Miguel Gomes’Grand TourRedefines the Art of the Travelogue
So, there’s this film that’s been creating a quiet but powerful buzz— Grand Tour by Portuguese filmmaker Miguel Gomes. And honestly, it’s unlike anything else out there right now. If you’ve ever seen his earlier work like Tabu or The Tsugua Diaries , you’ll get what I mean when I say Gomes doesn’t just make movies—he makes memory, movement, and mood all fold into each other like layers of time.
With Grand Tour , he’s taken the idea of a travelogue—a genre we often associate with simple documentation—and cracked it wide open. This isn’t just a journey across landscapes. It’s a trip through eras, aesthetics, and even cinema itself. The story? It’s deceptively simple: a man, Edward, flees his fiancée, Molly, right before she arrives in colonial Asia. But it’s not really about the chase—it’s about how we move through time, through memory, and through other people’s countries.
What’s fascinating is how Gomes plays with structure. The film is divided into two acts. First, we follow Edward and his escape. Then, Molly steps into the spotlight, tracing his footsteps across Asia. But what feels so unique here is the way Gomes blends historical fiction with modern-day documentary. He juxtaposes lush black-and-white sequences set in 1918 with vibrant colour footage shot in the present day. This wasn’t even a fully planned aesthetic—it happened partly by chance during filming and editing. And that randomness? It adds a layer of organic beauty you don’t often see in cinema anymore.
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There’s no rigid logic between the shifts in time or colour. It’s just… poetic. As Gomes himself puts it, “It is only the logic of beauty.” That line alone kind of encapsulates the whole film. He doesn’t chase realism; he chases feeling. And somehow, by not trying to reproduce the past exactly, he captures the essence of it even more powerfully.
The film’s musical choices elevate everything, too. From British songs like the Eton Boating Song to the Blue Danube , the score flows just like the visuals—carefully orchestrated, but never rigid. At one point, the two songs even share a musical note, dissolving into each other like scenes do on screen. That kind of serendipity? It’s pure cinematic magic.
And then there’s the acting. Crista Alfaiate as Molly is a revelation. Gomes encouraged her to channel classic screwball comedies—think Katharine Hepburn in Bringing Up Baby . So, while the film starts light and playful, it slowly dissolves into operatic tragedy, reflecting the transformation that lies at the heart of Gomes’s storytelling philosophy.
What’s brilliant is that Grand Tour isn’t trying to give you answers. It’s not trying to moralize. Instead, it invites you to feel your way through history, to question what it means to travel—not just physically, but emotionally and culturally. Gomes even brings up how travelogues, like those written by Somerset Maugham, usually lack a female perspective. So Grand Tour consciously gives that voice to Molly, letting her carry the second half of the film.
All in all, Grand Tour is more than a movie—it’s an experience. A shimmering, shifting collage of love, escape, beauty, and displacement. Gomes has turned the travelogue into a cinematic dreamscape, and watching it, you don’t just see the journey. You feel every step.
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