6OhomenTompkins

Born and raised in
Argentina, Cynthia
Margarita Tompkins
obtained a Fulbright
Fellowship to pursue an
M.A. and a Ph.D. in
Comparative Literature at
Penn State. As Associate
Professor of Spanish at
Arizona State University,
she has published
extensively on Latin
American women writers,
feminism, and popular
culture. Her book Latin
American Postmodernisms:
Women Writers and
Experimentation
(Gainesville: UP of
Florida) appeared in
2006. Tompkins is
currently working on a
book manuscript on the
aesthetics of marginality
in contemporary Latin
American cinema. Other
publications include three
co-edited books and a
co-translation.

How to cite this article:
Tompkins, Cynthia
Margarita. "A Deleuzian
Approach to Jorge
Furtado’s O Homen que
Copiava (2003) and Heitor
Dhalia’s O Cheiro do Ralo
(2006)". Dissidences.
Hispanic Journal of Theory
and Criticism.
On line. Internet:
15/09/06
(http://www.dissidences/
6Ohomen
Tompkins.html)

"Conversely, another
object, the prosthetic
eye, is endowed with
power. While its owner
says it
has seen it all,
Lourenço thinks
otherwise because it
has not been exposed
to the bunda. The
Brazilian expression
olho de bunda
reinforces the
interrelation, by
bringing about the idea
of viewing as
penetration, as well as
the interdiction of
sodomy, even in terms
of heterosexuality, since
the practice precludes
reproduction. In
addition, olho da
bunda opens
up the paradox of
limits, of inside and
outside, which Jacques
Derrida develops in
“Tympan.” Speaking
about the throat and
the ear, Derrida notes,
“on the one hand,
therefore, is the outside;
on the other hand, the
inside; between them,
the cavernous”"

"While pastiche plays
an integral part in
André’s cartoons, which
subsequently become
animations, it is
introduced by way of a
collage that covers the
walls of
his bedroom. Indeed, as
per Guy Debord’s
dictum, “Images
detached from every
aspect of
life merge into a
common stream” (12),
the collage includes
images of dancing
cabaret girls,
soccer players, cartoons
of prehistoric people,
hand-drawn legs and
skirts, and pictures of
bottles of liquor. While
the collage suggests
Fredric Jameson’s
colonization of the
unconscious, it also
emphasizes
objectification for an
eye and a set of huge
lips are
juxtaposed against a
row of cabaret
girls’ legs."

The mid-1990s film revival witnessed in Brazil, Argentina, and Mexico may be attributed to
“the establishment of democratic governments, which instituted favorable cultural policies
and film incentives, [however, another important factor was] a global situation [that]
welcomed multicultural expressions, especially when they combined auteristic impulses
with local color and certain doses of conventional genres” (Nagib, Brazil xiii-xix). In Brazil,
this revival is known as Cinema da Retomada. Though critics differ in terms of periodization,
Nagib opts for 1994-98 (O Cinema 13) and Luiz Zanin Oricchio for 1990-2000, [1] critics tend
to agree regarding the main traits of this cycle. According to Nagib, “the utopian gesture,
lost in the past of Cinema Novo, returned with new impetus, particularly . . . in the first years
of President Fernando Henrique Cardoso’s neo-liberal reforms, propelled by an euphoria
which reflected the return of the belief in Brazil as a viable country” (Brazil xix). Yet, as the
Brazilian critic adds, “this utopia never attained full development, subjected as it was to
another realistic tendency which pointed to the continuation of the country’s historical
problems” (Nagib, Brazil xix). Similarly, Zanin contends, “Boa parte do cinema produzido
no Brasil durante esses anos levou em conta as condições do país. Bem ou mal, debruçou-se
sobre temas como o abismo de classes que compõe o perfil da sociedade brasileira, tentou
compreender a histórida do país e examinou os impasses da modernidade na estrutura das
grandes cidades” [A great part of the movies produced in Brazil during those years took
stock of the country’s conditions. Correctly or not, it focused on topics such as the abyss
between the social classes typical of Brazilian society, it attempted to understand the
country’s history, and examined modernity’s impasse regarding the structure of
metropolitan areas] (32). In sum, Cinema da Retomada films focused on traditional and
current national dilemmas.

Two recent Brazilian films, Jorge Furtado’s O Homen que Copiava and Heitor Dhalia’s O
Cheiro do Ralo coincide in reinscribing neo-noir conventions as they focus on consumerism.
In addition to their shared critique of commodity fetishization, they are alike in deploying
voice over to seduce the audience into condoning, or at least understanding, the actions of
their respective protagonists. Finally, both movies ascribe to Deleuze’s concept of the action-
image insofar as “the whole aim of the film is only the exposition of a reasoning” (Cinema 1
200). Let’s begin with a brief plot summary.

O Homen que Copiava opens with a paradox. Since André (Lázaro Ramos) doesn’t have
enough money to pay for the items she scanned, the cashier calls the supermarket manager.
The pity we feel for the self-conscious, awkward boy turns into puzzlement at his insistence
on buying matches and into bewilderment when he uses them to burn a stack of Brazilian
bank notes (reais). The voice-over naturalizes the plot as an autobiographical account of a
low-middle class black high school dropout who feels condemned to abject poverty because
his dreams of becoming a famous soccer player came to a halt when he was fired from his
position as a supermarket bagger and his current job operating a Xerox copier is no more
glamorous.[2] Since his father walked away when he was four, André lives with his mother
(Teresa Texeira). After work, she watches soap operas and he draws cartoons. When she
retires, he flips through the channels, and at about eleven p.m. he trains his binoculars on his
neighbors—another type of zapping that not only suggests André’s voyeurism but also
underscores the scopophilia of the cinematic apparatus.

André’s interest in Sílvia (Leandra Leal) soon develops into a relationship threatened by her
father’s (Antunes - Carlos Cunha Filho) depravity. André needs money to wed and escape
that environment, yet he cannot borrow from his co-worker Marinês (Luana Piovani), or her
boyfriend Cardosa (Pedro Cardosa), because they are equally destitute. While he refuses to
follow the example of his drug-dealer friend Feitosa (Júlio Andrade), the arrival of a color
copier leads him down the path of counterfeiting. Cardosa soon partners in planting bills at
lottery ticket venues, and agrees to drive him to safety when André plans a heist at the
neighborhood bank. André’s literally has to run away with the bags of money because
Cardosa didn’t have enough change for the meter. In fact, they have to rip a bag of money
open to exit by bus. Ironically, after the heist, one of their many lottery tickets wins the first
prize, so André brings Marinês into the secret by asking her to collect it. Antunes, the guard
shot at the heist demands his share the booty, so André and Sílvia conjure up a plan to
dispose of him and return some of the stolen money. The movie ends in a mise-en-abîme as
Sílvia retraces her mother’s steps and meets her biological father at the Corcovado—Río de
Janeiro’s emblematic tourist site.

Faithful to the stereotypical Brazilian fixation with bundas, O Cheiro do Ralo begins with a
subjective shot of a woman’s buttocks. Then, the camera follows the male protagonist,
Lourenço (Selton Mello), along a series of warehouses painted in bright colors. As an old
man attempts to sell an antique watch we learn that Lourenço owns a second-hand store;
however, the desperation of his clients who are only interested in selling, turns the place into
a kind of pawnshop. Lourenço’s obsession, articulated through a muted voice over, “I could
spend a week watching that butt” [poderia passar uma semana só olhando para o seu rabo
(11)] explains his daily presence at the fast food joint. After canceling his impending wedding
based on the argument that only fools believe in happiness, Lourenço’s struggle for power
and money, which he conceives of as aphrodisiacs, taints his interactions. Ironically, the
drug addict recovers her dignity by murdering Lourenço, and thus putting an end to his
abusive behavior. From a psychoanalytical perspective the equation between money and
feces explains Lourenço’s obsession with the backed up drain. [3] While the moral
indictment of usury sheds light on the interconnection between the drain and hell, the eye’s
rich symbolism ranges from the Western connotations of knowledge to a self-reflexive
reference to the voyeurism of the cinematic apparatus. Either way, it opens up the
paradoxical nature of the limit between the inside and the outside, both in terms of the drain
and the body. [4]

However, O Cheiro do Ralo is in fact an adaptation, an important factor specifically in terms
of the depiction of the protagonist’s thought process. Moreover, the movie pays tribute to
Lourenço Mutarelli, author of the homonymous novel. By playing the part of the segurança
[security agent], the homage becomes even funnier, since, as mentioned in the paratextual
section titled “the making of O Cheiro do Ralo,” Brazilian security agents tend to be big,
black, and sweaty—the complete opposite of the slender deep red polyester clad Mutarelli.
[5] Furthermore, while adaptations imply a “systematic process of suppression” (Leitch 99),
Mutarelli’s inclusion led to developing the action to provide depth to characterization. For
instance, the movie adds a sequence at the waiting room where a client sells the security
agent a pack of antique cards with illustrations of nude women for a pittance. He convinces
the prospective client by assuring him that Lourenço will not be interested, not only because
he is gay, but also because he is stingy. The movie adds shots to suggest his complicity with
the secretary and his aversion toward the drug addict. After the mob attacks Lourenço for
allegedly raping the drug addict, the security agent also tends to the reception. Not
surprisingly, Mutarelli is a story line creator for highly prized comics, such as
Transustanciação [Transubstantiation] (1991; 2001); Desgraçados [The Wretched] (1991);
Eu te amo Lucimar [I love you, Lucimar] (1994); A Confluência da forquilha [The Meeting
Point of the Forked Path] (1997); Seqüelas [After Effects] (1998); O dobro de cinco [Double
Five] (1999); O rei do ponto [The King of Points] (2000); A Soma de tudo parte 1 [Complete
Works Part I] (2001). The formal similarity between the storyline of the comics and that of
the novel may allow for the easy transition, but that is a topic that merits further treatment
elsewhere.

Fluctuating between the indirect style of the simple past and the present of dialogues and
the narrator’s monologues, the text consists of nine chapters, “Tudo o que mundo tem a lhe
ofrecer” [All the World has to Offer], “O Portal” [The Portal], “Voltando” [Returning],
“Ciclo” [Cycle], “Estive no inferno e me lembrei de você” [I Was in Hell and Remembered
You], “O jogo” [The Game] “Ausência” [Absence], “A imensa bunda e o buraco” [The
Huge Butt and the Hole] and “O buraco e mais nada” [The Hole and Nothing Else].
However, both the need to condense the storyline, and the need to generate revenue lead to
a certain simplification to ensure that the audience will follow the plot (Seger 3; 5; 7).
Therefore, only one of the titles of the chapters appears verbatim. Other titles are slightly
changed “Tudo o que a vida tem a lhe oferecer” [All Life has to Offer] or have been
synthesized, such as in “A imensa bunda e mais nada” [Just the Huge Butt]. For instance,
“Estive no inferno e lembrei de você” includes material from the previous chapter
[“Voltando”]. Similarly, secondary plotlines such as the chaste love affair between the
protagonist and the married woman are eliminated (48-51; 85-88). The suppression, however,
is not unimportant insofar as it establishes a counterpoint between Lourenço’s insulting
words toward his girlfriend “só os ingênuos acreditavam em felicidade” [only fools believe in
happiness] (12) and the feeling experienced while kissing the married woman, “acho que foi
a experiência mais incrível que provei em toda minha vida. A sensação de amor que eu
sentia, irradiava muito além de meu corpo” [I think it was the most incredible experience I
ever had. The feeling of love I experienced even radiated from my body] (88).

Though the film focuses on the power relation that plays out in the exchanges, the process of
adaptation leads to omissions that affect characterization. For instance while having lunch,
Lourenço reads James Ellroy (10) and Paul Auster (13). Yet, in the novel intertextuality
includes Glauco Matoso’s baroque poems Geléia de Rococó (1999) (38), Anatole France’s
Monsieur Bergeret (1901) (60-61), Mario de Andrade’s Macunaíma (1828) (61), Oscar Wilde’s
Dorian Gray (1890) (110) and Reginaldo Ferreira da Silva, AKA Ferréz’s Manual Prático do
Ódio (2003) (18; 126), among others. Authors mentioned include Camus and Machado de
Assis (122), as well as graphic artists such as Mauro dos Prazeres (78). [6] Moreover,
“Rosebud,” the name of the sledge in Orson Well’s Citizen Kane becomes a leit motif (17, 28,
117), associated as it is to the quest for the bunda. The protagonist’s intellectual life is thus
impoverished, a process that is compounded by eliding his desire to “escrever un libro”
[write a book] (123), which brings about the loss of a mise-en-abîme. Furthermore, the
omission of the reference to Sydney Lumet’s film The Pawnbroker [Homem do Prego] (1961),
as well as that of its protagonist Rod Steiger (110), not only contributes to the loss of another
intertextual reference but also disallows a comparison between both movies and/or the
performance of their male leads. Finally, the omission of Lourenço’s epiphany “o que eu
realmente buscava não estava ali . . . O que eu buscava, era só a busca” (134) [what I was
really searching for was not there . . . What I was searching for, was the quest itself], which
the novel connects with the Borgesian paradox about the eternal nature of promises in
general, and the constant metamorphoses of those that go unfulfilled in particular, which
reinforce the structure of a mise-en-abîme (135) are lost in the screenplay.[7]

The omission of most of the erotic scenes may be explained in terms of film distribution.
While both the novel and the screenplay register Lourenço’s fiancée’s violent reaction to this
calling off of the wedding (13), the novel has Lourenço force his face into her butt, a scene
followed by cunnilingis and masturbation (19-20), after which he tells her, “nada tem para
me dar” (20) [You have nothing to give me]. Likewise, when the bunda becomes “uma
coisa” [a thing], the waitress tries to comfort Lourenço by way of fellatio (136). However, the
film shows a close up of Lourenço crying while he hugs the bunda. [8]

Paradoxically, the novel cancels out the erotic scenes by resorting to parody. Thus, sexuality
is diffused by referring to the events through a process of dissociation, “E como no canal
pornô da TV acabo. Imitando engranagem” [And, as in the porno channel, I come. Like
clockwork] (135). Similarly, the cliché of the married woman’s dream is downgraded to the
generic conventions of a commercial, “corro em câmera lenta. Nos abraçamos e giramos,
giramos, giramos . . . Aí meu pensamento enquadra meus dentes. E num zoom se aproxima
. . . Entra uma voz muito grave. A voz diz: KOLINOS” [I run in slow motion. We hug and
turn around, and around, and around . . . At that point I think of a shot focusing on my teeth.
As the zoom approaches . . . a deep voice says, Kolynos] (90). Regretfully, these scenes were
omitted from the screenplay.

In terms of the critique of contemporary mores, Furtado’s O Homen que Copiava depicts a
society in which “individual . . . ‘self-construction’—the foundational paradigm of
modernity,” hinges on consumption (Bauman, Work 27). Since André was expelled from
school he can only aspire to menial jobs. Yet, rather than accepting his fate, as in “the ‘pre-
modern’—traditional, ascriptive mechanisms of social placement, [according to which] men
and women . . . liv[ed] up to (but not above) the standards attached to the ‘social category’
into which they were born,” André is desperate to break from the cycle of abject poverty,
defined in terms of not being able to enjoy a certain lifestyle rather than of hunger or gross
deprivation (Bauman, Work 27). [9]

Furthermore, O Homen que Copiava appears to critique the internalization of instrumental
rationality, since consumer society shifts “the concepts of responsibility and responsible
choice, which resided before in the semantic field of ethical duty and moral concern for the
Other . . . to the realm of self-fulfillment and the calculation of risks” (Bauman, Consuming
92). [10] Furtado proves this point by having Cardosa agree to aid and abet André as long as
the heist does not turn violent. Similarly, André who would rather share the money with
Antunes, gives in to Sílvia’s decision to murder him after she assures him that he is not her
biological father and suggests that he has sexually abused her. Similarly, Marinês joins them
on condition that her role is restricted to distract Antunes. In sum, Furtado’s success lies in
the vivid portrayal of the characters’s awareness of exclusion, as well as in drawing the
audience into accepting the violent acts as inevitable. [11]

Conversely, Dhalia’s O Cheiro do Ralo offers a more traditional indictment of the
expropriation of labor. Lourenço’s emotional detachment stems from a conscious strategy of
self-preservation aimed at not feeling sorry for his clients, since he can only profit from
shortchanging them. But Lourenço becomes increasingly abusive. Since he enjoys seeing
his clients suffer, he debases them until they grovel and agree to do whatever he pleases.
Increasingly violent, Lourenço pounces on an old man to vent his frustration because the
bunda walked out of his life. [12] There are times, however, when Lourenço engages in
bardache. Toasting with champagne he gives money and cigars away, ostensibly to
celebrate meeting a soldier who saved his father’s life; but in fact, to celebrate his freedom
on the day he was to wed. In contrast to O Homen, O Cheiro offers a critique of consumer
society insofar as Lourenço acknowledges that what is really significant cannot be bought,
“of all the things I’ve ever had, those that were worth anything, the ones I miss the most are
the things you can’t touch, the things that are out of reach of our hands, the things that
don’t belong in the material world.”

Following the traditional Marxian model of “a capitalism where only ‘material production’ is
alienated in the exchange of political economy” (Jally 11), André appears to be keenly aware
of the expropriation of his labor. However, his fetishization of currency and luxury items
allows for an analysis of advanced capitalism centered on the concept of the symbolic code.
In other words, since today almost everything (virtue, love, knowledge, consciousness) falls
into the sphere of exchange value (the realm of the market), the ‘systematic manipulation of
signs’ within the workings of a broader behavioral code influences consumption” (Jally 11).

The fetishization of commodities in O Homen appears after having planted the first
counterfeit bank note, since André muses, “Imagine all the things you could buy with that
money,” “Imagine how you’ll be treated after buying all these things.” Therefore, identity
hinges on consumerism. Indeed, a society of consumers not “‘interpellates’ its members
primarily, or perhaps even exclusively, as consumers; and [but also] judges them by their
consumption-related capacities and conduct” (Bauman, Liquid 82). [13] Thus, Cardosa’s
and Marinês’s purchases of sport and formal apparel and services are represented through
the discourse of advertising, which attests that they subscribe to “‘a society of fashion’
restructured . . . by the technologies of ephemerality, novelty and permanent seduction”
(Lipovetsky 36). This is especially evident in their quest for distinction through the
consumption of luxury items, such as the leather dress, the Mercedes, and the reservation of
the Presidential suite (D’Angelo 134; 138-43). [14]

Dhalia’s Cheiro do ralo offers a variation on the theme of consumerism. Lourenço’s
obsession with the bunda clearly points at objectification, so much so that verisimilitude is
stretched when he asks the waitress to turn around to ascertain that he is not speaking to
the one whose bunda he obsessed about. Unable to get a job the waitress consents to
Lourenço’s proposition—to pay to see the bunda, because the monetary exchange is
complemented by the offer of a secretarial position, as well as the emotional attachment
implied by Lourenço’s avowed need to have her close-by. Ironically, when she does strip,
Lourenço weeps. The bunda has been commodified.

Conversely, another object, the prosthetic eye, is endowed with power. While its owner says it
has seen it all, Lourenço thinks otherwise because it has not been exposed to the bunda. The
Brazilian expression olho de bunda reinforces the interrelation, by bringing about the idea of
viewing as penetration, as well as the interdiction of sodomy, even in terms of
heterosexuality, since the practice precludes reproduction. In addition, olho da bunda opens
up the paradox of limits, of inside and outside, which Jacques Derrida develops in
“Tympan.” Speaking about the throat and the ear, Derrida notes, “on the one hand,
therefore, is the outside; on the other hand, the inside; between them, the cavernous” (xx).
Therefore, to the extent that the body is traversed by tubes (veins, arteries, intestines), a
similarity can be drawn between the body and the drainage system. In addition, when a
client observes that the prosthetic eye is the eye of God, Lourenço promptly denies it, noting
that it is the eye of the Other. According to Lourenço, the drain communicates with hell, so
the paradoxical limit between the inside and the outside, suggested by olho da bunda
explains Lourenço’s final moments, as he drags himself to the latticed cover of the drain, a
movement which reconnects the different layers of the rich symbolism.

The commodification of people, articulated in terms of services, is evident in the scenes
involving the addict (Sílvia Lourenço), the married woman (Lorena Lobato), and the waitress
(Paula Braun). The addict turns to Lourenço because she needs money. Occasionally, when
she has nothing to sell, he asks her to show her buttocks and turn around. The exchange
with the married woman is set as a crescendo of monetary exchanges, since she requires
payment for each and every step of the strip tease. While the addict feels abused, the
married woman happily engages in a game for which she is generously compensated. While
these instances lead to masturbation and fellatio respectively, both show Lourenço’s drive for
control. Despite his obsession with the bunda, Lourenço’s exchanges with the waitress are
similar. When she suggests they have a beer after her shift, he stalls because he is leery of
commitment.

Deleuze and the Action Image

Gilles Deleuze’s musings on film spring from Henry Bergson’s theses on movement, and
mainly, the first one, according to which, if “movement is distinct from the space covered.
Space covered is past, movement is present, the act of covering. The space covered is
divisible, indeed infinitely divisible, whilst movement is indivisible, or cannot be divided
without changing qualitatively each time it is divided” (Cinema 1 1). Deleuze argues that the
premise rests on two assumptions. First, “the spaces covered all belong to a single, identical,
homogeneous space, while the movements are heterogeneous, irreducible among
themselves” (Cinema 1 1). Second, movement can only be reconstituted via a notion of a
“mechanical, homogenous, universal [time], copied from space [and] identical for all
movements” (Deleuze 1). Yet, Deleuze shows them to be erroneous: “You can bring two
instants or two positions together to infinity; but movement will always occur in the interval
between the two” and “however much you divide and subdivide time, movement will always
occur in a concrete duration; thus, each movement will have its own qualitative duration”
(Cinema 1 1). Despite the clarification, Deleuze was taken by the similarity Bergson drew
between his thesis and “the cinematographic illusion” (Cinema 1 1). The extent of Bergson’s
influence on Deleuze may be gaged by the French philosopher’s choice of the fundamental
categories of time, movement and the interval to approach film.

However, the understanding of cinema also changed between the lifetimes of these
philosophers. Initially, it required “instantaneous sections . . . called images [and an]
impersonal, uniform, abstract, invisible, or imperceptible [movement or a time], which is ‘in’
the apparatus, and ‘with’ which the images are made to pass consecutively” (Cinema 11).
Yet, it developed via “montage, the mobile camera and the emancipation of the viewpoint
[from] projection. [Therefore,] the shot would . . . stop being a spatial category and become
a temporal one, and the section would no longer be immobile but mobile” (Cinema 1 3).
Likewise, the nature of cinema also changed. Movement-images divide into perception-
images, action-images and affection-images, which appear in film through montage. While
no film is entirely made up of one type, one always predominates (Cinema 1 66; 70).

Deleuze bases the concept of the action image on Peirce’s “mental” image, or thirdness,
which appears “in signification, law or relation.” In other words:

Thirdness gives birth not to actions but to “acts” which necessarily contain the symbolic element of a
law (giving, exchanging); not to perceptions, but to interpretations which refer to the element of sense;
not to affections, but to intellectual feelings of relations, such as the feelings which accompany the use
of the logical conjunctions “because,” “although,” “so that,” “therefore,” “now,” etc. (Cinema 1 197)

For instance, in Hitchcock’s films, “what matters is not who did the action . . . the whodunit
[nor] the action itself: [but] the set of actions in which the action and the one who did it are
caught.” Therefore, in Dial M for Murder, “the whole aim of the film is only the exposition of
a reasoning” (Cinema 1 200).

In cinematic terms the voice-over is a framing device that serves “as an effective means of
characterization, mediation of the backstory and exposition” (Sommer 398). By means of the
voice over, Furtado draws the audience in as André reflects on his predicament. The script
varies between monologs, dialogs, prayers, such as “Guardian angel, meek and mild, look
on me, your little child. Bless me now, the day is done. Amen,” and the recurrent
intertextual references to a Shakespeare sonnet, which foreshadow the denouement. The
voice over also allows for analyzing events, for instance, André recalls the intonation of Sílvia’
s reply, “obrigado você,” in order to ascertain whether or not she is interested in him.
Similarly, difference and repetition appears in André’s rehearsal to propose. While the
verisimilitude of the scene is promptly undercut as a figment of his imagination, the “real”
scene follows. Therefore, the slippage between “imagined” and “real” events remind us of
the Derridean notion of iterability. [15]

More importantly, perhaps, in keeping with Deleuze’s description of the action-image, the
voice over allows for representing the protagonist’s thought process. However, Furtado
resorts to intermediality to complement this representation by contextualizing the condition
of contemporary youth. [16] While pastiche plays an integral part in André’s cartoons, which
subsequently become animations, it is introduced by way of a collage that covers the walls of
his bedroom. Indeed, as per Guy Debord’s dictum, “Images detached from every aspect of
life merge into a common stream” (12), the collage includes images of dancing cabaret girls,
soccer players, cartoons of prehistoric people, hand-drawn legs and skirts, and pictures of
bottles of liquor. While the collage suggests Fredric Jameson’s colonization of the
unconscious, it also emphasizes objectification for an eye and a set of huge lips are
juxtaposed against a row of cabaret girls’ legs. [17]

André’s creativity is manifested through the drawing of cartoons, which underscores the
crime of the talent lost in a dead-end job. Though his cartoons appear to dwell on daily life
events they include traumatic ones such the blind rage that led him to hit his classmate
Mairoldi (Furtado’s voice) for laughing at the possibility that André’s father would return
after a seven-year absence. The screen fills with red, an ambulance appears, and we learn
that Mairoldi has lost an eye. Metonymically, after that incident the character that
represents André becomes a (one-eyed) Cyclops. While the teachers and the principal are
monsters, a mug shot of Eleanor Roosevelt, with a coat and legs stands for the mother
figure. [18] Similarly, Santa Cecilia, the name of building where Sílvia lives, elicits an
animated pastiche that depicts the Saint’s travails while underscoring her physical
resemblance to the female lead.

Intermediality is particularly appropriate because the cartoons are reminiscent of the
storyboard of a movie as well as the concept of cognitive frames, which may be described as
“culturally formed metaconcepts [that] enable us to interpret . . . reality. . .; basic
orientational aids that help us navigate through our experiential universe, inform our
cognitive activities and generally function as preconditions of interpretation” (Wolf 5). For
instance, the meaning of the drawing of the parallel lines that resemble a triangle is evident
in retrospect, when we learn that André has stuck sharp poles in the patch of sand where
Feitosa usually lands when he jumps off the bridge. André deals with Feitosa’s threat to kill
his mother and girlfriend unless he hands over the stolen money by way of a set of parallel
lines. The screen becomes soaked in red. Immediately after, the camera focuses on a sketch
of an impaled boy. The fleeting image of Feitosa lying on the sand reinforces the
foreshadowing and shows how cartoons propel the action. [19] Moreover, André’s
submersion in popular culture is underscored by representing his feelings through clichés.
For instance, failure is suggested by someone who flattens a cream pie against his face.
Similarly, the danger involved in the heist is suggested by a TV image of a man about to
jump off a bridge.

Towards the end of the movie Sílvia’s voice over, presented as a letter written to her
biological father, debunks André’s narrative. Sílvia claims to have set André up upon
realizing that he was spying on her. At this point, the audience confronts the ambiguity of
exclusive disjunction, in other words, since both of these options cannot be true, the viewer
feels the tension that results from having to choose from two mutually exclusive
interpretations (Dixon 6-8). [20] Moreover, Sílvia’s admission of her manipulative behavior,
as well as her insistence on murdering Antunes, conjure up the generic conventions of noir.
[21] However, moral turpidity appears in all characters. André sets up the scene of
impalement and all of the main characters take part in and witness the explosion set up to
eliminate Antunes. Therefore, these scenes conjure up the typically noir’s “stylized crime
realism” (Holt 25). [22]

But O Homen, can also be considered a neonoir film, for the term refers to “texts that refer
back to visual or narrative aspects of the noir of the forties and fifties but that are set in the
present” (Wager 124). Along these lines, it is important to remember that “neonoir revamps
the femme fatale. She is no less an object of obsession and desire, no less dangerous, than
she was in the classic period, only this time around she gets away with it. Where the classic
femme fatale suffers for her crimes, her revamped counterpart prospers” (Holt 27). [23] The
plot reversal subverts the audience’s expectations, since sexy Marinês is set up as a foil
against homely and wholesome Sílvia. [24]

While the novel O Cheiro do Ralo closely follows Lourenço’s stream of consciousness, the
film sparingly relies on voice over. The omission of interior monologue may be explained in
terms of performativity, since showing is more effective than telling (Zeitlin). More
importantly, the omissions may have taken place to avoid ambiguity (Seger 7). Nonetheless,
both versions of O Cheiro do Ralo focus on the protagonist’s thinking process. In each and
every one of the exchanges, Lourenço attempts to discover his opponent’s weakness.
Moreover, he prefers to make his clients suffer than to profit from them. This is particularly
apparent in the exchanges regarding the attempted sale of a gold fountain pen, since its
elderly owner grovels to the extent of offering to do whatever Lourenço asks. Yet, according
to the paratextual material of the film (The Making of O Cheiro), some of the most offensive
scenes were discarded. For instance, an elderly man with a bad case of Parkinson’s disease,
whose head bobs up and down, sells a golden cage with two porcelain birds (the novel
mentions an embalmed canary). Lourenço pays him a pittance while his head bobs up and
down. Other omitted scenes include a young man who cannot play the flute he intends to
sell and a youth who mouths a Roberto Carlos melody as he tries to sell vinyl records of
Carlos Gardel. These rather pathetic scenes were included in The Making of O Cheiro as an
acknowledgement of performances that didn’t make the final cut despite the hard work of
the respective actors. In these cases, the value of the items should be separated from the
dexterity of their owners. Lourenço knows that, but prefers to make their owners bite the
dust.

The interpolated stories of O Cheiro do Ralo show a pattern of repetition with variation.
Lourenço always tries to shortchange his clients. [25] Gambling, which defines Lourenço’s
obsessive behavior, usually works because his clients are desperate. The few exceptions
confirm the rule, since interest in the prosthetic eye, which acquires symbolic value, drives
up the price. Whether it stands for the Panopticon, the Father, or himself, Lourenço enjoys
flashing it because it is so disturbing. Yet, while most clients take the abuse, others score
moral victories. For instance, the owner of the Stradivarius (Morelli) proves to Lourenço that
he is the one who smells, since he is the only one to use the bathroom. Following this line of
thought, repetition with variation includes the multiple aspects of Lourenço’s obsession.
Most exchanges include a reference to the stench from the backed up drain. Even the quest
for the bunda becomes intertwined with the stench as Lourenço acknowledges that it is the
only reason for him to eat at a place where the food doesn’t agree with him. Finally, once
Lourenço acquires the prosthetic eye he flashes it out to test the interlocutor’s reaction.
Thus, Lourenço wonders whether the waitress is offended by the eye, or his offer. At any
rate, Lourenço’s compulsive behavior suggests the endless repetition of trauma. Yet, the
approaches to trauma differ. According to Freud the traumatized individual repeats the
repressed material as a contemporary experience. However, according to Georges Bataille,
not only does violent trauma constitute the self, it also integrates individuals and society
through erotic or sacrificial violence (Boulter 154). [26] Considering the sacrificial nature of
the ending, and the syncopated rhythm resulting from “narratives of repetition, seriality, and
stasis rather than progress” (Boulter 154), O Cheiro do Ralo appears to subscribe to
Bataille’s thesis.

Deleuze mentions that the notion of the action-image was shaken up after the war. The
French philospher attributes the crisis to a number of factors, such as: “the unsteadiness of
the ‘American Dream,’ the new consciousness of minorities, the rise and inflation of images
both in the external world and in people’s minds, the influence of the cinema on the news
modes of narrative, [and] the crisis of Hollywood and its old genres” (Cinema 1 206). The
Postmodernist end of metanarratives appears to be at the heart of the paradigm shift, “we
hardly believe any longer that a global situation can give rise to an action which is capable of
modifying it—no more than we believe that an action can force a situation to disclose itself,
even partially” (Cinema 1 206). Nonetheless, the five apparent characteristics of the post-war
new image, “the dispersive situation, the deliberately weak links, the voyage form, the
consciousness of clichés [and] the condemnation of the plot” were forged by Italian neo-
realism (Cinema 1 210; 212), which would exert a lasting impact on the New Latin American
Cinema.

Unlike O Homen, O Cheiro also partakes of the five characteristics that Deleuze identified in
the post-war new image (210-12). Both the novel and the film follow a voyage form, since
despite the routine, Lourenço seems to be embarked on a path of moral degradation.
Similarly, despite the structure of repetition with variation resulting from the daily exchanges
with his clients, their sheer variety allows for dispersive situation, which is all the more
evident in the novel given that the strong intertextual component reminds us of the
Barthesian death of the author. The paratactical articulation is particularly evident in the
anaphoric constructions of the novel, such as “A vida procura viver./A arte imita a vida./ A
vida imita a vida./A arte imita a arte” [ Life tries to live/ Art imitates life/ Life imitates life/
Art imitates art] (18), as well as in the thirteen variations of “esses livros” [those books] at the
doctor’s office scene (72-73), and in the summary, “Ele entra ele rasga dinheiro/ Ele entra e
sai carregando uma coisa pesada . . . É relógio, alfinete, é faca . . . É o azar, é a sorte/ É a
porta que bate” [He comes in and tears up the Money/ He comes in and leaves carrying a
heavy item . . . It’s a watch, a pin, it’s a knife . . . It’s luck, it’s fate,/ It’s the slamming door]
(138-39). Thus, the paratactical construction of the novel is both experimental and
postmodern. By omitting secondary plotlines to construct a linear plot, the movie regresses
into the logic of cause-effect of realism. However, both the movie and the novel faithfully
depict the protagonist’s progressive moral deterioration.

In addition, the links are weak. As proven by the security agent, the married woman, and the
bunda/waitress-secretary, the commercial nature of the transactions render the characters
dispensable. Furthermore, awareness of clichés appears not only in attitudes to life such as
the fatalistic acceptance of events, as proven by “a vida é dura” [life is hard], but more
importantly, each and every character becomes a cliché. From the married woman to the
helpless retiree, the drug addict to the youth who invokes class attitudes to sell the rake, the
characters are set up as archetypes. The plotline, if there is one, hinges on the weak
structure of the repeated transactions. Ambivalence regarding the meaning of the drain only
weakens the narrative structure.

Though O Cheiro do Ralo may be considered a dark comedy, the atmosphere is influenced
by the allusions to Raymond Chandler and James Ellroy, who are known for the morally
ambiguous characters of their dark crime novels. [27] Indeed, moral turbidity taints most of
the characters. Nostalgia recurs in the noir tones of the protagonist’s betrayal and the
dangerous fury of his jilted girlfriend (Fabiana Guglielmetti), who re-appears at the
warehouse, brandishing a kitchen knife. Other instances, such as a message stuck to the
front door with a knife, and a box with a toad and a message in its sewn up mouth stating, “I
was in hell and remembered you,” remind us of the girlfriend’s blind rage.

Yet, the girlfriend’s fury is superseded by the unpredictable behavior of the addict. At first,
she is very impressed with the purported eye of Lourenço’s father, who is said to have died in
World War II. Though she becomes increasingly emaciated, ragged, and shaky, she usually
fights back. For instance, she calls Lourenço on the lie about his father. Later, she accuses
Lourenço of forcing her to sell all of her belongings, but he is adamant in setting the record
straight, since he has her say that she chose to sell them. Her behavior ranges from telling
Lourenço he looks like the guy in an ad to startling him by saying that he has a hole for a
face. She also has the habit of entering unannounced. Her unexpected shooting of Lourenço
re-establishes her connection with hell, which is sealed as Lourenço dies by the drain.
The nostalgia tone is reinforced by the costumes, since the action could take place anytime
from the 1950s on, and perhaps even prior were it not for the iconic references to TV sets.
[28] Precisely, the lack of descriptions in the novel, regarding both characters and mise-en-
scène, makes the adaptation all the more interesting. The palette ranges from mustard
yellow to a sickly green, which connotes fear and the lack of upright moral qualities. By
wearing shades of brown Lourenço’s clothes underscore the connotation of the drain. While
it’s hard to know how the choices were made to suggest a seedy mise-en-scène the
paratextual material (Making of O Cheiro do Ralo) mentions a lack of investors.

Considering that the process of adaptation is similar to translation, Charles Fillmore’s system
of scenes and frames may be productive, since “in learning a language [people] come to
associate certain scenes with certain linguistic frames” (63). Fillmore’s definition of scene
includes, “not only visual scenes but familiar kinds of interpersonal transactions, standard
scenarios, familiar layouts, institutional structures, enactive experiences, body image; and in
general, any kind of coherent segment, large or small, of human beliefs, actions,
experiences, or imaginings” (63). Conversely, by frame Fillmore refers to “any system of
linguistic choices—the easiest being a collection of words, but also including choices of
grammatical rules or grammatical categories—that can get associated with prototypical
instances of scenes” (Fillmore 63). This system works for those who have learned the
associations between scenes and frames, which then “activate each other” (63).
Furthermore, “frames are associated in memory with other frames by virtue of shared
linguistic material, and . . . scenes are associated with other scenes by virtue of sameness or
similarity” (Fillmore 63).

Following Fillmore, as contemporary Brazilians, both Maturelli, and those in charge of mise-
en-scène, share certain social, linguistic, and semantic codes. Therefore, despite Maturelli’s
conscious lack of descriptions, they could aim for verisimilitude regarding setting and
characters. However, the choice of props may have been subject to chance, since, for
instance, the connotations of an antique watch are many. Besides, the film fails to mention
that the lid of the watch was broken. In fact, the music it produced in the novel was
transferred to a jewelry box in the film.

Furthermore, since the movie is set in Brazil we could expect to see items of African or
indigenous nature. [29] Yet, perhaps because it is set in the south, these are absent both
from the novel and the movie. Moreover, the movie condenses references to witchcraft and
ghosts by way of the frog, which is associated with the destructive forces of African Ndoki,
aimed at destroying their victims by consuming their psyche and internal life force. Their
function is to collect a debt, in this case, the shame of being jilted (McElroy 350-51). [30]
Similarly, the novel refers to a kind of voodoo practice whereby a doll stands for the victim, in
this case, represented by Lourenço’s picture, “um boneco de madeira . . . todo marcado. Por
pontas que alguém lhe enfiou” [a wooden doll . . . marked. By pins that someone stuck
(104)]. Though the scene was filmed because the wooden object appears in the paratextual
material (Making of O Cheiro do Ralo), it was not included in the final cut.

Similarly, the movie avoids the topic of the ghost (“vulto”), that Lourenço appears to have felt
at the time he learned his fiancée attempted to commit suicide (21). The novel associates the
ghost with hell, “O cheiro que aspiro vem do inferno./ O vulto é o cheiro também. Porra eu
estou assustado” [the smell I inhale comes from hell/ The ghost and the smell. Hell, I’m
scared] (29). Belief in the ghost is shored up by the maid, who claims to have seen, “o vulto
sentado aí no sofá” [the ghost sitting on the sofa] (51). Despite its recurrence” (74), and its
association with his fiancée’s long blonde hair (52; 100; 110), Lourenço tries to deal with his
fear by resorting to a psychoanalytic argument, “Eu sei o que Freud falou sobre o medo. Sei
o que falou dos fantasmas. Os fantasmas são a culpa. Mas eu desconheço esse sentimento”
[I know what Freud said about fear. I know what he said about ghosts. Ghosts are our guilt.
But I don’t know that feeling] (29). Therefore, the items in Lourenço’s pawnshop inscribe
him in a Euro-American ethos, suggested by mannequins, ancient deep diving gear, TV
sets, bicycles, paintings, music systems, and Hollywood movie billboards, such as Steve
McQueen’s Twenty Four Hours of Le Mans.

To conclude, While Furtado resorts to a voice over and to intermediality, the focus on
consumerism occludes the film’s generic fluctuation, since the teenager’s personal narrative
soon leads to counterfeiting and a bank robbery, both of which trigger neonoir generic
conventions. Similarly, Dhalia structures the movie in terms of a paratactical juxtaposition of
exchanges that follow a pattern of repetition with variation highlighting the protagonist’s
train of thought as he devises different strategies to bilk his clients. Thus, we could not but
agree with Furtado’s description of the baroque nature of the movie, since it incorporates
collage, cartoons, animation, TV scenes, the discourse of advertisement, intertextuality, and
an equally rich sound track. While animation enhances characterization, the voice over
interpellates the audience into viewing the violent actions as a means to arrive at the road to
happiness promised by consumerism. On the other hand, Dhalia’s dark comedy critiques
the nihilistic acceptance of instrumental rationality. Lourenço’s tragic death reads like a
chronicle of a death foretold. As he severs emotional ties, interpersonal exchanges become
increasingly commodified and violent. In sum, by offering scathing critiques of
contemporary Brazilian mores both O Homen que Copiava and O Cheiro do Ralo are faithful
to the principles of O Cinema da Retomada.

Notes

[1]On the effect of public policy and legislation on audiovisual investment on Brazilian
cinema (1990-2003), see Cacilda M. Rêgo.

[2]For information on O Homen, see http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0367859/ Also de
Oliveira. On O Cheiro see http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0489458. My appreciation to Isis
Costa McElroy for lending me the movie.

[3]André is fired for a lapse of attention and not being solicitous enough when the client
complains. Baudrillard notes that “without this total ideology of personal service,
consumption would not be what it is. It is the warmth of gratification, of personal allegiance,
which gives it its whole meaning – not satisfaction pure and simple. It is in the sun of this
solicitude that the modern consumers bask” (Consumer Society 159).

[4]Bunda, bum-bum, buttocks, from “mbunda,” in Kikongo & Kimbundo. My appreciation
to Isis McElroy for the etymology and sources. For a summary on the Brazilian fixation
with bundas, see Kulic (70-71). On the impact of judgments about female attractiveness
resulting from body mass and ratio, see Devendra Singh. On the relationship between the
body, sexuality and gender, see Mirian Goldenberg (62; 68). Finally, on beauty and race in
Brazil, see Alexander Edmonds.

[5] For a psychoanalytical approach to the relationship between money and feces, see
Ernest Bornemann.

[6] For a historical approach to the condemnation of usury see Arthur Vermeersch. The
reference to the eye includes George Bataille’s Story of an Eye.

[7] See “The Making of O Cheiro do Ralo” in the Extras section of the DVD.

[8] Mauro dos Prazeres was an engineer that became a prized graphic artist (78).

[9] For a comparison between O Cheiro do Ralo and Sidney Lumet’s The Pawnbroker
(1965), and specifically Rod Steiger’s acting vis-à-vis la de Selton Mello’s see Luiz Carlos
Mortem’s blog <http://blog.estadao.com.
br/blog/merten/title=lembrancas_de_rod_steiger accessed on July 20, 2009.>

[10] Even though Lourenço is diegetically dead, the movie ends with a shot of the bunda
from his point of view, after which the credits roll. Regarding Lourenço’s abuse of the drug
addict, the movie elides his most humiliating order, “pega um pouco de papel no banheiro.
E vem me limpar” [get some toilet paper from the bathroom and come clean me] (67).

[11] The modern construction of identity, which depended on a career path with “clearly
defined stages [determined by] working skills [and] the site of employment” is disappearing
not only because jobs for life are confined to “a few old industries [and] professions [which]
are rapidly shrinking in number” but more importantly because “the catchword ‘flexibility’
[conceals the fact that] new vacancies tend to be fixed term, until further notice and part
time” (Bauman, Work 27). Bauman stresses that poverty is also defined as “a social and
psychological condition, [which generates feelings of] distress, agony and self-mortification,
[that may turn into] resentment and aggravation, [as well as into] violent acts [due to the]
inability to abide . . . by the standards of . . . life practiced by any given society” (Work 37).

[12] Joseph Raz deconstructs the notion of instrumental rationality, which “consists in the
proper functioning of some of the mental processes leading to formation of beliefs and
intentions” (24). Raz argues: “there is no distinctive form of rationality or of normativity that
merits the name instrumental rationality or normativity. In particular there is no specific
form of rationality or of normativity that concerns the relations between means and ends.
Philosophers fostered a myth of instrumental rationality, sometimes taking it to be the only,
sometimes the simplest and clearest type of practical rationality or of normativity” (24).

[13] “Indeed, the society of consumers is perhaps the only society in human history to
promise happiness in earthly life, and happiness here and now and in every successive ‘now’;
in short, an instant and perpetual happiness” (Bauman, Consuming Life 44).

[14] Lourenço vents his anger at an old man attempting to sell a pen. He beats him
mercilessly, and keeps kicking him even on the floor. Then, he plants a gun and tells the
security officer that the victim attempted to rob him. Though the guard feels sorry for the old
man Lourenço walks away.

[15] As Baudrillard notes, “advertising plays a leading role” insofar as “monopoly capitalism
has shifted the locus of control away from production into consumption, with control over
demand and socialization by the code” (1975, 127-28 in Jhally 12).

[16] André, on the other hand, only purchases drawing paper and a powerful telescope.

[17] “Every sign, linguistic or nonlinguistic, spoken or written (in the usual sense of this
opposition), as a small or large unity, can be cited, put between quotation marks; thereby it
can break with every given context, and engender infinitely new contexts in an absolutely
nonsaturable fashion” (Derrida, Margins 320).

[18] According to Postman, “new technologies alter our interests, symbols and nature of
community” (20, in Semali and Pailliotet 115).

[19] Jameson argues that, “the disappearance of the individual subject, along with its formal
consequence, the increasing unavailability of the personal style, engenders the well-nigh
universal practice today of what may be called pastiche” (64). Jameson continues, “pastiche
is, like parody, the imitation of a peculiar mask, speech in a dead language: but it is a neutral
practice of such mimicry, without any of parody’s ulterior motives, amputated of the satiric
impulse [. . .] Pastiche is thus blank parody” (65). Regarding the colonization of the
unconscious, Jameson argues, “distance in general (including ‘critical distance’ in
particular) has been very precisely abolished in the new space of postmodernism. We are
submerged in its henceforth filled and suffused volumes to the point where our now
postmodern bodies are bereft of spatial coordinates and practically (let alone theoretically)
incapable of distantiation; meanwhile, it has already been observed how the prodigious new
expansion of multinational capital ends up penetrating and colonizing those very pre-
capitalist enclaves (Nature and the unconscious) which offered extraterritorial and
Archimedean footholds for critical effectivity” (87; Also in Jameson’s Postmodernism or the
Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism 48-49).

[20] Collage also appears in the representation of dollar bills graced with pictures of Mao
Tse-Tung and Marilyn Monroe. On the origin of simulacra, Baudrillard argues:

the age of simulation thus begins with a liquidation of all referentials--worse: by their artificial
resurrection in systems of signs, a more ductile material than meaning, in that it lends itself to all
systems of equivalence, all binary oppositions and all combinatory algebra. It is no longer a question of
imitation, nor of reduplication, nor even of parody. It is rather a question of substituting signs of the real
for the real itself, that is, an operation to deter every real process by its operational double, a metastable,
programmatic, perfect descriptive machine which provides all the signs of the real and short circuits all
of its vicissitudes. (Simulations 4)

[21] Finally, even experimental takes such as the parallel takes of Sílvia’s bedroom, which are
naturalized as hinging on the angles of the wardrobe mirrors facing the window of Sílvia’s
room, may be read as intertextual allusions to the final mirror scene in Orson Welles’s The
Lady from Shanghai (1947).

[22] Dixon illustrates “the impulse to choose and the arrest of that impulse by the realization
of the equitenability of mutual exclusives” by referring to Jorge Luis Borges’ “El sur,” since
the text allows for two readings that cancel each other out (6-8).

[23] According to Jason Holt, “noir is often characterized in terms of its bleakly existential
tone, cynically pessimistic mood, stylistic elements inherited from German expressionism
(low-key lighting, deep focus, subjective camera shots, canted angles, and so on), and stories
and narrative patterns adapted from American hard-boiled fiction” (24).

[24] James Naremore states that “the European auteurs of the 1960s and 1970s [Godard,
Fassbinder, Truffaut, Wenders], who helped create the idea of film noir, . . . grounded their
work in allusion and hypertextuality rather than in a straightforward attempt to keep a
formula alive. Thus, neo-noir emerged during a “renaissance of the European art film,”
influenced by the French and German New Waves as well as the Italian tradition of
philosophical noir (202-03). Conversely, Tom Conley attributes the 1970s rebirth of noir to
economics, “money, a new network of distribution, competition, the exponential growth of
the recording apparatus in everyday life, and increased pace of production are the unstated
but ubiquitous influences that account for its revival” (203).

[25] For a current film noir, in which the femme fatale is faithful to her role and succeeds in
being evil, see Ricardo Darín’s La señal, based on Eduardo Mignona’s homonymous novel.
The success of the neonoir femme fatale has been attributed to the audience. Indeed, Jans
Wager notes, “the shock of surprise, the survival of a type of woman the cinemagoer has
seen destroyed in countless narratives, might be especially pleasurable for a female
spectator and might even be designed with her in mind” (133).

[26] Although race relations are not addressed, André states that Marînes is out of his ken.

[27] On the gambler’s behavior, see Hallowell and Grace.

[28] See Freud’s Beyond the Pleasure Principle. Quoted by Buolter.

[29] In cinematic terms the voice-over is a framing device that serves “as an effective means
of characterization, mediation of the backstory and exposition” (Sommer 398).

[30] Indeed, in the Extras section of the DVD there is a reference to the ageless aura of
Lourenço’s classic clothes, which do not refer back to a specific period, but rather to the
second half of the Twentieth Century.

[31] There are very few black characters in the film. One of them sells the silver cutlery, and
the other one offers the musical box.

[32] Costa McElroy notes that the Jagas used frogs and snakes as protection against spirits
transformed into animals that came to eat them. A witch can take animal shapes (birds,
snakes, bats) to perform a “trabalho de esquerda,” [sinister magic”]. In Brazil there is also
the expression cobra-mandada, “sent snake.” Anthropologist Karl von den Steinen mentions
the case of a “sent-frog” which took place in 1887. The frog leaped from one community to
the other, taking poison, or “magic” in a small white pouch to kill someone. In other words, a
Ndoki either used a frog or became one to perform magic (350-51).

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