Cinema offers a way to venture far beyond what we consider known and familiar, extending what was once reserved for literature: feeding our imagination with images from unknown places, sometimes capable of transcending time and reality. In a world overstimulated by an overwhelming obsession with capturing and multiplying images—with or without purpose—a film like Grand Tour, abundant in exuberance yet told with restraint, immediately becomes a valuable exception: a journey for the senses.

Directed by Miguel Gomes and loosely inspired by a story by William Somerset Maugham, Grand Tour constructs a unique narrative and visual tapestry of journeys between the past and present, without spoon-feeding connections between the early 20th century and today, trusting in the audience’s intelligence. The title refers to the 19th-century European tradition of embarking on an educational expedition across several countries—an adventure meant to intellectually enrich young Westerners by exposing them to cultural wealth beyond home.

Grand Tour is a cinematic journey like no other, first set in 1917 Rangoon, then a British colony. Far from being explorers with a thirst for adventure, the two main characters replicate the tradition of a “grand tour” by accident. Edward (Gonçalo Waddington), a dreary British diplomat, serves the Empire in Asian territories while using his position to avoid getting married upon his return home. Years have passed, and his fiancée, Molly (Crista Alfaiate), has exhausted her patience. She decides it’s time to get married, whether Edward is ready or not.

Her resolution and arrival in the Burmese capital take Edward by surprise. Hesitant and terrified at the prospect of a long-promised marriage, he first embarks on a boat, then takes a train to Singapore, determined to get as far away from her as possible. The train derails, and Molly catches up to it afterward, but once again, Edward has left on foot for the nearest frontier. Meanwhile, Molly always finds a way to locate Edward and send him messages—though she’s always a little too late to confront him.

The world around them—from jungles to oceans ravaged by storms—is bigger than their dreams or fears, yet they keep moving forward from one country to another with absolute indifference to both the dangers and the beauty around them. Along the way, they encounter fascinating characters (a priest who has abandoned his mission, a cattleman who wishes to be the recipient of Molly’s love), but their selfishness remains foolproof against distractions. From time to time, Molly and Edward’s separate journeys are interwoven with unadorned (but no less entrancing) visual testimonies of the same places in the present day—a post-pandemic world.

The cat-and-mouse chase between the couple might be the saddest screwball comedy ever conceived, a genre honored here through impeccable monochromatic cinematography. (The movie credits three cinematographers, including Sayombhu Mukdeeprom.) In another era, this story could have easily starred Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant—with sharper comedic timing and a sweeping romance. Waddington’s performance may be too melancholic for such a comparison, but Alfaiate’s hysterical energy and mannerisms hold their ground against the romantic heroines of yesteryear, delivering a performance that begins as funny but takes a sour and affecting turn.

One of Gomes’s best films yet, Grand Tour combines and refreshes traditions of the travelogue with a poignant, self-critical romance in search of lost worlds. Ultimately tragic without turning sentimental, the film brings to life a dream state, overlapping third-person voiceovers, astounding images that demand reflection, and intoxicating camerawork that dares to paint reveries with suspicion. The orientalist myths and mysteries projected by the West are exposed here as colonial mirages.

Grand Tour is a bitter delight.