Laurel Creighton
Brazilian Cinema
Fabio Cardoso Andrade
In the 1970s, Brazil experienced an emergence of pornography as a mainstream cinematic experience. The spread of the “Pornochanchada”, a genre of erotic musical comedy, was able to present and pass itself through censorship, reaching Brazil’s vast population. Paradoxically, Joaquim Pedro de Andrade’s Vereda Tropical (1977) faced stringent censorship by the military dictatorship that Brazil was under. This together unveils a perplexing contradiction.
The Tropicalist movement was a movement that emerged in the late 1960s and had its roots in the cultural and political upheaval of the uncertain and turbulent beginnings of the newly established military dictatorship. Artists who resisted faced torture and death. Many who went missing were never heard from again. However, there were those, like Joaquim Pedro de Andrade, who created a counterculture that wanted to challenge and subvert – mainly through parody – the threatening new norms of the Brazilian way of life. While de Andrade had an illustrious and vital career as a revolutionary artist, he was not immune to the threats and anguish of the dictatorship.
On April 1, 1964, de Andrade barely made it out of the União Nacional dos Estudantes before the military opened fire on the student headquarters. Then, in November of 1965, de Andrade, Glauber Rocha, and others were arrested. Their protest against military dictatorship was seen as a threat. De Andrade was not imprisoned until March 20, 1969. One year after 1968’s “coup-within-the-coup,” and in 1972, he fled along with others into exile (Talbott).
The pornochanchada; the underwhelmingly lighthearted comedic romps, explored the cultural angst through opaque measures but lacked the authority to challenge and subvert. Often falling apart in the third act and conforming to the conservative status quo, Vereda Tropical explores the relationship between a graduate school student, a colleague, and fruit and vegetables. It at no point exposes female nudity or penetrative sex between the two human compatriots, and yet was heavily censored to the point that the edited version of the 22-minute film would be reduced to a mere four-minute runtime.
The Tropicalist movement follows Oswald de Andrade’s concept of “Cultural Cannibalism,” a regurgitated but changed expression of artwork that inhabited Brazilian culture, often from overseas - namely Europe. The Pornochanchada is a reimagining of the very successful “Chanchadas” from the 1930’s through the 1950s and, therefore, not technically the “cannibalism” that de Andrade was theorizing. However, the original Chanchadas did follow Hollywood Aesthetics, production values, and standardized methodology. Embrafilme, short for Empresa Brasileira de Filmes S.A., a state-owned film company, produced many of its “pornochanchadas” – reminding me of the Atlântida Cinematográfica studio.
In this reasoning, I stand to say that de Andrade’s Vereda Tropical is a synthesis of Brazilian “garbage cinema,” the tropicalist movement, and progressive popular art. Unlike Sganzerla’s A Mulher de Todos, de Andrade’s filmmaking technique is always perfect. Sound is adjusted for dramatic effect, lighting contrast is formatted correctly, and the general mis en scene assemble to create a pleasing visual spectacle. If Vereda Tropical is marginal, it does so with the grace and aesthetics of the Cinema Novo period. Yet, it cannibalizes the fetishistic setting of the pornochanchada. While the pornochanchada is Brazilian, I believe that it still must be digested and changed into a form that resists without impunity the repercussions of the state-run cinema of the time.
The difference between de Andrade and someone like Rocha is that while Rocha is intellectually compelled to challenge and provoke the audience, de Andrade tends to draw from Esevam’s Popular Revolutionary Art Theory, where “…the art of the people is devoid of artistic quality and cultural pretensions” (Esevam, 60). By creating cinematic, engaging, and funny work, de Andrade can make a story in Vereda Tropical that is almost wholesome. Engaging the audience through an emotive stance rather than a reactionary one.
In Vereda Tropical, the character dynamics between the male protagonist and the female counterpart are intriguingly nuanced. The protagonist emerges as a figure of intellectual rigidity, his worldview shaped by academia and perhaps a touch of social awkwardness. This rigidity is juxtaposed with the woman’s character, who exudes a sense of curiosity, gentleness, and an innate acceptance of the unconventional. It is in their juxtaposition that the film delves into the margins of sexual exploration. Their interactions, at once tender and explorative, create a unique dynamic where both parties share the experience without adhering to the traditional power dynamics. This portrayal challenges entrenched notions of sexual dominance and submission, presenting a rare cinematic depiction of a partnership characterized by mutual curiosity and acceptance.
The film subtly but powerfully captures the evolving contours of their relationship, ultimately transcending the boundaries of conventional intimacy without the crudity of a female orgasm or “money shot ”. So why was this thoughtful, funny, and exciting piece of well-shot, written, and directed piece of de Andrade’s removed from Contos Eroticos by the government censorship bureau while the pornochanchada passed by largely unnoticed?
During the era in which Tropical Vereda was created, its explicit content and controversial themes, most notably the provocative scenes involving sex acts with watermelons, were viewed as salacious and directly challenging to the established social norms and expectations. An irony that the hundreds of women’s bodies captured on celluloid for the “pornochanchada” are somehow less audacious than a melon, which carries no sense of feeling or human consciousness.
However, I suspect that the real culprit is the split-second imagery of phallic penetration from the perspective of the internal space of the watermelon. The idea of being penetrated versus penetrating could be profoundly disconcerting to an audience used to seeing and relating to the male perspective of sexual domination. The confrontational nature of being penetrated has enormous societal implications for a fascist government that uses dominance and control as a modus operandi. In Tropical Vereda, the penetration is brief compared to the long courtship and foreplay of the watermelon. The attention paid to the watermelon pre-coital encounter is alarmingly romantic. He baths and powders while speaking sexually to his “partner,” a subversion of a power dynamic that has been unseen for the majority of cinema, at least for me.
On a psychological level, the penetration serves as a potent symbol of vulnerability and intimacy, offering a metaphor for the complexities of human desire and connection. This portrayal challenges entrenched societal norms that often perpetuate rigid notions of sexual dominance and submission. In a broader social context, the depiction of penetration can be seen as a subversion of the established power dynamics.
By using subversion and parodic tension, De Andrade offers a fresh perspective on intimacy that stands in contrast to the traditional representations of sexuality reinforced by the “pornochanchada.” Thus, de Andrade’s use of the act of penetration in Vereda Tropical serves as a powerful vehicle for both personal introspection and a broader societal critique, inviting viewers who stay and find his work to reevaluate their preconceived notions of intimacy and power dynamics.
In contrast, the “pornochanchada” genre presented explicit content within the context of lighthearted entertainment. Marketed as such, these films garnered a substantial following, particularly among urban audiences. Their commercial success and contribution to the Brazilian film industry’s revenue likely influenced the government’s decision to impose less stringent censorship on them compared to other works.
Given that Tropical Vereda was a creation of Joaquim Pedro de Andrade, known for infusing his works with political allegory and satire, it’s plausible that the film’s underlying messages were perceived as a direct challenge to the prevailing regime, further justifying its censorship. This political subtext contrasted with the primary intent of pornochanchadas, which centered on providing entertainment, even if it meant incorporating explicit content.
The reception of these two forms of cinema also played a pivotal role in their treatment. The public’s response to pornochanchadas was generally more accepting, if not less contentious, compared to Tropical Vereda. The deliberate boundary-pushing of the latter film likely contributed to a more polarized reaction. However, I believe that the legacy of Tropical Vereda speaks for itself. The short film which was censored, limited, and pushed out of Brazil, only gains more awards with time, whereas the majority of pornochanchadas of the 1970s is hard, if not impossible, to find. A reductionist perspective could consider that art and commercialism do not go hand in hand, but I disagree to some level; de Andrade’s attention to detail and desire to make good cinema is the reason newer generations are still discovering him, while the lackluster din of the “pornochanchada” brings about a shame for the director.
Vereda Tropical not only showcases Joaquim Pedro de Andrade’s audacious artistic vision but also serves as a poignant commentary on Brazilian culture and censorship during a tumultuous period. The film’s deliberate departure from conventional cinematic norms and its exploration of intimate relationships challenges societal boundaries, leaving a lasting impression on Brazilian cinema. Reflecting on the intricate interplay of politics, art, and society, Vereda Tropical stands as a testament to the enduring power of subversive expression in the face of adversity, urging us to reconsider established notions of intimacy and power dynamics.
Works Cited
Talbott, Michael. 2009. “De Andrade, Joaquim Pedro.” February 1, 2009. https://www.sensesofcinema.com/2009/great-directors/joaquim-pedro-de-andrade/.
Estevam, Carlos. n.d. For a Popular Revolutionary Art.