Tabu

A narrator, Miguel Gomes, opens with a poetic legend that blends myth and memory. The legend speaks of a Creator who is ordered by the heart, a doomed explorer in Africa, and a crocodile whose gaze seems to share a secret empathy with a woman by the river. The frame establishes a mantra about fate, guilt, and desire that threads through the film.

In an old Lisbon building, three women lead parallel, intertwining lives. Aurora is an octogenarian pensioner, eccentric and superstitious; Santa is a Cape Verdean housemaid with a gift for divination; Pilar is a Catholic neighbor and activist who steers their projects. Their daily routines and concerns bind their fates together as the story unfolds in the city.

Aware that Aurora is nearing the end, Pilar agrees to find Gian-Luca Ventura, a man from Aurora's past. She succeeds in locating him, hoping to reconnect the old lovers through memory. The search foreshadows a buried history waiting to surface.

Pilar locates Gian-Luca and informs him of Aurora's death shortly after. The passing closes a long chapter of Aurora's life, while Gian-Luca's recollections bring the Africa story to the foreground. The discovery ties the present to a past that will be retold through his narration.

Gian-Luca, speaking in voiceover, begins the Africa chapter of Aurora's life in the 1960s. Aurora and her husband run a tea farm on the slopes of Mount Tabu, and she becomes a skilled hunter who never misses a shot. Their frontier life is marked by the looming shadows of colonial conflict.

Aurora keeps a small crocodile as a pet, a living symbol of wild power gifted by her husband. The animal's presence reveals her fierce independence and resourcefulness. The bond between woman, animal, and landscape frames the couple's precarious happiness.

The crocodile escapes into the household where Aurora and Gian-Luca first cross paths; the pregnant Aurora finds the reptile in Gian-Luca's house, and their mutual attraction blossoms into a dangerous affair. Their liaison unfolds under the pressure of war looming over their lives.

Gian-Luca confides in his friend Mario about the affair. Mario demands that Gian-Luca end the relationship, but his pleas go unheeded. The men clash, revealing factions and loyalties within a fragile colonial setting.

In a moment of peril, the heavily pregnant Aurora picks up a revolver and shoots Mario. She later gives birth to a daughter, her life split between protection and guilt. The incident marks a brutal turning point with political implications.

Mario's death is used as a pretext to ignite the Portuguese Colonial War, shaping public narratives and masking a personal tragedy as political necessity. Aurora's actions are folded into a larger, state-driven spectacle of violence. The personal and political collide in the narrative.

Two days after Mario's death, Gian-Luca leaves Africa for good and moves to India. The departure marks the end of his direct involvement in Aurora's life and sets the stage for distant memories. The voyage becomes a separating hinge between continents and eras.

Ten years later, Gian-Luca hears news of Aurora's husband’s death, then moves to Lisbon and makes his address known to Aurora. She does not reply, leaving him with unanswered questions and a sense of unfinished business. The past remains a private, unresolved thread.

Gian-Luca explains that he respected Aurora's wish to leave Africa and burned her final letter rather than respond. He carries a burden of guilt for Mario's murder, a memory that keeps the Africa chapter from ever fully closing. His confession reframes the past as a memory informed by regret.

In the film's closing frame, the legend echoes in Lisbon as a crocodile and a woman in old-time clothes appear on the riverbank in whispers and rumors. The myth lingers like a haunting memory of love, death, and guilt. The audience is left with a sense that some stories refuse to stay buried in time.

The narrative threads—friends in Lisbon, a colonial past, and a legend by the river—converge into a meditation on memory and storytelling. The timeline suggests that the past remains alive through memory, and the crocodile remains a symbol of the wild, inscrutable bonds between people and places. The film closes on a note of reverie and unresolved questions.