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      ‘Murina’ Review: Hunting for Independence on Her Terms

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      In this coming-of-age tale set off the rugged Croatian coast, a teenage girl strives to catch elusive eels, one of the movie’s hardworking metaphors.The 17-year-old heroine of “Murina” never seems freer than when she’s swimming. Wearing a snorkeling mask, and with a spear gun in one hand, she glides through the water, her strong body propelling her forward. As she descends into the ethereal depths, expertly weaving among the undulating plants and scattering fish, her one-piece suit gleams like a beacon.Julija (Gracija Filipovic), though, is rarely alone, even underwater, and “Murina” isn’t a story of freedom, but about the struggle to achieve it. Along with her parents, Julija lives on a starkly beautiful island off the coast of Croatia. It’s a hard, rugged, sun-blasted speck many hours from Zagreb, but it might as well be the moon. Other people live there, too, but few visitors drop by and then only briefly (you soon learn why). The other inhabitants are the region’s cawing, cooing, slithering animals, including the elusive moray eels Julija hunts.The eels give the movie its title and, like the inviting, enveloping Adriatic Sea, one of its hardworking metaphors. Long, speckled and distinctly phallic, the animals dart in and out of dark holes in the reefs and craggy rock formations, inadvertently playing a losing game of hide-and-seek with predators like Julija and her gruff, domineering father, Ante (Leon Lučev). When they go fishing, she and her father seem perfectly as one, with coordinated cunning and skill, and hypnotically choreographed moves. Underwater there are few signs of the violent emotions that otherwise define their relationship, investing it with jagged tension.A visually striking if overly diffuse tale of an unruly daughter, “Murina” takes place during a visit from an old family friend, Javier (Cliff Curtis). An entrepreneur, Javier arrives by yacht with open arms, a megawatt smile and a crowd of hangers-on. He’s visiting for pleasure and maybe for business; it’s not altogether clear. The writer-director Antoneta Alamat Kusijanovic uses dialogue prudently, keeping exposition to a minimum and letting details trickle in through naturalistic conversations and in the feelings that tremble in every exchange. Why is everyone angry? Patriarchy? Teenagers? Take your pick.Kusijanovic, making her feature directing debut, plots the family’s dynamic through a roundelay of gazes and with near-geometric precision. By the time Javier arrives, it’s evident that Ante and his daughter are furiously at odds — he yells, she sulks — and that Julija’s greatest, most sympathetic alliance is with her mother, Nela (Danica Curcic). A willowy, haunted beauty who looks far younger than Ante and could pass as Julija’s older sister, Nela serves as a bridge between her husband and daughter. Whether she’s a peacemaker or a collaborationist, a martyr or a patsy, remains one of the story’s provocative questions.A silky, seductive flirt, Javier helps shatter the family’s fragile peace, largely through the promises — real or imagined — he embodies. Each family member has a stake in him. While Nela basks in his attention (and he in hers), Ante tries to negotiate a land deal with Javier that would allow the family to move. Julija greets their glamorous visitor warmly when he arrives, but as her father’s temper erupts into evermore violent rages — his desperation to make the deal fuels his ire, including at his daughter — she draws closer to Javier. Like one of the eels she fishes, she slithers around him, leaving you guessing about who here is the prey.Kusijanovic sticks close to Julija, making canny use of the girl’s limited point of view. You see what she sees, how she looks at a world she doesn’t always understand and how she peers at a horizon that’s at once seductively open and impossibly out of reach. You’re Julija’s ally or that seems to be the idea, though Kusijanovic leans too heavily on your assumed sympathies, including for her young heroine. For the most part, the director cuts loose her characters and lets them and the story’s vague ideas — about gender, sexuality, money and power — swirl and drift, leaving you to decide how and whether they all fit together, or don’t.MurinaNot rated. In Croatian and English, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 36 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Thor: Love and Thunder’ Review: A God’s Comic Twilight

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      The director Taika Waititi injects antic silliness, once again, into this Marvel franchise starring Chris Hemsworth, who swings a mighty hammer and flexes mightier muscles.Every so often in “Thor: Love and Thunder,” the 92nd Marvel movie to hit theaters this year (OK, the third), the studio machinery hits pause, and the picture opens a portal to another dimension: Its star, Chris Hemsworth, embraces wholesale self-parody, a pair of giant screaming goats gallop along a rainbow highway and Russell Crowe flounces around in a flirty skirt and Shirley Temple curls. As the movie briefly slips into a parallel realm of play and pleasure, you can feel the director Taika Waititi having a good time — and it’s infectious.This is the fourth “Thor” movie in 11 years and the second that Waititi has directed, following “Thor: Ragnarok” (2017). That movie was all over the place, but it was funny (enough) and had a lightness that proved liberating for the series and Hemsworth. “Love and Thunder” is sillier than any of its predecessors, and thinner. A lot happens in overstuffed Marvel Studios fashion. But because the series has jettisoned many of its earlier components — its Shakespearean pretensions, meddlesome relatives and, crucially, Thor’s godly grandeur — the new movie more or less plays like a rescue mission with jokes, tears and smackdowns.It starts with a pasty, near-unrecognizable Christian Bale, who, having been relieved of his DC Dark Knight duties, has signed up with Marvel as a villain with the spoiler name of Gorr the God Butcher. Waititi quickly sketches in Gorr’s background, giving it a tragic cast. Believing himself betrayed by the god he once worshiped, Gorr is committed to destroying other deities. It’s potentially rich storytelling terrain, particularly given Thor’s stature and Marvel’s role as a contemporary mythmaker. But while Bale takes the role by the throat, as is his habit, investing the character with frictional intensity, Gorr proves disappointingly dull.For the most part, Gorr simply gives Thor another chance to play the hero, which Hemsworth does with a stellar deadpan and appreciable suppleness. He’s always been fun to watch in the role and not just because, as the slavering camerawork likes to remind you, he looks awfully fine with or without clothes. Hemsworth knows how to move, which is surprising given his muscled bulk, and is at ease with his beauty. He’s also learned how to deploy — and puncture — Thor’s inborn pomposity, although by the time the final credits rolled in “Ragnarok” that haughtiness had turned into shtick. Thor is still a god, but also he’s now a great big goof.To that end, Thor enters midfight on a battlefield washed in grayish red light, preening and posing and showboating alongside characters from Marvel’s “Guardians of the Galaxy.” With Guardians (Chris Pratt, the raccoon voiced by Bradley Cooper, etc.) on backup, Thor vanquishes the enemy with his customary hyperbole — he strikes the ground, reaches for the heavens, flips his hair — and a new hammer the size of a backhoe shovel. He also destroys a temple that looks right out of an airport gift shop. This synergistic foreplay isn’t pretty, and neither is the rest of the movie, but it announces Waititi’s sensibilities, his irreverence and taste for kitsch.From the start, the “Thor” series has pushed and pulled at its title character, by turns enshrining and undercutting his supernatural identity, raising him up only to bring him crashing back down to Earth. The movies have, almost to a fault, emphasized Thor’s frailties: He has daddy issues, a sibling rivalry and romantic woes. Gods, they’re just like us! Thor’s love life humanized him for good and bad, though his romance with an astrophysicist — Natalie Portman’s Jane Foster — worked best as ballast for the he-man action. Jane wasn’t interesting, despite Portman’s febrile smiles, but, after sitting out the last movie, she’s back.Why the encore? Well, mostly because Waititi, who wrote the script with Jennifer Kaytin Robinson, doesn’t seem to know what else he can do with Thor. By the end of “Ragnarok,” the character had been repeatedly cut down to size. He’d squabbled with his brother and wittiest foil (Tom Hiddleston as Loki). His long hair was chopped off and his kingdom annihilated, and gone too were the heavyweights who had helped fill the story’s holes with their magnetism and personality. Anthony Hopkins (Thor’s dad) exited, as did Cate Blanchett (sis). Thor fought, loved and lost, and then he packed on the pounds and went to hang with the Avengers.“Love and Thunder” revs up the “Thor” franchise again with the usual quips and beats, programmatically timed blowouts, brand-extending details, a kidnapping and a welcome if underused Tessa Thompson. Her Valkyrie, alas, receives less screen time than Jane, who’s given a crisis as well as special powers, a blond blowout and muscles that inflate and deflate like party balloons. Jane’s new talents don’t do much for the story and read as a dutiful nod to women’s empowerment (thanks). Portman does what she can, yet she’s so tightly wound that she never syncs up with the loosey-goosey rhythms the way Thompson and Hemsworth do.Waititi’s playfulness buoys “Love and Thunder,” but the insistence on Thor’s likability, his decency and dude-ness, has become a creative dead end. The movie has its attractions, notably Hemsworth, Thompson and Crowe, whose Zeus vamps through a sequence with a butt-naked Thor and fainting minions. It’s a delightful and cheerfully vulgar interlude, and critically, it reminds you of the sheer otherworldliness of these beings who — with their vanities, cruelties, deeds, mysteries and powers — turn reality into myth and stories into dreams. Like movie stars, gods aren’t like us, which of course is one reason we invented them.Thor: Love and ThunderRated PG-13 for superhero violence. Running time: 2 hours 5 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘The Sea Beast’ Review: Of Monsters and Men

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      In this new animated film from Netflix, a monster hunter and an orphan become unlikely allies at sea.“Live a great life and die a great death,” goes the mantra of the monster hunters in Netflix’s new animated movie “The Sea Beast.” It’s a spirited battle cry, sure, but it’s also a morbid one, made only more grisly by the fact that the first character to say it is a child.At first, the world of this film, directed by Chris Williams (“Moana,” “Big Hero 6”) and written by Williams and Nell Benjamin, seems comfortably didactic. The people of an island kingdom have been raised to fear the giant sea monsters that stalk the ocean. Ships full of hunters heroically fell the beasts and bring bits of their carcasses home to the king and queen. It doesn’t take a genius to see the creepy side of this, or to wonder when the film will introduce its inevitable paradigm shift.That shift is mainly instigated by a little girl named Maisie (voiced by Zaris-Angel Hator), the same character who first champions dying “a great death.” Orphaned when her two creature-hunter parents perished on the job, Maisie has raised herself on tales of loathsome beasts and the legendary sailors who slay them. She most idolizes a famous ship called the Inevitable. When the boat docks within striking distance of her stifling group home, she sneaks away to climb aboard.The crew of the Inevitable has been ordered by royal decree to kill a massive monster called the Red Bluster. If the mission fails, the monarchy will decommission the ship. This adds stakes for Jacob (Karl Urban), an illustrious hunter who is next in line to be captain, and the aged Captain Crow (Jared Harris), who has held a grudge ever since he lost an eye to the beast. Jacob, who becomes Maisie’s unwitting comrade, has his own past marred by monstrosity.“The Sea Beast” is capably animated. Its backgrounds and underwater shots are particularly stunning, though the characters’ facial expressions rarely live up to the enthusiastic voice acting. Its fantastical creatures range from uninspired (the Red Bluster) to irresistible (an aquatic sidekick of Maisie’s named Blue). There are other fun visual choices, like a beach with bubble-gum pink sand, and the film has an impressively diverse ensemble of background characters. Even when the story drags, a lively score by Mark Mancina keeps things zippy.Of course, sluggish storytelling is not ideal, particularly in a movie intended for kids. “The Sea Beast” doesn’t earn its nearly two-hour running time; it easily could have stuck the landing if only it had fewer diversions. For instance, Captain Crow takes the Inevitable on a sinister side quest that introduces a character who, despite much dastardly foreshadowing, never resurfaces.But this script’s greatest sin is its steadfast predictability. Lessons are learned and enemies are fought, but nothing very surprising happens in between. The unlikely duo assembles; the spunky little girl gets a cute animal as a buddy; good and evil are not actually as they seem. Last year, Pixar released “Luca,” which offers its own take on prejudice, found family and sea monsters, and it’s hard, while watching “The Sea Beast,” not to draw comparisons. “Luca” is by far the more heartfelt, original and stylish of the two.The Sea BeastRated PG. Running time: 1 hour 55 minutes. Watch on Netflix. More

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      Ni Kuang, Novelist and Screenwriter for Martial Arts Films, Dies at 87

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      Best known for fantastical thrillers that doubled as political allegories, he also wrote hundreds of martial arts films for Bruce Lee and others.HONG KONG — Ni Kuang, a prolific author of fantasy novels imbued with criticism of the Chinese Communist Party and a screenwriter for more than 200 martial arts films, died here on Sunday. He was 87.His death was announced by his daughter-in-law, the actress Vivian Chow, on social media. She did not state the cause but said he died at a cancer rehabilitation center.Best known for his fantastical thrillers, Mr. Ni wrote the screenplays for many of the action movies produced by the Shaw Brothers, who dominated the Hong Kong market. He also created the story lines and central characters for Bruce Lee’s first two major films, “The Big Boss” (1971) and “Fist of Fury” (1972), although the screenwriting credit for both films went to the director, Lo Wei.In the Chinese-speaking world, Mr. Ni was perhaps best known for the “Wisely” series, a collection of about 150 adventure stories first published as newspaper serials. The stories told of the title character’s encounters with aliens and battles with intelligent monsters, but they sometimes also contained pointed political criticism.Born in 1935 to a working-class family in Shanghai, Mr. Ni was given two names at birth, as was the custom: Ni Yiming and Ni Cong. Information on his parents was not immediately available, but it is known that he had six siblings.He began working in his teens as a public security official during China’s land-reform movement, believing in the Communist Party’s promise of a more egalitarian future. But he quickly grew disillusioned after being given the task of writing daily execution notices about landowners, who were blamed for China’s rural poverty and persecuted as public enemies. When he questioned whether they had committed other crimes to warrant a death sentence, his superiors rebuked him.Bruce Lee in “Fist of Fury” (1972), for which Mr. Li created the story line and the central characters. He did not receive screenwriting credit, but he did for more than 200 other martial arts films.Golden Harvest Company“That was the beginning of my distaste for the party,” he said in a 2019 interview with Paul Shieh, a prominent lawyer and television host, for RTHK, the Hong Kong public broadcaster.His troubles did not end there. While stationed in Inner Mongolia, Mr. Ni mated a crippled wolf with two dogs, then raised a pack of their cubs in secret. When the cubs attacked a more senior official, he was punished and made to write long essays of contrition. In public sessions where so-called class enemies were denounced, he got in trouble for giggling. He was also branded as an anti-revolutionary after being caught dismantling wooden planks from a footbridge to burn as fuel during a cold spell.A friend had warned Mr. Ni that he could face heavy penalties for his transgressions and helped him steal a horse so he could escape, Mr. Ni said in the RTHK interview. He returned to Shanghai, where he paid smugglers to help him stow away on a boat to Hong Kong in 1957.At first, Mr. Ni made less than 50 cents a day doing factory work and odd jobs. In interviews, he described in great detail the first meal he had paid for with his earnings: a bowl of rice topped with glistening slabs of fatty barbecued pork.Mr. Ni soon found a vocation as a writer of serialized fiction when The Kung Sheung Daily News accepted a manuscript he wrote, “Buried Alive,” about land reform in mainland China. He threw himself into writing full time, saying in interviews that at the peak of his career he wrote as many as 20,000 words a day. He published the first installments of the “Wisely” saga in the newspaper Ming Pao in 1963.“Back then, I wrote novels as a living, to feed mouths and get through the day, so I had no way of writing exquisitely,” he said, adding that he had time for neither research nor revision while writing. “I could only rely on what was in my head.”Although he never returned to the mainland, his early life experiences there often figured into his writing, even as his fiction became more supernatural. “Old Cat,” a “Wisely” novel first published in 1971, was inspired by a gray-blue Persian cat that had kept Mr. Ni company when he was locked in a hut as punishment. He had spent hours untangling its knotted, matty hair, he said in an interview. The cat in the novel battled aliens.In a speech at the Hong Kong Book Fair in 2019 about his legacy as a science-fiction writer, Mr. Ni argued that his work did not really fit into that genre as it is traditionally defined. He had once avoided writing about aliens, he said, but found them to be convenient narrative devices when he was stuck on a plot.“My science fiction is completely different from Western science fiction or what most people would consider ‘hard’ science fiction,” he said.Having completed only junior high school, he added, he lacked a proper understanding of science. He drew more from ancient Chinese myths and legends.Mr. Ni also brought his imagination to the big screen, earning screenwriting credits for movies that included “One-Armed Swordsman,” which broke Hong Kong box-office records in 1967.Mr. Ni married Li Guozhen in 1959. She survives him. His survivors also include their daughter, Ni Sui, and their son, Joe Nieh. Over the years, Mr. Ni did not hold back in his critiques of the Chinese Communist Party, and he described Hong Kong as a refuge for free thinking. But he was pessimistic about the city’s future under Beijing’s tightening grip.His 1983 novel, “Chasing the Dragon,” was widely cited as a prescient description of the political backdrop that prompted pro-democracy protests in Hong Kong in 2019, followed by a sweeping crackdown.In the book, Mr. Ni writes about an unnamed metropolis that is reduced to a shell of itself:There’s no need to destroy the architecture of this big city, no need to kill any of its residents. Even the appearance of the big city could look exactly the same as before. But to destroy and kill this big city, one only needs to make its original merits disappear. And all that would take are stupid words and actions coming from just a few people.When asked by Mr. Shieh of RTHK what disappearing merits he meant, Mr. Ni said, “Freedom.”“Freedom of speech is the mother of all freedoms,” he continued. “Without freedom of speech, there is no other freedom at all.” More

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      ‘Moon, 66 Questions’ Review: Daddy Issues

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      This elliptical drama by the Greek writer-director Jacqueline Lentzou rousingly summons the inner turmoil of a young woman who returns home to care for her ailing father.The writer and director Jacqueline Lentzou’s “Moon, 66 Questions” takes cues from astrology, using Tarot cards to represent each new chapter of a story about a young woman, Artemis (Sofia Kokkali), who returns to Athens to care for her ailing father.Her father, Paris (Lazaros Georgakopoulos), has a degenerative disease that renders him almost speechless and incapable of easy movement. Forced into an unprecedented intimacy, daughter and father grapple with their new bond, gradually revealing the near-nonexistence of their past one.Though there is an eventual revelation that throws Artemis’s woes into sharp relief, this moving character study — the kind that sinks beneath the skin — avoids the intricate plotting of a neatly packaged personal development. Instead, “Moon” is an elliptical drama that pieces together banal VHS recordings overlaid with spoken diary entries, tense familial encounters, and displays of solitary, existential angst rousingly performed by Kokkali.And as the title suggests, the film yields more questions than it does answers.How old is Artemis and where was she living before her return? For how long? What happened to her relationship with her family and why is she the only member taking responsibility for this man she does not truly know?Lentzou, with her first feature no less, gets at something much knottier about what it feels like to get older and perceive your parents as full people, in all their flaws and vulnerabilities; the pains and pleasures of adulthood, contrary to expectation, yield just as much, if not more, unpredictability than in youth.That’s why Lentzou’s use of astrology works so beautifully. The film’s moody textures and atmospheric unease goes hand in hand with the pseudoscience, emblematic as it is of a yearning for certainty in a dark and infinitely mutable world.Moon, 66 QuestionsNot rated. In Greek, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 48 minutes. In virtual cinemas and available to rent or buy on Apple TV, Vudu and other streaming platforms and pay TV operators. More

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      ‘Cop Secret’ Review: Bang Bang, Kiss Kiss

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      In this Icelandic spoof of Hollywood action movies, two rival police officers make a love connection.The big reveal in “Cop Secret” is out from the moment the unkempt Bussi (Audunn Blondal), Iceland’s toughest police officer, is forcibly partnered with Hordur (Egill Einarsson), his suave rival from a neighboring precinct. As Hordur strolls toward Bussi in swoony slow-motion, impeccable jacket slung roguishly over one bulging shoulder, Bussi’s stubbled jaw softens. The two may be vying for top dog, but it’s clear that — grooming discrepancies aside — copulation will soon take precedence over competition.Before Bussi’s ultramacho veneer can crack, though, this unruly send-up of Hollywood action movies, gleefully directed by Hannes Thor Halldorsson, hammers every genre cliché into wearying submission. The plot — a silly hodgepodge of explosions, bank heists and sexual repression — charges forward, its dialogue and setups merrily spoofing the buddy-cop canon. Familiarity might be the point, but a screenplay this coarse leaves the actors little wiggle room, reducing them to mouthpieces for recycled jokes.So we have a disfigured villain (Bjorn Hlynur Haraldsson) who shaves with what appears to be a serrated bowie knife; a hard-nosed female police chief (Steinunn Olina Thorsteinsdottir, whom fans of Nordic noir may recognize from the gripping TV series “Trapped”); and an anxious male sidekick, Klemenz (Sverrir Thor Sverrisson), whose chief purpose is to remind us repeatedly of Bussi’s contempt for proper police procedure.“You have no respect for the rules!,” Klemenz moans during the car chase that opens the movie and allows the cinematographer, Elli Cassata, to show off a bit. The sequence is goofy fun; less so is the transformation of a rather sweet gay romance into a cheap comic device.Cop SecretNot rated. In Icelandic and English, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 38 minutes. In theaters. More

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      ‘Both Sides of the Blade’ Review: Who Do You Love?

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      In the latest film from Claire Denis, Juliette Binoche plays a Parisian radio journalist in a romantic quandary.When we first meet Sara and Jean, they are enjoying a vacation. To be precise, they‘re making out in the waters of a sun-dappled lagoon, the very picture of midlife romantic fulfillment. The fact that Sara and Jean are played by Juliette Binoche and Vincent Lindon, two of most charismatic actors of a certain age in modern cinema, makes their apparent bliss look all the more enviable.But the pictures only tell part of the story. The couple’s smiles and caresses are accompanied by brooding, cello-heavy music — the kind that lets even the most inattentive or tone-deaf viewer know that something bad is going to happen. Even when the sound brightens and Jean and Sara return to their tidy Paris apartment, you can’t quite shake the feeling of dread.“Both Sides of the Blade” is a Claire Denis movie, which is to say that it can be expected to confound expectations, including those it seems to set up for itself. Sex, politics, vampires, science fiction, Herman Melville — nothing is alien to this restless and resourceful filmmaker.Here, the plot occasionally gravitates toward romantic comedy, as Sara finds herself torn between Jean and François (Grégoire Colin), a former lover who is also an old friend and potential business partner of Jean’s. But the mood hovers in the neighborhood of melodrama, thriller, even horror. Sara’s passion for François seems almost like a form of possession, and allusions to Jean’s status as an ex-convict contribute to a free-floating sense of danger.The dissonance between the film’s structure and its tone is potentially interesting, and the off-balance intensity of the performances means that “Both Sides of the Blade” is never dull. As they did in “Let the Sunshine In,” Binoche and Denis trace the disruptive effects of desire on a woman who is neither heroine nor victim. The impulses that lead Sara to destabilize her own domestic life are mysterious even to her, and the audience may wonder why she appears to prefer François, who is pouty and petulant (even in bed), to the stoical, sad-eyed Jean.Bad choices often make good stories, but there is something thin and tentative about this one, which Denis wrote with Christine Angot. Sara is the host of a public-affairs radio broadcast, a job that allows the film to glance occasionally at the wider world. Guests talk about the crisis in Lebanon and the pervasiveness of racism in Western society, and their presence in the movie is a puzzle. Maybe we are supposed to see that Sara cares about such matters, or that Denis does, or to be reminded that we should. Or maybe Denis is pointing out the gulf between public concerns and private experience.The larger problem is that the main characters and their situation seem weightless, their nonromantic lives sketched in hastily and without much conviction. Jean sometimes travels to the suburbs to visit his mother, Nelly (Bulle Ogier), who is caring for his teenage son, Marcus (Issa Perica). The young man, whose mother is out of the picture, is biracial, and becomes a too-convenient symbol for social problems the film otherwise ignores. He steals Nelly’s credit card and does badly in school, and because we know almost nothing else about him as a character, he seems like a stereotype.Marcus’s behavior provokes a rant from his father against “the prevailing discourse” that emphasizes identity over individuality. Like the segments from Sara’s radio program, this diatribe against le wokisme waves in the direction of contemporary reality without engaging it.Meanwhile, the Sara-Jean-François love triangle, as it grows louder and more tearful, loses momentum as a source of drama. Its resolution is — and I mean this as a literal description — a bad joke. How strange that a filmmaker as idiosyncratic and fearless as Denis has made such a generic, tentative film.Both Sides of the BladeNot rated. In French, with subtitles. Running time: 1 hour 56 minutes. In theaters. More

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      A Feminist, Neorealist, Communist Film, and a Plain Great Movie

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      “One Way or Another,” from 1974, is a class-conscious love story involving a macho worker and a well-to-do schoolteacher in Cuba.Dialectical from opening title to final image, “One Way or Another” — the first and only feature by the Afro-Cuban director Sara Gómez — introduces itself as “a film about real people, and some fictitious ones.” That’s one way to describe this deft mixture of cinéma vérité, ethnographic documentary, feminist social realism and class-conscious revolutionary romance.“One Way or Another” opens Friday for a weeklong run at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. Restored from its original 16-millimeter, the film looks terrific, and, despite its nostalgia for the ideals of the Cuban revolution, it feels as relevant today as it did in 1974.While “One Way or Another” never had a formal release in the United States, it has surfaced periodically in film series, including one at BAM five years ago that was devoted to Black women’s cinema. (Reviewing this series, to which “One Way or Another” lent its name, the New York Times critic Manohla Dargis called it “a still-exciting mixture of documentary and narrative fiction.”)“One Way or Another” could be described as a love story involving two photogenic young people — a macho worker, Mario (Mario Balmaseda, who was a professional actor), and a schoolteacher, Yolande (Yolanda Cuéllar, who was not). But it has more on its mind.Mario, a mulatto laborer, grew up on the mean streets of Havana’s Miraflores district; Yolanda, who is white, educated and middle class, has been assigned to teach in a Miraflores primary school. Both have workplace issues. Mario is implicated in a buddy’s misconduct; Yolanda is repeatedly advised to be more diplomatic in dealing with her pupils’ impoverished parents.Given their backgrounds, the lovers often misunderstand each other. Context is all. Their most intimate conversation is in the “neutral” territory of a tiny posada, or hotel; their story is interspersed with interludes concerning the history and legacy of slavery — including the African religion Santería and the all-male secret society Abakuá.Shots of slums and slum clearance provide a metaphor for the creation of a new society and a new consciousness. That the principles come together and drift apart amid a constant interplay of destruction and construction suggests that their relationship — like the Cuban Revolution — is a perpetual work in progress. Didactic as it is, “One Way or Another” can be taken for socialist realism, but if so, it is a highly original and even critical variant. (The “positive hero,” an axiom of the mode, is an Afro-Cuban musician and former boxer, Guillermo Diaz, who supplies a song demystifying traditional gender roles.)Trained as a musician, Gómez made a score of short documentaries. (She also served as an assistant director on Agnès Varda’s 1963 documentary “Salut les Cubains” and can be seen dancing the cha-cha at the movie’s conclusion.) “One Way or Another” is so brimming with life and ideas that it is shattering to learn that Gómez died, at just 31, while editing it — she succumbed to a severe asthma attack amid complications giving birth to her third child.The postproduction was completed by her colleagues, and the movie was not shown until 1977. Since then, it has been recognized as a landmark of feminist, neorealist, Communist, Cuban, Latinx, Third World and simply world cinema.One Way or AnotherJuly 8-14 at the Brooklyn Academy of Music in Brooklyn; bam.org. More