Bit of a coup

In 2002, US director Oliver Stone was granted an extended interview over three days with Cuban premier Fidel Castro. Distilling the 30 hours of footage to a mere 99 minutes of screen time must have been exhausting, and there is a sense throughout the resulting film of moments missed, of revelations hiding just out of sight on the edge of the screen.

As an impartial political insight into, and interrogation of, the world's most indestructible socialist leader it is a non-starter; Stone was never going to make that kind of film. But as an exploration of the human being behind the green military fatigues and revolutionary cap, it offers some insights that are charming, intriguing - and frustrating.

Stone's scatter-gun interrogative approach allows little time for a considered response before he interrupts (or appears to) to ask another question. Given that Castro's public speeches run to four or five hours, one must assume that much has been edited out by Stone or Fidel himself.

The camerawork, jittery and handheld, is both irritating and energising. Frequently the camera focuses tightly on the details of Fidel's face, hands (often clasped in a prayer-like gesture, oddly for an acknowledged apostate), beard and disturbingly shiny uniform.

The texture of age serves to emphasise Castro's longevity and the anecdotes about Kruschev, Che Guevara, Kennedy and Vietnam (punctuated by gratuitous slivers of archive footage) establish the survival of Fidel's regime and the imminence of his (natural) death.

Stone gets cute with questions about Castro's women - the mother of his children, his mistresses and loves - and is rewarded by an uncharacteristic coyness. He elicits interesting answers and reactions on issues of Castro's psychological health ("Have you ever been to a psychiatrist?" "Why not?") and his necessarily neglectful relationship with his two sons. Castro skirts and evades or simply spins answers about his treatment of homosexuals and dissidents. And the question of Fidel's secret police - as feared by Cubans as the Stasi were by the East Germans - never comes up at all.

We certainly get a glimpse of his sense of humour (which, after decades of assassination attempts using exploding cigars and CIA schemes involving drugs to make his beard fall out, he must surely have needed).

And one of the President's most astute comments comes after he quizzes Stone on his experiences in Vietnam. "You were brave," says Fidel, "and you are brave to come here." Considering the adverse reaction to Stone's film, Fidel gauged America's attitude better than the director himself.

While Castro continues to be accused of civil-rights abuse - of torture, of incarcerating gays and dissenting journalists - he also took a population riddled by disease, illiteracy and poverty and turned it into a nation blessed with good health, education and, er, poverty.

Unlike other dictators, however, he does not appear to have exploited his country for his own ends; if he had he could afford a better tailor. It is this ambiguity that Americans find so frustrating. As a man who brought socialism to Latin America and almost made it work, he remains one of capitalism's most dangerous opponents.