Writing as a disillusioned civil servant in British Burma, George Orwell predicted that the empire would die of its own inertia: “Year after year you sit in Kipling-haunted little clubs, whisky to right of you, Pink’un to left of you, listening and eagerly agreeing… You are a creature of the despotism tied tighter than a monk… by an unbreakable system of taboos.”
Miguel Gomes’s film Grand Tour, set in early 20th century colonial Rangoon, tells a similar story. We follow Edward (Gonçalo Waddington), an English bureaucrat, as he flees his fiancée Molly (Crista Alfaiate) hours before their wedding. His cowardice is never resolved, but his subsequent tour around Asia is a powerful demonstration of the empire’s futility.
Waddington masterfully performs the quiet confidence of a 20th century English man. Whether drinking a Singapore Sling in the Ruffles Hotel or trudging through a bamboo forest near Chengdu, he remains relaxed and contemplative, sure that everywhere he lands someone will be there to hand over a telegram or carry his bags. Gomes drives the point home by playing the Eton boating song throughout Edward’s various visits.
While the European characters are in control within each shot, the larger structure of the film firmly places them in the background. In the documentary style, dialogue is often replaced by narration, always in the native language of each city. Long establishing shots fold into lengthy footage of daily activities. In Bangkok, we drive by large portraits of the Thai King; in Manila, we see drunk sailors in a Karaoke bar; and in Shanghai, men in white tuxedos play in jazz clubs along the Huangpu River.
At some points the lack of blocking is jarring and the didactic narration robs the characters of emotional moments, but Gomes is careful to ensure that we feel more entranced than lost. The vastness of each metropolis demands reflection, and the viewer is pulled away just when they are close to understanding. That feeling of futility after weeks of travel and countless meetings drags on the viewer as much as on Edward. We are supposed to have learned something about ourselves.
Molly’s entrance in the second half injects the film with a necessary sense of urgency. Unwilling to give up the marriage, she follows Edward, trusting he will honor their bond. A more jovial person than Edward, Molly befriends Ngoc (Lang Khê Tran) and is courted by her master Timothy Sanders (Cláudio da Silva). Rather than just existing in each city, Molly takes part in local dances and rituals. But even in Sanders’s Southern style plantation, surrounded by servants, the Europeans feel small. The forest around them grows over the columns and onto the front porch.
The inclusion of so many cities almost guarantees some awkward tropes. Moments like a Japanese sensei telling Edward to “climb the mountain” for salvation—before being arrested for espionage—felt particularly contrived. When he departs from documentary style footage, Gomes reveals his limited grasp of history.
As Molly finally catches up with Edward, the environment that guided their tour gets the final word. Edward’s quiet confidence and Molly’s magnetic charisma prove insufficient. Almost every European they meet suffers the same realization. The consul in Chengdu is addicted to the opium Britain smuggled into China and the local priest has given up his diocese to make jam in Yorkshire. The conversion of the vast continent feels silly as he and Molly row past a giant Buddha looming over them.
While at points repeating its worst attributes, Grand Tour develops into a critique of the colonial adventure story drilled into most of the bureaucrats who ended up in Asian cities. Second sons leave on ships and planes expecting to find themselves and leave full but lost.
