Movie Review SSJ

In an era of grandiose romantic gestures and overwrought melodramas, The Way He Looks (original title: Hoje Eu Quero Voltar Sozinho) emerges as a breath of fresh air—a cinematic poem that finds profound beauty in life’s quietest moments. Directed by Daniel Ribeiro, this Brazilian coming-of-age story, expanded from Ribeiro’s 2010 short film I Don’t Want to Go Back Alone, is an exquisite exploration of first love, friendship, and self-discovery. With its gossamer-light storytelling and emphasis on emotional authenticity over plot mechanics, the film achieves something rare: It makes vulnerability feel revolutionary and ordinary moments seem sacred.

The Aesthetics of Intimacy: A Sensory Experience

From its opening frames, The Way He Looks establishes itself as a work of tactile sensitivity. The camera lingers on sun-dappled skin, rustling tree branches, and the textured fabric of school uniforms, creating a world that feels both hyper-real and dreamlike. Cinematographer Pierre de Kerchove employs a palette of soft golds and muted blues, evoking the hazy glow of adolescence itself—a time when emotions feel magnified yet indistinct, like shapes seen through frosted glass.

The film’s sonic landscape is equally deliberate. Gentle indie-folk melodies intertwine with diegetic sounds—the squeak of a swing set, the rhythmic tap of a blind protagonist’s cane, the muffled laughter of friends huddled close. These elements coalesce into a symphony of intimacy, inviting viewers not just to watch but to feel the story unfold. Even dialogue is delivered in hushed tones, as if the characters—and the film itself—are guarding precious secrets.

Characters as Vessels of Universal Truths

At the film’s heart is Leonardo (Ghilherme Lobo), a blind teenager navigating the minefield of high school insecurities with dry wit and quiet resilience. His bond with best friend Giovana (Tess Amorim) forms the story’s emotional backbone—a platonic love story marked by lazy afternoons spent with her fingers threading through his hair, their bodies curled together like parentheses. Their relationship epitomizes Ribeiro’s thesis: That profound connections need not be romantic to be transformative.

Enter Gabriel (Fabio Audi), the new student whose arrival disrupts the duo’s equilibrium. Tall, effortlessly charismatic, and bearing the faint musk of adolescent mystery, Gabriel becomes both catalyst and mirror for Leo’s burgeoning sexual awakening. Their interactions—a hand lingering on a shoulder, synchronized bike rides through empty streets, the shared warmth of a borrowed sweatshirt—are rendered with such delicate specificity that they transcend LGBTQ+ storytelling tropics to become something universally recognizable: The terrifying exhilaration of discovering you want to kiss someone, and suspect—hope—they might want to kiss you too.

Subtext as Text: The Politics of Small Gestures

What makes The Way He Looks revolutionary is its refusal to sensationalize. There are no traumatic coming-out scenes, no bully caricatures, no third-act tragedies. Instead, Ribeiro finds tension in life’s micro-shifts: The way Leo’s breath hitches when Gabriel leans into his personal space; the pregnant pause before Giovana asks “Are you gay?”; the silent battle between Leo’s cane and his pride as he insists on walking home alone.

The film’s most electrifying sequence—Leo practicing kisses against his bathroom mirror—is a masterclass in subtext. As he traces his lips, imagining Gabriel’s face, the scene becomes less about sexual orientation than about the human condition: Don’t we all rehearse vulnerability behind closed doors? Don’t we all fear our desires might shatter the fragile ecosystems of our relationships?

Youth Through a Clear Lens: Nostalgia Without Rose Tints

Unlike many coming-of-age films drenched in sepia-toned nostalgia, The Way He Looks presents adolescence with unflinching clarity. The high school setting feels authentically mundane—a world of pop quizzes, cafeteria gossip, and the existential drama of group projects. Secondary characters avoid caricature: Even the class “troublemaker” reveals unexpected depth, his pranks masking a poignant longing for connection.

This grounded approach makes the story’s emotional crescendos land with greater force. When Leo and Giovana have their inevitable rift—a quarrel born from her fear of being replaced—the scene aches with authenticity. Their reconciliation, achieved through shared silence and a bag of smuggled snacks, rejects easy dramatics in favor of truth: Sometimes “I’m sorry” is whispered through actions rather than words.

The Alchemy of Performance

The film’s delicate magic rests heavily on its cast. Ghilherme Lobo delivers a career-defining performance, using subtle head tilts and hesitant smiles to convey Leo’s journey from self-doubt to tentative empowerment. His blindness is neither exploited for inspiration porn nor treated as a narrative obstacle—it’s simply part of his lived experience, informing but not defining him. Fabio Audi’s Gabriel is a revelation, balancing golden-boy charm with flickers of vulnerability that hint at his own insecurities. Their chemistry simmers rather than boils, making their eventual kiss—a sunlit moment of mutual surrender—feel earned rather than obligatory.

Tess Amorim’s Giovana nearly steals the show, embodying the fierce loyalty and quiet melancholy of teenage friendship. In her best scene—confronting Leo about his emotional withdrawal—she cycles through anger, hurt, and reluctant understanding in a single unbroken take, proving adolescence contains multitudes.

Conclusion: A New Grammar of Love

The Way He Looks ultimately succeeds because it understands that first love isn’t about grand declarations—it’s about the space between words. The way a shared sweater becomes a love letter. How riding tandem on a bike can feel like flying. Why someone’s laughter might suddenly make your stomach drop. In prioritizing emotional truth over plot pyrotechnics, Ribeiro has crafted more than a film; he’s created a sensory archive of what it means to be young and trembling on love’s precipice.

Eight years after its release, the film remains essential viewing—not just for LGBTQ+ audiences, but for anyone who remembers the exquisite pain of wanting someone so badly it feels like a secret too big for your body to hold. In a world obsessed with shouting its truths, The Way He Looks dares to whisper. And in that whisper, we hear our own hearts amplified.