There are a few times during The Road to Patagonia that the cynical urge arises to dismiss ecologist Matty Hannon’s motorcycle journey down the Americas as a vlog of quintessential white Aussie spiritual tourism.
Blessedly, any bias I was bringing into this incredible documentary film was melted away by the humility and curiosity of Matty, and the skill and deeply personal nature of his filmmaking and storytelling.
The film documents sixteen years, two and half of which focus on the road trip from Alaska to Patagonia. The central relationship and ultimately the heart of the film is the connection with Heather Hillier, a Canadian permaculturist Matty meets early on in his journey. The two share an affinity for surfing and reconnecting with the ways of living that we all shared once upon a time; connected to community and to the land. The two find a spark that blossoms into their campfire as Heather chooses to buy a motorcycle and join Matty on his trip.
The conversations the couple have across the continent foster a greater awareness of everyone’s connectivity, from locals to expats to an Amazonian shaman, but also the animals, rivers, mountains and the weather. As time continues on, that connection to nature grows and the urge for further enmeshment leads the couple to sell their motorbikes in exchange for horses and, now a party of six, continue at a slower, more challenging pace. Of course, there are plenty of hiccups and dangers along the way, from facing wolves and bears, getting robbed in Tijuana and confronting the desolation of industrialised pine forests devoid of any biodiversity, simply grown to be pulped into paper.
Even if the philosophical, spiritual and existential journey of the film doesn’t connect with you by the end of its ninety-minute run time (although I would find that hard to believe), the cinematography by Matty and Heather and the travelog adventure alone is so incredibly engrossing, with a pitch-perfect score and songs of Swedish singer-songwriter Daniel Norgren.
All the pieces of the film work together to become greater than the sum of their parts. The spaces Matty and Heather move through never feel transient. Instead, they’ve managed to weave the spirit of animism (the belief that there is spirit in not just people and animals but all of nature) through the film itself, a sense that builds and grows. Every space feels alive, so you feel viscerally devastated when the couple happen upon vast stretches of industrialisation, where food and water become sparse to non-existent for their horses. There’s a pang of existential dread that shoots through the viewer in these scenes.
I won’t spoil the final moments of where the road leads us, but I will say the film left me balling my eyes out in a way I haven’t in a very long time. It’s not a story about destination, it is an odyssey through the world, travelled on foot, motorcycle, horseback and wave. The Road to Patagonia reminds us that however dense the city we come from, as humans we are not outsiders to nature, we’ve simply become disconnected.
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