The Valley (1972)

What makes The Valley special is the way it turns an “adventure” into a spell—less about conquering terrain than about letting a place, and a way of living, work on you. Barbet Schroeder shoots Papua New Guinea with a patient, hypnotic eye, and Bulle Ogier gives Viviane a quietly magnetic presence as her practical quest for rare feathers drifts into something more intimate and unsettling: a reconsideration of what “civilization” even means. The vibe is dreamy, sensual, and slightly eerie, carried by the feeling of moving toward a destination that’s as much myth as geography, “obscured by clouds” in every sense. It’s not for viewers who need a tight, plot-driven thriller, but if you’re open to a 1970s art-house journey that lingers in your mind like a half-remembered vision, this one is worth the trek.

The Valley is clearly aiming for a hypnotic, semi-spiritual travelogue where the “plot” is really an excuse to watch Western characters shed their baggage in the jungle and project meaning onto an elusive paradise. If you need sharp storytelling, believable character psychology, or any sense of urgency, this will feel painfully loose and self-serious, with long stretches that play more like a mood piece than a drama. It also leans heavily on a 1970s outsider gaze toward indigenous life that some viewers will find dated or uncomfortable, even when it’s trying to be respectful. That said, if you’re patient with slow cinema, open to ambiguity, and mainly want striking locations, trance-like pacing, and a curious counterculture vibe, it can be an oddly absorbing trip.