Upon the Criterion release of Black God, White Devil, I was introduced to the center of Brazil’s “Cinema Novo,” or new cinema, their new wave of filmmaking. Where past Brazilian films were musicals and Hollywood-like epics, the Cinema Novo era focused more on the country’s growing political strife. It aimed to address the country’s problems, which has kept Brazil feeling like a third-world nation. Prominent directors included Nelson Pereira dos Santos, Leon Hirszman, Joaquim Pedro de Andrade, and the man who is considered the leader of this movement, Glauber Rocha. Rocha directed Black God, White Devil, whose life was cut short, but his legacy lives on in Brazil’s film industry.
Rocha was active in the arts since his early teens, following the same trend as other future filmmakers did in that period. He attended many movie screenings and plays, later becoming a film critic at 16-years-old. At the same time, he delved into radical leftist politics, which influenced his career. After considering law school, Rocha pursued a filmmaking career. He released his first short film, Pátio (1959) at the age of 20. From there, his political works and numerous essays about the state of cinema would be a constant stream of ideas and critiques that received the backing of his fellow countrymen but scorn from outsiders.
His debut feature, Barravento (1962), was the first taste of Rocha’s messages with his country’s socio-political problems as a democratically elected government, favorable to Rocha’s views, faced threats of a military coup. Black God, White Devil (1964) was his follow-up and played at the Cannes Film Festival, where the film received critical praise for his scathing critique of religious fervor and wealthy landowners. To Brazilian historians, Rocha’s Western tale is arguably the greatest film in the country’s history. The timing of its release, however, was inconvenient. That same year, the military coup took place, and Brazil fell under a right-wing military dictatorship until 1985, after Rocha died. The coup made his content particularly regressive in the eyes of the new officials—who planned on killing him— and endangered Rocha’s ability to make movies.
Regardless, he followed it up with two more movies that were seen as allegories to the state of the country, Entranced Earth (1967) and Antonio des Mortes (1969), completing his trilogy that was supercharged with politics, folkism, and realism he called to attention about Brazil. Like his contemporary Jean Luc-Godard, he was influenced by Marxist ideas to construct abstract shots, which sometimes got in his way of reaching a mainstream audience. A common criticism of Rocha’s work is how a movie can sometimes alienate viewers as being too intelligent, and Rocha made his feelings known publicly on various controversial trends.
“I am Cinema Novo,” said Rocha. “My Brazilian films belong to a period when my generation was full of wild dreams and hopes. They are full of enthusiasm, faith, and militancy and were inspired by my great love of Brazil.” However, other left-wing intellectuals found some of his messaging was seen as too apocalyptic and messy for viewers to understand, aggravating the military dictatorship. Thus, he became marginalized within the film industry at home and felt that there was no future for it. Following the release of The Lion Has Seven Heads, another politically charged film that explicitly stated its plot of overthrowing the government, Rocha went into exile in Europe and settled in Portugal.
In 1980, he made the last film, The Age of the Earth. A Biblical metaphor about the state of the world and the ideas of destroying it and rebuilding for a new revolution, the fact that Brazil’s state-run production company partly financed it caused many to boycott it as it was hypocritical of Rocha to accept money from them. Then, it was vilified by critics who walked out during its screening at the Venice Film Festival, where Louis Malle’s Atlantic City and John Cassavettes’ Gloria won the Golden Lion. Believing the win for Malle was pre-selected, Rocha called the Frenchman “second rate,” and that it was a fascist film because it was co-produced by Gaumont, a “multinational imperialist,” according to Rocha. In front of journalists, Rocha derided those who supported Malle’s win as “signing their cultural death sentence” and a scandal that such commercial films were playing in these festivals and winning.
In 1981, Rocha unexpectedly fell ill with bronchopneumonia while preparing for his next feature. Knowing he would die soon, Rocha flew back to Brazil and died shortly after returning home at the age of 43. The story of Cinema Novo can only start with Glauber Rocha, who was in his early twenties when he started and remained a fire starter in every film he made. Rocha was a director with no limits and no filter who kept daring to push the limits of his ideas, whether they were popular or not. He laid the foundation for a more open relationship where nothing was off-limits, especially when the country returned to democracy. The gritty realism of Pixote (1981), Four Days In September (1997), and City of God (2002) is connected back to Cinema Novo and the sociopolitical themes that still infect Brazil, cementing Rocha’s legacy as a truth-teller and influencer for political cinema.
