The greatest experience I’ve ever had watching a film. Not just at Cannes—ever. I left the theater dazed, confused, gutted, and impossibly inspired. Magellan isn’t just a film. It’s an awakening.
Oh my fucking god, I kept whispering, “I can’t believe you could do that.” Every single shot—30 to 60 seconds of pure painterly composition—felt like a frame pulled from some long-lost 16th-century tapestry. Light pours in like divinity itself. Not a moment wasted. Not a corner of the screen untouched by intention.
The story of Magellan and his lover is simply devastating. A love carved in suffering, burdened by the ever-familiar ghosts of death, ego, faith, colonialism, and human greed. But the film isn’t just a narrative—it’s a breathing…