DIRECTOR: Margarida Cardoso
STARRING: Carloto Cotta, Hoji Fortuna, Ruben Simoes, Goncalo Waddington, Sara Carinhas
RUNNING TIME: 2 hrs 7 minutes
LANGUAGE: Portuguese, Creole, English
PLOT: Afonso, a doctor, arrives on Príncipe Island to treat the servants of a cocoa plantation afflicted with Banzo, a haunting nostalgia rooted in the trauma of slavery, driving many to starvation and suicide. Isolated deep within the forest, Afonso seeks not only to cure their bodies but to understand the anguish consuming their souls. Yet as he delves deeper into their pain, he begins to question whether he can truly save them or if the island itself holds the illness.
GENRE: Drama
FILMING LOCATION: São Tomé and Principe
To check out all previous submissions for Portugal, click HERE.
STARRING: Carloto Cotta, Hoji Fortuna, Ruben Simoes, Goncalo Waddington, Sara Carinhas
RUNNING TIME: 2 hrs 7 minutes
LANGUAGE: Portuguese, Creole, English
PLOT: Afonso, a doctor, arrives on Príncipe Island to treat the servants of a cocoa plantation afflicted with Banzo, a haunting nostalgia rooted in the trauma of slavery, driving many to starvation and suicide. Isolated deep within the forest, Afonso seeks not only to cure their bodies but to understand the anguish consuming their souls. Yet as he delves deeper into their pain, he begins to question whether he can truly save them or if the island itself holds the illness.
GENRE: Drama
FILMING LOCATION: São Tomé and Principe
To check out all previous submissions for Portugal, click HERE.
FILM REVIEW:
(This review contains spoilers.)
“We don't want to die. We want to go back home."
Margarida Cardoso’s Banzo unfolds as a haunting and meditative exploration of colonial trauma and spiritual decay. Set on Príncipe Island, the film follows Afonso, a Portuguese doctor sent to treat plantation workers afflicted by a mysterious sickness called “banzo,” a melancholy so profound it leads to starvation and death. Through this premise, Cardoso crafts a narrative that blurs the line between illness and memory, science and superstition, colonizer and colonized. The result is not a conventional period drama, but rather an atmospheric descent into the psychological and historical wounds of empire.
Visually, Banzo is a work of profound restraint. Cardoso transforms the lush forest into both a sanctuary and a tomb, its beauty suffocating, its silence oppressive. The camera lingers on gestures, faces, and textures, allowing the landscape to absorb the characters rather than frame them. The film’s sound design deepens this immersion: whispers, rustling leaves, and the distant ocean replace traditional musical cues, building an almost trance-like rhythm. Cardoso’s pacing is deliberate and contemplative, demanding patience from the viewer but rewarding it with hypnotic intensity and emotional depth.
What distinguishes Banzo from other colonial narratives is its refusal to center the European gaze entirely. Though Afonso’s journey structures the film, Cardoso subtly undermines his authority. His attempts to “heal” the enslaved workers expose not only his ignorance of their suffering but also the futility of applying rational medicine to a spiritual affliction born from centuries of violence and displacement. The illness of banzo becomes a metaphor for the moral corruption of colonialism itself, a disease that infects both the oppressed and the oppressor.
At its core, Banzo is a reflection on memory, guilt, and the persistence of historical pain. Cardoso’s film suggests that the past cannot be cured through reason or empathy alone; it must be confronted, acknowledged, and carried. The doctor’s failure to understand the spiritual essence of the disease mirrors Europe’s broader inability to reckon with the psychological and moral aftermath of its colonial exploits. In portraying banzo as both a metaphor and a haunting presence, Cardoso reminds us that history is not a distant echo but a living force that continues to shape identity and consciousness. The forest, with its dense silence and invisible suffering, becomes the embodiment of a collective wound that resists healing. Banzo is less a story about salvation than about inheritance, the lingering ghosts of empire that inhabit the living, whispering through time and memory, urging us to recognize that some traumas cannot be erased, only understood.
(This review contains spoilers.)
“We don't want to die. We want to go back home."
Margarida Cardoso’s Banzo unfolds as a haunting and meditative exploration of colonial trauma and spiritual decay. Set on Príncipe Island, the film follows Afonso, a Portuguese doctor sent to treat plantation workers afflicted by a mysterious sickness called “banzo,” a melancholy so profound it leads to starvation and death. Through this premise, Cardoso crafts a narrative that blurs the line between illness and memory, science and superstition, colonizer and colonized. The result is not a conventional period drama, but rather an atmospheric descent into the psychological and historical wounds of empire.
Visually, Banzo is a work of profound restraint. Cardoso transforms the lush forest into both a sanctuary and a tomb, its beauty suffocating, its silence oppressive. The camera lingers on gestures, faces, and textures, allowing the landscape to absorb the characters rather than frame them. The film’s sound design deepens this immersion: whispers, rustling leaves, and the distant ocean replace traditional musical cues, building an almost trance-like rhythm. Cardoso’s pacing is deliberate and contemplative, demanding patience from the viewer but rewarding it with hypnotic intensity and emotional depth.
What distinguishes Banzo from other colonial narratives is its refusal to center the European gaze entirely. Though Afonso’s journey structures the film, Cardoso subtly undermines his authority. His attempts to “heal” the enslaved workers expose not only his ignorance of their suffering but also the futility of applying rational medicine to a spiritual affliction born from centuries of violence and displacement. The illness of banzo becomes a metaphor for the moral corruption of colonialism itself, a disease that infects both the oppressed and the oppressor.
At its core, Banzo is a reflection on memory, guilt, and the persistence of historical pain. Cardoso’s film suggests that the past cannot be cured through reason or empathy alone; it must be confronted, acknowledged, and carried. The doctor’s failure to understand the spiritual essence of the disease mirrors Europe’s broader inability to reckon with the psychological and moral aftermath of its colonial exploits. In portraying banzo as both a metaphor and a haunting presence, Cardoso reminds us that history is not a distant echo but a living force that continues to shape identity and consciousness. The forest, with its dense silence and invisible suffering, becomes the embodiment of a collective wound that resists healing. Banzo is less a story about salvation than about inheritance, the lingering ghosts of empire that inhabit the living, whispering through time and memory, urging us to recognize that some traumas cannot be erased, only understood.
