing layers of meaning that would otherwise not exist in most other contexts. O Jacaré becomes more than a crime story and instead functions as a vibrant, unruly portrait of a society that exists far beyond the idealistic image we have of the city, proving to be a testament to the extraordinary cinematic possibilities that can emerge when a filmmaker looks at a community from within rather than from a distance.