After studying architecture, and graphic design, I came upon a movie that change my life and made me fall in love with film making. The movie was City of God. The best movie ever made! After watching this movie I declared that I have to learn Portuguese and I have to go to Brazil. Today, about 2 or 3 years later, I have studied Portuguese and have been to Brazil. I just need to meet Fernando Meirelles, the director of the said movie. Anyhoo… the following written piece explains how I felt after watching this movie. (I'm no writer so ...)
Title: I Heard Knives and I was Hooked
I heard knives sharpening against stones. Saw these knives shred the skin of carrots, slice green limes into halves and then effortlessly removed the head of a chicken. Its headless body, dipped into a steaming pot of water, de-feathered, organs removed and its pink flesh rubbed with green leaves and salts, all in preparation for an exotic meal. Hovering over the sounds of the knives and the desperate clucks of nearby chickens, bounded by rope and waiting in line for their boiling fate, I heard the strings of a banjo. Then the faint but growing hum of a cuica, next the feverish shakes of a pandeiro, the shimmering threads of a ganza, and the beat of an atabaque and crisp reco-reco drums blended with the chorus of friends and neighbors singing in Brazilian Portuguese. There were other sounds too, sounds that could be considered distracting but made the atmosphere unique and real. They were the sounds of gunshots, the siren of a police car in the distance, a barking dog, the chopping sound of knives striking wood, knives crushing limes in glasses, and glasses clinging against concrete floors, the strike of a match and the hum of inaudible chatter and laughter around. They were the sounds of a favela.
On the flat concrete roof, another chicken was killed; its dark blood poured into ceramic white a plate. Its black and white feathers flew into the air and landed, near empty used glasses that glistened in the sun. Among these abandoned glasses stood their coffee and honey toned masters, men and women, teenagers and children in tattered but clean clothes of reds, rusts, grays and blues. The women preparing a feast, wiped sweat from their brows. Young boys, acting like men, drank rum from small glasses, while the men played their instruments and girls moved their feet, ready to dance.
I felt like I was apart of their world. I imagined my self sitting amongst them surrounded by dirt stained, blood stained, unsuccessfully graffitied concrete walls. I felt the heat of the sun on my back and saw the glare of its rays upon young dancers moving instinctively to the music. Even the sun had to peak in on them and admire their fiesta. Poor but happy was the theme.
“Lh a galinha fugiu!” comes the shout from one of the boys.
The music stopped and was replaced by the sounds of wooden chairs moving, slippered feet dragging, running, and slapping the concrete floor. A chicken escaped. It flew off the roof and ran down an alley headed for the streets. In pursuit, young boys, with their guns in hand ran through alleyways, shooting the shadow of the evading fowl, shouting in chant to Pedestrians walking by, “Pega a galinha!” ‘Catch the chicken!’ . It’s a chase that emits another theme of life in the favelas: “if you run away, they get you and if you stay they get you too”.
The shouts and the chase push me against the cushion of my seat. I am not there in Rio. I’m not there on the roof tops of the favela houses. I cannot feel the sun, I cannot join in the chorus, or dance or speak without hesitation the language of these people. I am at home recovering from a sever dose of hypnosis. A story told too well.
It was the cinematography of every scene, the music and the sounds of the language had placed me into a world I did not want to leave. I was hooked. The movie had only just started and I thought I was apart of it. Experiencing their world, in dark hues of blues, greens, rust, browns and concrete grays. Experiencing the pulsing passion, and the sweat of such a life. Experiencing it on the strings of a banjo and on the beat of drums that moved my feet to join, only to realize I am spectator, an audience member reading the subtitles, and wishing, if only for a while , if only for real , I could be in “Cidade de Deus”.
*** Quotes taken from the Movie Cidade De Deus
Heres the trailer:
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