In the blistering desert of Brazil, two rural families engage in a generations-old land dispute that breeds murder and – in the hands of director Walter Salles – overwrought symbolism. There’s some striking imagery here, from a blood-stained shirt flapping on a clothesline to the endless dried brambles that dominate the landscape. But as the story turns to two brothers who consider breaking this cycle of violence, the movie devolves into a series of melodramatic metaphors. It’s bad enough that one of the brothers repeatedly rides a swing to express his yearning for freedom – having that swing break as an omen of impending doom is the kind of touch Cliffs Notes were made for.
