Rent Memories of Underdevelopment (1968)

Rewarding artefact from a time of change. - Memories of Underdevelopment review by CP Customer

This classic from the early days of the Cuban Revolution crackles with energy and an urgent sense of a key moment in history.

Unsurprisingly it comes across as somewhat dated now, particularly in its gender politics.

The central character is something of a blank page, not one of the right wingers who flee to the USA, but also not a participant in the Castro revolution.

This leaves the film in a curious state of ambivalence.

Elegy for a Hollow Man - Memories of Underdevelopment review by griggs

Memories of Underdevelopment is less a story than a slow-motion crisis of consciousness. We follow the protagonist Sergio, who is floating through Havana in a haze of culture, alienation, boredom, and despair, paralysed by his uselessness, a ghost of the old bourgeoisie. He’s stuck mourning European culture and sneering at the so-called underdeveloped masses. It’s a silently damning critique of class, complacency, and the cultural vacuum left behind when ideology becomes lifestyle.

 The form matches the content—fragmented, discursive, drenched in despair. Despite its cerebral tone, Memories of Underdevelopment is never visually dry. Tomás Gutiérrez Alea’s direction is razor-sharp, blending documentary footage, still photography, and inner monologue into something intimate and historical. The cinematography captures Havana in flux—elegant old façades crumbling under the weight of change. Long takes that allow moments to breathe and disintegrate. Sergio Corrieri holds the centre with a quietly haunted performance, all internalised arrogance and emotional drift, while the supporting cast feel intentionally subdued—more like symbols than characters, reflecting Sergio’s inability to connect with the world around him. Its emotional distance is part of the design—deliberate, alienating, and quietly devastating.

You get the sense Sergio’s not just watching a country change—he’s watching his own irrelevance set in, like mildew on marble. As a portrait of class inertia and cultural decay, it’s quietly scathing of those like Sergio, too cultured to join in, too comfortable to let go, and too cowardly to change. It’s Sergio who is underdeveloped, not the masses. He didn’t become stunted because of the revolution—he was hollow all along, and now there’s nothing left to hide it.