The Literary Road Trip That Never Was: A Journey Through 'Borges And Me'
There’s something irresistibly charming about films that transport us to the early ’70s, particularly when they’re set in the nicotine-stained, tweed-clad world of British academia. It’s a time capsule of contradictions: young idealists navigating a landscape shaped by their parents’ generation, where pubs are dimly lit, cars are rickety, and the weight of history hangs heavy in the air. Borges And Me, Marc Turtletaub’s latest offering, dives headfirst into this milieu, but with a twist—it’s not just a period piece; it’s a hallucinatory, semi-autobiographical road trip that blurs the lines between reality and imagination.
A Writer’s Quest and the Ghosts of Vietnam
At the heart of the film is Jay Parini, a young American writer played by Fionn Whitehead, who arrives at the University of St. Andrews in 1971 with dreams of becoming a poet. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Parini’s personal demons shadow his journey. His younger brother, Billy, has enlisted in the Vietnam War, and the cassette tapes Billy sends from the battlefield grow increasingly bleak. This guilt-ridden backdrop adds a layer of urgency to Parini’s quest for mentorship. He’s not just seeking literary guidance; he’s searching for redemption, for a way to make sense of his complicity in Billy’s fate.
Personally, I think this tension between personal and artistic ambition is what elevates the film beyond a mere period drama. It’s a reminder that creativity often thrives in the cracks of our lives, where pain and purpose collide. Parini’s desperation to find a mentor—“someone who would help me become a writer”—feels both universal and deeply specific. It’s a sentiment that resonates with anyone who’s ever chased a dream while carrying the weight of their past.
Mentors, Poets, and the Absurdity of Academia
Parini’s journey is punctuated by a series of mentors, each more eccentric than the last. There’s Alistair Reid (Alan Cumming), a scholar who trades mentorship for tutoring his pre-teen son, Jasper. Then there’s the looming figure of Jorge Luis Borges (Luis Gnecco), the Argentinian literary giant who arrives to stay with Reid. What many people don’t realize is how Borges’ presence in the film is both central and peripheral. He’s a larger-than-life character, speaking in epigrams and exuding childlike wonder, yet he often feels like a specter—a symbol of literary genius that Parini both reveres and fears.
One thing that immediately stands out is the film’s portrayal of academia. Parini’s tutor dismisses his ambition with a cutting remark: “We prefer our poets dead in Scotland. The aim of the course is to study writers, not become one.” This raises a deeper question: Can academia truly nurture creativity, or does it stifle it? From my perspective, this tension is the film’s most compelling throughline. It’s a critique of institutional learning, suggesting that true artistry often thrives outside the confines of classrooms and curricula.
A Road Trip with a Blind Genius
The film’s turning point comes when Parini is left in charge of the ailing, blind Borges, who gamely agrees to join him on a road trip to Orkney. “I’ve always wanted to see the Highlands,” Borges says, adding, “You will be my eyes.” This dynamic—a young writer guiding a literary titan through the Scottish countryside—is both poignant and absurd. What this really suggests is that mentorship is a two-way street. Parini isn’t just Borges’ guide; he’s also his student, learning to see the world through the lens of Borges’ imagination.
A detail that I find especially interesting is Borges’ childlike enthusiasm. He licks a leather-bound book at the Carnegie Library, declaring, “Some books should be tasted,” before urinating in the car park. It’s a moment that captures the film’s playful spirit, but it also hints at something deeper: Borges’ belief in the sensual, tactile nature of literature. If you take a step back and think about it, this scene is a metaphor for the film itself—it’s smart, literary, and a little bit irreverent.
The Poet Who Never Was
Parini’s quest to interview the reclusive poet George Mackay Brown (Peter Mullan) is another highlight. Brown, dry and gnomic, rejects the romanticization of art, declaring, “A poem is the next best thing to silence.” This contrast with Borges’ exuberance is striking. While Borges embodies the romantic ideal of the artist, Brown represents its antithesis—grounded, pragmatic, and deeply skeptical of grandeur.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how the film handles their non-meeting. Parini and Borges never encounter Brown, and yet his presence looms large. It’s a reminder that sometimes the most meaningful connections are the ones we never make. From my perspective, this is a commentary on the nature of inspiration: it’s not always about direct interaction but about the ideas and figures that shape us from a distance.
The Ghosts of Culloden and the Weight of History
The film’s most striking scene comes late in the journey, when Parini takes Borges to the site of the Battle of Culloden. Here, the pair commune with the ghosts of the past, summoning the rebellious spirits of 1746. It’s a moment of genuine connection between Parini and Borges, and it’s also the film’s most metafictional. For a brief moment, Borges And Me bends towards the genius of its namesake, exploring the idea that literature is a conversation across time.
Personally, I think this scene is the film’s emotional core. It’s a reminder that history isn’t just something we study; it’s something we carry with us. Parini’s journey isn’t just about becoming a writer; it’s about understanding his place in the world, both as an artist and as a human being.
Final Thoughts: A Journey Worth Taking
Borges And Me is a film that wears its heart on its sleeve. It’s smart, literary, and playful, but it’s also deeply personal. While it occasionally loses steam—particularly in its final stretch—it more than makes up for it with its charm, wit, and insight. What many people don’t realize is how rare it is to find a film that balances intellectual rigor with emotional depth.
If you take a step back and think about it, the film is a love letter to literature, mentorship, and the messy process of self-discovery. It’s not perfect, but it’s genuine, and that’s what makes it memorable. In my opinion, Borges And Me is a journey worth taking—not just for fans of Borges or ’70s academia, but for anyone who’s ever chased a dream while grappling with the ghosts of their past.
