Festival du Nouveau Cinema
So last Friday (Oct 21) and Sunday (Oct 23) I went to the Festival du nouveau cinema with La Française (who has to propose a better name for herself because typing "La Française" is getting tedious).
We saw two films: Vers le Sud at the Imperial Theatre and I'm Ugly but Trendy at Excentris.
Vers le Sud
Vers le Sud is set in 1970s Haiti. It is the story of 40- and 50-year old white women find a place in the hearts of young Haitian men. Their own societies having deemed them past the age of attraction, these women with their open hearts, legs and wallets take solace in their summertime positions atop the Franco-Caribbean food chain.
The real story centres around Legba, the Haitian man at the hearts of two of the women - Ellen the agelessly beautiful yet haughty Wellesley professor and Brenda the midwestern divorcée. Through Legba we see the dual faces of 1970s Haiti - the sun soaked paradise it provides for weary Westerners and the culture of fear it creates for everyday Haitians terrorized by Baby Doc Duvalier's brutal dictatorship. Legba's life seems leisurely, even carefree, as he freeloads off these wealthy, vulnerable women who seem almost innocent in their solicitation of his services. Indeed, even Legba's childhood is sexualized by the naive Brenda who has returned to the island after three years dreaming of a reunion with her nubile erstwhile lover. Ellen relives life at its most youthful peak as Legba strokes her ego and her sanity with his hand everpresent in her wallet.
Yet, writer-director Laurent Cantet turns the film on its head when he rips Legba from the sweet serenity of the beach and drops him back into the urbanity of the Haitian city. Here we see the poverty that lies all to close to the lip of the sea by which Ellen, Brenda and their French-Canadian friend Sue forget the realities of their own lives at home. Paradise for one is hell for another and along with Legba we live in fear of talking to, defying or loving the wrong person. As the fear surrounding Legba rises, other curtains fall and the ladies of leisure by the sea show us new faces. Ellen, no longer the stoic, practical, sexual realist shows her pain, her desire and the real nature of her relationship with Legba - one where he did not take advantage of her, but she of him in pursuit of his love. Brenda loses her naive face and morphs into a crazy, cold personage who seeks only to numb her own reality. Sue, the sightly prejudiced, heavy-set lady whom Ellen sometimes mocks, shows her tender side when Legba goes missing. Our notions of who has taken advantage of whom become blurred and our sympathies are realigned. The conclusion is one that would surprise some, confirm what others know and redefine what the Caribbean means to the revelatory denizens of today.
I'm Ugly, But Trendy or Sou Fea Mas Tô na Moda
Directed by Denise Garcia, this documentary about the Brazilian funk music arising out of Rio's City of God started out like a typical rap video, morphed into an expression of feminism, took a turn at the civil rights movement and finished on an upswing of hope. At the end, the viewer is left with one memory - the infectious funk beat.
Like any slum, the City of God gets a bad rap despite its being filled with many more good, creative people than bad. The film opens with a group of young men engaging in an impromptu rap session pitted against a boot stomping beat. We soon move to Deise da Injeçao leading us around the impoverished City of God, begging shy artist after shy artist out of the shadows and into the light of the camera made more intense by the heat of the sun. The women languishing in the shade wear "booty shorts" and tiny tops. The men wear oversize white tank tops and baggy pants. The scene looks just like the average Snoop Dogg video, except in Portuguese.
The movie centres around Deise "da Injeçao" Tigrona, DJ Marlboro, the wildly popular Tati Quebra-Barraco and girl group Gaiola Das Popozudas - the stars of the funk carioca or Brazilian funk movement. Brazilian funk is a mix of Miami Bass (think 2 Live Crew), brazilian drum beats and sometimes highly politicized rap lyrics performed by highly sexualized young women and men. At first, seeing these women gyrate wildly before voracious crowds, one is left with a negative impression of the scene. It seems too ghetto, too wild, too sexual. It seeminly panders to basest of human instincts. As we visit the artists in their modest, okay almost desolate, homes in the City of God, and as we listen to their struggles for equality in a deeply divided Brazilian society governed by wealth, class, and race, our opinion changes. We hear their pleas to have their creativity, their form of release legitimized as a cultural benefit by the Brazilian government. We feel their pain as they are marginalized and hidden deep within the City of God. We see young girls taking control of the sexuality and defining when and where they will be seen as sexual beings. We see older women lamenting the absence of a strong, highly female, creative movement, which they think would have helped them to become more knoweldgeable, more free. We see men who appreciate these women, who sing and dance along to lyrics chastising absent fathers for their irresponsibility and advising women to consider their health first. The very pregnant Tati takes the stage and we cut away to three young women who declare Tati their hero, who explain how she empowers them as women looking to do more than survive in the City of God. Slowly, the lyrical content takes centre stage and DJ Marlboro tells of seeing scenes that belong in modern-day Baghdad. One young fan tells of daring to attend a funk show outside of the City of God. Rio's more affluent, more judgmental citizens express their displeasure with her choice by spilling water out of their windows and onto her head. Never, she exclaims, never would people behave so badly in the City of God. The real savages are revealed. We follow DJ Marlboro to Europe where, like Josephine Baker who fled the US for France in search of acceptance, the Brazilian funk movement is received with great enthusiasm and acclaim.
In the end, we get a good picture of the origins of the funk movement and an orientation to the problems that Rio's poorer citizens face. I would highly recommend this film. It teaches you something, it softens your demeanour in the direction of justice and the funk carioca is just plain fun.
We saw two films: Vers le Sud at the Imperial Theatre and I'm Ugly but Trendy at Excentris.
Vers le Sud
Vers le Sud is set in 1970s Haiti. It is the story of 40- and 50-year old white women find a place in the hearts of young Haitian men. Their own societies having deemed them past the age of attraction, these women with their open hearts, legs and wallets take solace in their summertime positions atop the Franco-Caribbean food chain.
The real story centres around Legba, the Haitian man at the hearts of two of the women - Ellen the agelessly beautiful yet haughty Wellesley professor and Brenda the midwestern divorcée. Through Legba we see the dual faces of 1970s Haiti - the sun soaked paradise it provides for weary Westerners and the culture of fear it creates for everyday Haitians terrorized by Baby Doc Duvalier's brutal dictatorship. Legba's life seems leisurely, even carefree, as he freeloads off these wealthy, vulnerable women who seem almost innocent in their solicitation of his services. Indeed, even Legba's childhood is sexualized by the naive Brenda who has returned to the island after three years dreaming of a reunion with her nubile erstwhile lover. Ellen relives life at its most youthful peak as Legba strokes her ego and her sanity with his hand everpresent in her wallet.
Yet, writer-director Laurent Cantet turns the film on its head when he rips Legba from the sweet serenity of the beach and drops him back into the urbanity of the Haitian city. Here we see the poverty that lies all to close to the lip of the sea by which Ellen, Brenda and their French-Canadian friend Sue forget the realities of their own lives at home. Paradise for one is hell for another and along with Legba we live in fear of talking to, defying or loving the wrong person. As the fear surrounding Legba rises, other curtains fall and the ladies of leisure by the sea show us new faces. Ellen, no longer the stoic, practical, sexual realist shows her pain, her desire and the real nature of her relationship with Legba - one where he did not take advantage of her, but she of him in pursuit of his love. Brenda loses her naive face and morphs into a crazy, cold personage who seeks only to numb her own reality. Sue, the sightly prejudiced, heavy-set lady whom Ellen sometimes mocks, shows her tender side when Legba goes missing. Our notions of who has taken advantage of whom become blurred and our sympathies are realigned. The conclusion is one that would surprise some, confirm what others know and redefine what the Caribbean means to the revelatory denizens of today.
I'm Ugly, But Trendy or Sou Fea Mas Tô na Moda
Directed by Denise Garcia, this documentary about the Brazilian funk music arising out of Rio's City of God started out like a typical rap video, morphed into an expression of feminism, took a turn at the civil rights movement and finished on an upswing of hope. At the end, the viewer is left with one memory - the infectious funk beat.Like any slum, the City of God gets a bad rap despite its being filled with many more good, creative people than bad. The film opens with a group of young men engaging in an impromptu rap session pitted against a boot stomping beat. We soon move to Deise da Injeçao leading us around the impoverished City of God, begging shy artist after shy artist out of the shadows and into the light of the camera made more intense by the heat of the sun. The women languishing in the shade wear "booty shorts" and tiny tops. The men wear oversize white tank tops and baggy pants. The scene looks just like the average Snoop Dogg video, except in Portuguese.
The movie centres around Deise "da Injeçao" Tigrona, DJ Marlboro, the wildly popular Tati Quebra-Barraco and girl group Gaiola Das Popozudas - the stars of the funk carioca or Brazilian funk movement. Brazilian funk is a mix of Miami Bass (think 2 Live Crew), brazilian drum beats and sometimes highly politicized rap lyrics performed by highly sexualized young women and men. At first, seeing these women gyrate wildly before voracious crowds, one is left with a negative impression of the scene. It seems too ghetto, too wild, too sexual. It seeminly panders to basest of human instincts. As we visit the artists in their modest, okay almost desolate, homes in the City of God, and as we listen to their struggles for equality in a deeply divided Brazilian society governed by wealth, class, and race, our opinion changes. We hear their pleas to have their creativity, their form of release legitimized as a cultural benefit by the Brazilian government. We feel their pain as they are marginalized and hidden deep within the City of God. We see young girls taking control of the sexuality and defining when and where they will be seen as sexual beings. We see older women lamenting the absence of a strong, highly female, creative movement, which they think would have helped them to become more knoweldgeable, more free. We see men who appreciate these women, who sing and dance along to lyrics chastising absent fathers for their irresponsibility and advising women to consider their health first. The very pregnant Tati takes the stage and we cut away to three young women who declare Tati their hero, who explain how she empowers them as women looking to do more than survive in the City of God. Slowly, the lyrical content takes centre stage and DJ Marlboro tells of seeing scenes that belong in modern-day Baghdad. One young fan tells of daring to attend a funk show outside of the City of God. Rio's more affluent, more judgmental citizens express their displeasure with her choice by spilling water out of their windows and onto her head. Never, she exclaims, never would people behave so badly in the City of God. The real savages are revealed. We follow DJ Marlboro to Europe where, like Josephine Baker who fled the US for France in search of acceptance, the Brazilian funk movement is received with great enthusiasm and acclaim.
In the end, we get a good picture of the origins of the funk movement and an orientation to the problems that Rio's poorer citizens face. I would highly recommend this film. It teaches you something, it softens your demeanour in the direction of justice and the funk carioca is just plain fun.
posted by Laurelle St. Laurent at 9:46 p.m.
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