The Literary Road Trip That Never Was: A Journey Through 'Borges And Me'
There’s something undeniably captivating about films that transport us to the early ’70s, especially when they’re set in the nicotine-stained, tweed-clad world of British academia. It’s a time capsule of contradictions: young idealists navigating a landscape shaped by their parents’ generation, where ambition collides with the weight of history. Borges And Me, directed by Marc Turtletaub, is one such film—a hallucinatory road trip that blends fact and fiction in a way that’s both smart and playful. But what makes this film particularly fascinating is how it uses its setting not just as a backdrop, but as a character in its own right.
A Quest for Mentorship in a World of Dead Poets
At its core, Borges And Me is about Jay Parini (played by Fionn Whitehead), an American writer who travels to Scotland in 1971 to fulfill his dream of becoming a poet. What immediately stands out is Parini’s desperation for mentorship—a theme that resonates deeply in a world where academia often feels like a labyrinth. His tutor’s dismissive remark, ‘We prefer our poets dead in Scotland,’ is more than just a witty line; it’s a commentary on the tension between studying literature and creating it. Personally, I think this tension is what makes the film so relatable. How many of us have sought guidance only to be told that our ambitions are misplaced?
Parini’s journey is further complicated by his guilt over his brother’s enlistment in the Vietnam War. The cassette tapes Billy sends from the combat zone are a haunting reminder of the personal cost of larger societal conflicts. This subplot adds a layer of emotional depth to Parini’s quest, but it also raises a deeper question: Can art ever truly absolve us of our guilt? Or is it just another form of escape?
Borges: The Enigmatic Companion
The introduction of Jorge Luis Borges (Luis Gnecco) is where the film takes a surreal turn. Borges, already blind and in his 70s, agrees to join Parini on a road trip to Orkney. What many people don’t realize is that Borges’ character is both a tribute to and a departure from the real-life figure. His epigrammatic wisdom—‘Some books should be tasted’—is classic Borges, but his childlike enthusiasm feels almost fictional. This duality is what makes his character so compelling. Is he a mentor, a foil, or a manifestation of Parini’s imagination?
One thing that immediately stands out is the scene where Borges licks a leather-bound book in the Carnegie Library. It’s a moment that encapsulates his philosophy: literature is not just to be read but experienced. But it also highlights the film’s playful tone, which sometimes feels at odds with its more serious themes. If you take a step back and think about it, this scene is a metaphor for the film itself—it’s smart, but it doesn’t always know when to take itself seriously.
The Road Not Taken
The road trip to Orkney is the heart of the film, but it’s also where the narrative begins to lose focus. Parini’s encounter with a well-read hotel worker (Freya Mavor) feels like a detour, and the anticipated meeting between Borges and reclusive poet George Mackay Brown (Peter Mullan) never happens. From my perspective, this is both a missed opportunity and a deliberate choice. The film seems to suggest that the journey is more important than the destination, but it also leaves the audience wondering what could have been.
Brown’s character, with his dry wit and rejection of romanticism, is a stark contrast to Borges’ mysticism. His line, ‘A poem is the next best thing to silence,’ is a detail that I find especially interesting. It’s a reminder that art doesn’t always need to be grand or loud to be meaningful. What this really suggests is that the film is less about the mentors Parini seeks and more about the lessons he learns along the way.
The Ghosts of Culloden and the Weight of History
The film’s most striking scene comes late in the narrative, when Parini takes Borges to the site of the Battle of Culloden. Here, the film finally bends towards Borges’ metafictional genius, as the two characters commune with the ghosts of the past. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it ties into the film’s broader themes of guilt, mentorship, and the search for meaning. It’s a rare moment where Parini and Borges truly connect, and it’s a shame the film doesn’t lean into these moments more often.
Final Thoughts: A Journey Worth Taking?
Borges And Me is undoubtedly smart, literary, and playful, but it sometimes feels like it’s trying to do too much. The hallucinatory tone, while intriguing, can be jarring, and the narrative loses steam in its final stretch. That said, the film’s strengths—its rich characters, its thoughtful exploration of mentorship, and its evocative setting—make it a journey worth taking.
In my opinion, the film’s greatest achievement is how it captures the essence of Borges himself: enigmatic, profound, and just a little bit frustrating. It’s not a perfect film, but it’s one that lingers in the mind long after the credits roll. What this really suggests is that sometimes, the most meaningful journeys are the ones that leave us with more questions than answers.
