Terra em Transe

Another movie watched, or rather, reviewed, for the course on Cinema Novo that I'm doing in Cinema com Teoria, taught by Prof. Alisson Gutenberg.

Terra em Transe is part of the second phase of Cinema Novo. Directed by Glauber Rocha, it has an exquisite cast, all in fantastic performances: Jardel Filho (Paulo Martins), Paulo Autran (Porfírio Diaz), José Lewgoy (Felipe Vieira), Glauce Rocha (Sara), Paulo Gracindo (Don Julio Fuentes), Hugo Carvana (Álvaro), Joffre Soares (Father Gil), Danuza Leão (Sílvia), Mário Lago (Captain), Flávio Migliaccio (man of the people), Francisco Milani (Aldo).

To circumvent the censorship, which was still not as incisive as after the AI-5, Rocha set the plot in Eldorado, a fictional country located in Latin America. Porfírio Diaz, not by chance is the name of the Mexican dictator who has been in power for more than three decades, with a campaign theme that unites Catholic religion and conservatism, will run for reelection as president of Eldorado with Felipe Vieira, a populist politician. Paulo Martins is a poet who advised Porfírio, but changes sides when he realizes that he distances himself from popular agendas. Sara is his wife and balance point. It is in this political context that the story unfolds.

Glauber uses a lot of allegory to develop a plot that was a mirror of the situation experienced by Brazil, a few years after the 1964 military coup. As an allegory, it will explore situations reminiscent of a samba school parade: dancers and drums at a Felipe Vieira rally, luxurious costumes that portray the past of Eldorado, with the arrival of the white man on the country's coast (here there is a luxurious participation of Clóvis Bornay, icon of the costume parades in Rio de Janeiro), a lot of percussion in the soundtrack, in contrast with classical music, which makes a good distinction between the popular and the erudite, the flag bearer (in this case, Glauber subverts the order and puts a man, Porfírio, to carry a black flag - a sign of mourning for the situation in Brazil?, another allegory) and the parade itself with the walks of candidate Fellipe with the people.

The film also directly brings strong messages such as the scene in which Jerônimo, a representative of the people, starts to speak to Felipe, but is interrupted with Paulo Martins' hand in his mouth, saying that the people have no voice. The violence against those who demonstrated is also shown, and the most violent period of the Brazilian dictatorship had not even begun, in the scene in which the character of Flávio Migliaccio, purposely unnamed, is punched by the candidate's security (Maurício do Valle).

Another interesting contrast is between Carnival, as already exposed here, and Opera, once linked to the poorest strata of the population, to later become synonymous with the elite. The scene in which Porphyry falls with his flag on the steps of a palace is a true act of an opera.

The dialogues and monologues, especially those of Paulo Martins, are difficult to understand, with much erudition. And then Glauber didn't understand why his films didn't have an audience... Reviewing the film, I realized its relevance, especially regarding the political context in which Brazil plunged with the result of the 2018 election.

Despite all these considerations above, which I think are very appropriate, I don't like the film, much for its audio. The noise is annoying all the time, with overlapping voices, soundtrack and ambient sound, at a volume above normal. It is often difficult to understand what the actors are saying, and understanding the dialogues requires reflection at all times. For me, it was a lot of allegory inserted in the political context, which came to be caricatured. Anyway, I recognize the importance of the film for the history of Brazilian and Latin American cinema.

Following his fascinating portrayal of outlaw Antonio das Mortes and the dying days of banditry, Black God, White Devil (1964), Brazilian director Glauber Rocha - only 28 at the time - made the dazzling, deliberately contradictory and admittedly plodding Entranced Earth, a kaleidoscopic satire of politics in Latin America and the mad dictators who seemed to delight their people only to oppress them once elected. Filmed with the free-styling vigour of the French New Wave, Entranced Earth is often exhausting but consistently breathtaking.

Told through the eyes of poet and journalist Paulo Martins (Jardel Filho), we first encounter him pleading angrily with governor Felipe Vieira (Jose Lewgoy) to fight back in the midst of a social uprising against his administration. We flash back to learn that they were once friends, with Paulo offering his support during the election process, only to see the the promises Vieira campaigned on go out the window as the people go hungry. Vieira's political opponent, conservative Porfirio Diaz (Paulo Autran), was also once Paulo's friend, and has spent his life in luxury away from public view until a chance to rule turns him into a raving, yet highly charismatic, lunatic.

Entranced Earth is quite a confusing film. It strides along shifting back-and-forth in time and between various characters, and the kinetic, in-your-face camera-work makes it difficult at times to decipher just what the hell is going on. As a time capsule and a piece of experimental film-making, it is fascinating and deserves to have each of its frames pulled apart and analysed. It's a leftist view that is without any overt political statements, and instead seems to set out to capture the political counter-culture of the 1960's (or the demise of it). By setting it in the fictional country of Eldorado, Glauber avoids commenting on any country in particular, but is clearly making a statement about Latin America. It may leave you confused and worn- out by the end, but it's political cinema with both an edge and a sense of humour, and takes its technical influences from the greats of world cinema.

"Terra em Transe" (in Portuguese, "Terra" means "Land"; "Transe" has quite some meanings, like "Anguish", "Risk", "Trance", "Transience") is Glauber Rocha's most important film along with his earlier masterpiece "Deus e o Diabo na Terra do Sol" (1964). In "Terra", we see best his cinematic assets (boldness, experimentalism, confrontational non-conformity, red-blooded vibrancy, great and original visual style) and faults (grandiloquence, contradictoriness, verbosity, technical shortages). The main character of the film is his own country, Brazil, and by extension Latin America, amalgamated into the fictional country of Eldorado (the mythical South American dreamland pursued by European explorers in the 16th and 17th centuries).

The films uses avant-garde, fragmented, non-chronological narration and editing because we are witnessing the random thoughts and memories of a dying man (though this is not clear until half-way into the film). That man is the "Artist", Paulo Martins (Jardel Filho at his best), a poet (hence capable of transcending immediacy, materialism and greed) and journalist (hence a man of his time, capable of connecting to reality). Paulo is caught in a paralyzing personal, political and ethical crisis: what's the role of Art and Artists (especially cinema and filmmakers) in the Third World in the 1960s? Apparently, to serve as a sort of Socratic "light" (ethically, sociologically, politically) against the obscurantist, alienating praxis of "Imperialist domination" in Latin America, since movies are a mass media more accessible to the public than theater, books, theses, specialized essays -- movies CAN reach poor, illiterate people. But artists should be aware they're paying a big personal price for their commitment with the "cause" (leftist cause, as it were).

The film poses a series of bold, difficult questions: why is political corruption ubiquitous and endemic in Latin America? Why and how do fascist leaders get legally elected? Why do fascist leaders always fascinate the "masses"? Is it because they speak what people want to hear or is it their power that fascinates people? Why are Latin fascists always connected with the Catholic Church? Is a demagogue better than a fascist? Are the "ignorant, unprepared working classes" ready to take power in their own hands? Do the "masses" want power to promote equality or do they aspire for the privileges of power? Once in power, will they turn down those privileges for the sake of a new political ethics? Is armed revolution more efficient than gradual conquest of civil and legal rights? Is any model of revolution "importable" (from the USSR, Cuba, etc)? Can the "new society" really be less autocratic and corrupt than the "old" one? No easy answers available, but good questions.

"Terra em Transe" is feverish, urgent, frantic, but not preachy or self-righteous: it's uncompromisingly dialectical and that's one of its best qualities. It's the work of a lucid, angst-filled, courageous 28 year-old filmmaker trying to think out the socio-political complexity of his own country and times, trying to make a contribution as an artist. Glauber boldly confronted censorship with his clear allusions to Brazilian military regime and the "subversive" revolutionary counter-actions that were beginning to take shape in 1967 and would explode in 1969 through the mid-1970s. The military censors vetoed the exhibition and distribution of "Terra...", eventually liberated because it was invited to compete at Cannes (where it won 2 prizes) and Locarno (where it triumphed as Best Film) and the military feared a negative international repercussion of the affair.

Some critics complained the film was incomprehensible and too allegoric; but the fact is that Brazil had gotten so complex by the late 60s that no simple traditional narrative could suffice. Glauber employs the Brechtian concept of building characters as archetypes behaving not as individuals but as symbols of their social class, origins and interests. Cinematically, the film was influenced by the Soviet revolutionary "montage" of Einsenstein/Dovzhenko, the French avant-garde of Vigo and Godard, the cinéma-vérité of Rouch, the unbound creative freedom of Buñuel. Dib Lutfi's hand-held camera is mesmerizing, dizzying, practically having a life of its own (and probably influenced by the outstanding Soviet cameramen Urusevsky and Calzatti). Luiz Carlos Barreto's bleached lighting creates diffuse backgrounds and unspecific landscapes of the invented "Eldorado" (and also helped solve budget limitations concerning locations). The all- star cast is committed and vital, acting at the top of their lungs -- Glauber was no fan of understatement or subtlety:)) The only terrible, embarrassing performance is that of non-actress socialite Danuza Leão, whose dialogs were all cut in post-production -- she poses here as a mute beauty.

Made as a fiction film, "Terra..." is also a testimony of the tense shift that Brazil (and the world) was going through in the mid-60s: utopia was breathing her last bittersweet breath. Today, "Terra..." can be seen both as a fiction film AND a historical document, despite (or because of) the fact that it's extremely symbolic, poetic, anti-naturalistic. Suddenly, you're aware of a time in History when a film -- a popular medium of artistic expression! -- was not afraid to raise and discuss political theses or use words like "patriarchalism", "imperialism", "conolialism", "masses" or "revolution" in dialog! To 21st century politically sanitized/fed-up audiences, "Terra..." can be quite an experience. Rocha's daring, confrontational, neck-gripping, thick-blooded art towers over the hordes of predictable, intellectually flaccid, ideologically boneless films of the 2000s.

This is compulsory viewing for anyone interested in Glauber Rocha and/or Brazilian/Latin-American political cinema. It can be confusing, loud and chaotic at times, but it's highly impacting and, most importantly, it urges you to think. It's a good companion piece to key "revolution" films of the mid-60s such as Rocha's own "Deus e o Diabo ...", Ruy Guerra's "Os Fuzis", Alea's "Memorias del Subdesarrollo", Solana's "La Hora de los Hornos", Bertolucci's "Prima della Revoluzione", Pasolini's "Uccellacci e Uccellini", Godard's "Le Petit Soldat", Pontecorvo's "La Battaglia di Algeri", Kalatozov's "Soy Cuba", etc (the list goes on and it's a GREAT list!). Don't watch it if you're not into political art or dislike experimental film-making.

Although this film is not so perfect as it is normally stated, it is a very important film neverthless. In Brazil, it's usually a case of "love it or hate it" as regards to this film. It may not be perfect, but it is impressive, and shows efficiently political corruption and the degradation of one's soul as well. Although somewhat confused in some moments, the film is packed with great scenes, and is always visually impressive. It also had the merit of discussing Brazil's problems at the time, using fictional "Eldorado" as a shield against the strong censorship applied in these days. Has it's place guaranteed in brazilian cinerama.

I know that most people will consider this opinion as heretics, but I think this a bad movie. Despite the good cinematography and the many great actors. The script is an undevelopped and confusing mess, partially in a hurry, partially simply shallow, exceding in its chaotic expressionist improvisation. It is pretensious but lacks deepness and a more sophisticated social political critique. Dialogs are just bad. Technically, sound is also quite flawed. Edition is unjustifiably harsh sometimes, with abrupt cuts. Many scenes are partially documental, as they were shot with few actors and many extras who were indeed common people who ignored that the situation was fictious (it may work but is moral questionable). The only really good part is the small segment in which there is a kind of mockumentary about Porfirio Diaz. To resume, "Enhanced earth" is world-wide celebrated but seriously overrated.