Carmen Miranda: Bananas Is My Business

By now, it should come as no surprise to anyone that Hollywood during the "golden years" under the studio system -- specifically the 30s, 40s and 50s -- was no place for the faint of heart. Many an icon was created which turned on its portrayer, typecasting them for eternity to a single image or even a single role. In Carmen Miranda's case, she will be forever remembered, at least by most Americans, as the oversexed, thickly-accented Latina "bombshell," with any of a number of names ending in "-ita," elevating the "exotic" stereotype of "Souse Americans" to a fine art with grotesquely bright, overdone Technicolor costumes and pounds of gaudy jewelry draped everywhere her tiny body could carry it. Carmen was a major recording star in her adopted homeland of Brazil for the majority of the 1930s, certainly long before most Americans had even heard of her. However, she came to the U.S. in 1939 and proceeded to make a career as a professional "hot-cha-cha gal" in fourteen films, each campier than the last.

Director Helena Solberg, who was a child at the time of Miranda's death in 1955, appears to have nurtured a lifelong obsession with the late star. Her film documentary, "Bananas is My Business," is, to be fair, obviously a labor of affection and wistfulness that Carmen's talents were stolen from the world at the comparatively young age of forty-six. However, the film reeks of nineties-style "exposure therapy," as if the fact that Carmen fell victim to prescription drugs and a violent husband and frustration over not being allowed to play anyone but caricature-laden Carmencita-type spitfires was the major defining element of her life.

This woman clawed her way out of childhood poverty and not only conquered the heavily male-dominated music business in Brazil, but then proceeded to become the highest-paid woman in the entire United States in 1944. Yes, she married an asshole and she kept the kind of hectic schedule that couldn't be maintained for long without chemical intervention. She saw doors closed to her because she was a woman and a Latina and the fact that she could speak far better English than was usually quoted from her was probably very frustrating indeed. But how do we know she died miserable?

I would rather have seen more remembrances from people who actually knew Carmen (although I realize that many of her contemporaries in Hollywood were already deceased when this documentary was made. Oh, to have known what Edward Everett Horton would have said of her! LOL). Ms. Solberg's psychobabble ruminations on how Carmen "must" have felt about this or that event in her life became tiresome very quickly and offensive in the final analysis.

Carmen Miranda was more than another Judy Garland that Hollywood chewed up and spit out. I think some things are best remembered without attempting to analyze them.

For starters, I learned much about the Queen of Kiche; also, I learned that she was worthy of a documentary, certainly. Her beginnings in Brazil, her birth in Portugual, this section of the documentary was well done. Clearly this was the strongest section, including how she linked her fame to superfame in the U.S.. She was a Brazilian superstar long before she went to the U.S. Once in the U.S., up she went within weeks, into Celebrity Heaven. But from there, the documentary does become somewhat hazy, creating more questions than it answers. I do agree with one ImDB reviewer: They, like me, wonder how much of a struggle >did< she make, i.e. to break away from the "living cartoon" caricature she'd become by 1944/45? I mean, that was an "out there" demeaning image, and extremely limiting for a singer/dancer. This issue does not come into focus. I found the wistful, spacy narration of the director/producer somewhat pretentious, but at times it worked for me. Yes, I too agree (with another reviewer) that her marriage to the meatheaded producer just rather popped up and hung there. But, I got the impression, that time limitations lock-stepped them into going light on that. She was a serious, family oriented Roman Catholic, and that rules out divorce--and that point is covered. When Ms. Miranda died (1955) divorce wasn't even allowed in major Catholic countries! Dumping Meathead just would have been, to her and family, not an option. Finally, she made choices--she had choices. Some of these are not explained well enough. But, all in all, I don't consider this a weak effort, but a good one. Worth viewing.

A rather one-dimensional treatment of a complex personality, this documentary by Ms. Solberg comes up short. You get the feeling, after watching this film, that you have simply witnessed a Hollywood biography. It is a very clean, and at times vacuous film that doesn't develop Carmen Miranda as much of a character beyond her exploitation in America. It is unfortunate because the film does have some potential. Solberg's rhetorical device and creative narration seem well-suited to a sensitive portrayal of Miranda. Instead, the film dissolves into little more than a formulaic celebrity biography.

Contrary to the opinions expressed by some reviewers, this documentary, though with some odd moments and sequences, is much more sensitive and personal than their reviews would imply.

Ms Solberg presents a clear theme. Carmen Mianda was misunderstood by her own people. That she was actually portuguesa, makes little difference to the story, though it is important to know. The important point is that she was Brazilian to her core. Even her dear sister Aurora makes that point clear.

The main theme in the story is a subtle apology to the world for the way the upper class Brazilians treated Carmen. Yes, she was a popular singer who had the ear of Getulio Vargas at the right time, but she was never a part of the Brazilian highly detested "elite," those who vilified her at her gala performance on her first return from the USA, the elite who own the news media and were able to manipulate public opinion in Brazil among people who "mattered." Ms Solberg's mother appears to be among those to whom the film refers, since "nice people" never went out where the masses gathered. Ms Solberg also makes the point that these Brazilians did not form their world opinions in Brazil, but in Europe, where they also bought their clothes. Interesting juxtaposition of preferences.

Thus it is wrong to believe that because of her fame and favor with the president at the time, Carmen was socially well-connected. Ms Solberg tells us about those who "always" loved her. These were the people whom the world thinks of as "real" Brazilians, the samba singers, the bahianos, the black people of the northeast, whose culture permeates everything Brazilian. This is why America became obsessed with Carmen at the time that the Brazilin upper crust felt sold out by her.

Thus, the theme is clearly one of a clash of cultures, not so much between North and Soutn America, but rather among Brazilians themselves. And Ms Solberg comes down squarely, as does Carmen, on the side of the majority, those who love the rhythm of Brazil and who adore Carmen Miranda. This documentary was for them, not so much for us norte americanos.

As a lover of Brazilian culture, I was rather disappointed by the film, which turns out to be a rather conventional 90's showbiz bio.

Yes, Carmen was exploited and broken behind that headdress. The film did a good job of bringing out the pathos - but

that's hardly a surprise.

The problem is, having done that, it didn't go any further in showing us the real woman behind the mask. The film projects her as nothing but a helpless victim of Hollywood, when her early life clearly indicated a strong and wily character. She must have put up a few fights - both internally and out there - and _this_ is the fascinating stuff. Remember that she was financially independent and emotionally not alone. Although in exile, she was always surrounded by family and, quite often, other Brazilian expatriate friends (among them one of the fathers of Bossa Nova, Vinicius --). She had choices. She didn't have to end that way and yet she did -- chose to marry an American brute and chose to leave Brazil again, right out of convalescence. This is the true mystery, and this film brings us no closer.

In the other direction, the film also failed to place Carmen in context of the development of Brazilian music. Was she a true artist, or merely a star - co-opting music of the poor for the consumption of a more respectable audience? And what is her true legacy as Brazil's "cultural ambassador"? Brazil may have rejected her, but it has never forgotten or ignored her (the funeral scene proved that). Yet once again we

had no idea what Carmen means to an average Brazilian today.

Watching this film, I kept getting reminded of Edith Piaf. Like her, Carmen's life has enough paradoxes for two or three movies. Regrettably, we are given less than one.