No, or the Vain Glory of Command 1990

The film opens in early April 1974, with a small group of Portuguese soldiers pushing through dense jungle in a military truck, headed toward a base from which they will engage guerrillas from a liberation movement. The unit is led by Lieutenant Cabrita, a reflective officer who continually questions the purpose of their war. Alongside him march Cpl. Brito and Pvt. Manuel, among others, all sharing a quiet, almost existential sense of fatalism about Portugal’s place in the world. The narrative voice that frames their journey is provided by the Narrator, guiding us through a story that feels both immediate and historically distant.

From the moving base toward the frontline, the film unfolds a sequence of historical flashbacks that Cabrita uses to interpret the present. In the first, the legendary guerrilla leader Viriathus fights the Roman invaders, a reminder that valor and struggle have deep roots in Lusitania, even as victory does not always translate into lasting peace. In the next memory, Portugal’s dream of uniting with Spain is thwarted during the Castilian War of Succession, with King Afonso V defeated at Toro, underscoring how political ambition can derail grand visions. A third recollection shows a peaceful but doomed attempt at unification through marriage, cut short by the sudden death of a Portuguese prince, a moment that foreshadows the fragility of dynastic schemes and the costs of history.

As night falls, the camp settles and Cabrita reflects on what truly matters beyond territory and conquest. He speaks of leaving a legacy in humanity rather than taking land, invoking Portugal’s long history of exploration and discovery. In a fourth flashback, Vasco da Gama sails toward the mythical Isle of Love, guided by the goddess Venus and shown by the goddess Thetis the cosmic harmony of the world—an emblem of idealized voyage and reward. The soldiers drift toward sleep yet remain haunted by the past, where the dream of empire persists as a force that continues to shape the present.

Before dawn, the group encounters a new sequence of memory: the ill-fated Battle of Alcácer Quibir in 1578, where Dom Sebastião leads a heterogeneous army into catastrophe. The battle’s massacre reverberates as a symbol of a lost utopian project—the Fifth Empire—an idea that Cabrita refers to when contemplating the weight of history on national fate. The film’s title-looming question lingers: can any empire truly endure, or is all grandeur a temporary illusion?

The morning brings an abrupt ambush by guerrillas, and Cabrita is gravely wounded. As he is airlifted to a military hospital, his consciousness drifts back into the historical chaos, and he envisions himself as [Dom João] of Portugal amid the carnage of Alcácer Quibir. A wounded knight confronts a despairing monologue about the word “Non,” a stark moment that the knight uses to express the definitive end of hope. The vision intensifies as the knight kills himself, a brutal reminder of how history’s sins echo through the present.

In the hospital ward, Cabrita fights for life as morphine dulls the edge of reality. The spectral figure of Dom Sebastião reappears, squeezing a sword until blood beads at the tip, a visual echo of his own fate. Despite every effort, Cabrita dies on April 25, 1974—the very day that Portugal’s Carnation Revolution would redefine the nation’s course. The final credits roll to the melancholy sound of a song from The Lusiads, leaving a lasting impression of a country’s painful reckoning with its past and its future.