Amongst the debut features populating Berlinale’s new section called Perspectives, none presented so admirably fresh take on fiction and political histories as Two Times João Liberada. The Portuguese hidden gem is directed by Paula Tomás Marques, who has made a few captivating shorts and also worked as a cinematographer on others’ films (including Matiás Piñeiro’s You Burn Me) as well as being an editor and script supervisor. Given her all-round involvement with independent production, it’s little surprise her full-length debut is a film about the making of a film. In the Lisbon-set João Liberada, an actress named João (June João, collaborator of Marques on shorts and performance) is cast to play a namesake of hers in a micro-budget period film.
Even if we spend all our screen time with João the actress, it’s João Liberada who is the film’s actual protagonist. With the twin name being a supposed coincidence, the (male) director of the film sought out a trans woman for the main part, since Liberada was gender non-conforming, according to the archival documents. Marques (who also appears as a member of the production crew) is interested in how thin the veil can be between actor and character; to explore this relation, she and June João wrote together a script of ghostly presences. Moreso, their script includes another script (for the film-within-the-film) that is far less intriguing.
As João struggles with the director’s treatment of Liberada’s story, she coats her discontent in suggestions on set during shooting. But as one colleague of hers points out, “If you want to change the script during shooting, it’s always already too late.” There are equal-parts melancholy and detachment guiding the main character, evident in the frank voiceover that peppers João Liberada from beginning to end: the making of this feature is not exactly easy, but when an inexplicable event befalls the director, João sees an opportunity to reframe the narrative.
The film picks at the politics of a set (“at least the director hired a mainly LGBTQI+ cast and crew,” João admits) and trans representation through an almost-real fabulation. João Liberada is a fictional character, but drawn together from 17th- and 18th-century trial recordings of the Inquisition pursuing gender dissidents. Instead of sticking to a more straightforward idea of a film “rectifying” or “illuminating” the “invisible histories,” Marques and her team prefer to make a meta-point about it. Not only does the film make apparent modes of representation, tropes, and the tiptoeing around them and often at the cost of truthfulness to actual queer and trans existences, but in a way that is inviting: both cheeky and gorgeous to look at.
Shot in dazzling 16mm and bathed in summer light, Two Times João Liberada doesn’t shy from being a textured film: there are interventions made on the level of editing (with experimental filmmaker Jorge Jacome in charge), that separate “reality” from “the film,” and in other instances, overlaid writing appears onscreen atop the scene as it unfolds. Light flares and occasional marks on the 16mm footage are there too, as tactile as João’s own discontent.
Two Times João Liberada contains a wish-fulfillment element that is never self-serving. Maybe the whole film can be seen as João’s attempt to meet her queer ancestor and, in a way, it is that; yet that only complicates things. Representation is not only sometimes unreliable; it’s also vital. With histories written in a way that forcefully disregards the marginalized, questioning, curiosity, and new forms of contact provide an alternative to archaeology. Marques applies such anti-archaeological approach to her debut feature with a delightful result: Two Times João Liberada is a small treasure that shines brightly.
Two Times João Liberada premiered at the 2025 Berlinale.