The Lion Has Seven Heads (1970)
Glauber Rocha is one of those directors whose reputation in film studies circles far outstrips his name recognition among general audiences, and The Lion Has Seven Heads (original title: Der Leone Have Sept Cabeças, a title that itself announces the film's polyglot, deliberately fractured identity) is a reasonable illustration of why that gap exists. Released in 1970 and shot on location in the Republic of the Congo, the film emerged from a particularly turbulent period in Rocha's life and career. Having left Brazil following the military coup of 1964, which steadily tightened its grip on cultural and political life through the late 1960s, Rocha was working in a kind of self-imposed exile, channelling his frustrations into an increasingly radical formal language. The film operates as a kind of political allegory, presenting a symbolic landscape in which European colonial powers, Cold War espionage, religious mysticism and nascent African revolutionary movements collide and circle one another, none of them coming out especially well. It is the sort of film that arrives with a great deal of ideological freight already loaded, and it makes no concessions to audiences who haven't done some of the reading in advance.
The production itself was a genuinely international affair, co-produced across Brazil, France and Italy (with Claude Antoine Films, Polifilm and Mapa Filmes sharing the credits) and shot with a relatively lean setup that suited Rocha's guerrilla aesthetic. By 1970 he was already considered the defining voice of Cinema Novo, the Brazilian movement that sought to make politically conscious films on modest budgets, drawing on Italian neorealism and the French New Wave while pushing both considerably further into agitprop territory. His earlier work, particularly Black God, White Devil (1964) and Terra em Transe (1967), had established him as a formidable and genuinely uncompromising talent. This film, made outside Brazil and free from even the residual commercial pressures of a domestic market, finds him working with even fewer self-imposed limits. Macca reviewed the short documentary Candomblé in Togo, which was made in the same broad African context just two years later and offers an interesting companion piece to the cultural and spiritual currents running through this film. Fans of politically charged European cinema from roughly the same era might also find it worth reading his thoughts on Time of the Gypsies, another film where formal ambition and raw cultural energy are constantly negotiating with each other.
The cast is an eclectic mix that reflects the film's co-production origins. Jean-Pierre Léaud, fresh from his long association with François Truffaut and already a totem of New Wave cinema, appears here in a very different register, playing a character that functions more as a symbol than a person. Rada Rassimov, the Italian actress known for her work in genre pictures (she was busy that same year appearing in The Bird with the Crystal Plumage), takes on a central female role that asks something rather different of her than a thriller might. Giulio Brogi, Hugo Carvana and Gabriele Tinti round out the ensemble, each representing a different ideological or cultural position within the film's allegorical framework. None of them are here to deliver naturalistic performances in the conventional sense. Rocha uses his actors more as figures in a political tableau than as characters to be inhabited, which is either the point or the problem depending on your tolerance for that kind of approach.
Glauber Rocha’s 1970 picture The Lion Has Seven Heads is a curious, thoroughly baffling beast of a film. If you go into this expecting a straightforward narrative, you are in for a rude awakening. It is an unapologetically avant-garde piece of Cinema Novo, functioning primarily as a fierce, swirling commentary on colonialism and revolutionary struggle.
The dialogue is deliberately surreal, and the cinematography frequently abandons traditional logic in favour of jarring, symbolic imagery. It is certainly not a passive viewing experience.
That isn't to say the film is without its merits. Fair play to the audio team, because the soundtrack is genuinely cracking. The inclusion of local songs and traditional music provides a vital, rhythmic anchor that grounds the otherwise chaotic visuals. When the film leans into its cultural roots through sound, it manages to capture a raw, authentic energy that cuts through the stylistic noise, reminding you of the very real human stakes behind the abstract metaphors.
However, the execution frequently stumbles under the weight of its own ambition. I found the handling of the central female character to be a bit heavy-handed, reducing what could have been a nuanced portrait of resistance into a rather blunt, one-dimensional archetype. Furthermore, the pacing is a real struggle. Rocha insists on lingering on long, dialogue-free sequences that, rather than building profound atmospheric tension, simply make the runtime feel a lot slower and more arduous than it actually needs to be. It occasionally feels like a bit of a slog, testing your patience just when you want the narrative to find its footing.
I can absolutely see and respect the historical importance of The Lion Has Seven Heads. Rocha was pushing the boundaries of what political cinema could achieve, and his radical vision deserves its place in the archives. But respecting a film’s legacy and actually enjoying the sit-down are two entirely different things. For me, it remains a fascinating, deeply flawed historical artifact rather.
The Lion Has Seven Heads sits in that category of films that film historians cite readily but general audiences rarely revisit for pleasure, which is perhaps an honest reflection of what Rocha was trying to do. Political cinema that demands rather than entertains occupies a specific and sometimes lonely niche, and Rocha occupies it more insistently than almost anyone. Whether that makes the experience worthwhile depends on what you're bringing to the screen. As a document of a particular moment in third-world cinema theory and anti-colonial thought, the film earns its place on the shelf. As a Saturday evening watch, it earns rather less. Some films are better written about than watched.
Rating: ★★★ | Year: 1970 | Watched: 2026-07-30
