Staging the oppressed – “La Terra Trema” and “Barravento”

Mira Schendel. Composition, 1954, oil on wood, 24,3 cm x 35,6 cm
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By ALEXANDRA SEIBEL*

Comparative analysis of Luchino Visconti's film with Glauber Rocha's

“We can say that three types of films were fundamental for the development of Cinema Novo: the first films of Rosselini and Visconti – rome open city, The earth trembles […] And Paisa; Buñuel's Mexican films, such as The forgotten e Nazarin; and the Russian films of Dovjenki and Eisenstein” (Glauber Rocha).[1]

The influence of Italian Neorealism on Cinema Novo is a common point among film scholars. Brazilian filmmakers who began to emerge in the early 1960s highlighted the importance of post-war Italian film (alongside the low-cost production strategies of the Nouvelle Vague). Neorealism became a model due to its mode of production, filming in natural settings and the use of non-professional actors.

This model encouraged Glauber Rocha to make his famous statement that to make cinema a true filmmaker only needs “an idea in his head and a camera in his hand”.[2] And Nelson Pereira dos Santos saying that “Cinema Novo is our way of making films with the money we have. It's like the time of Italian Neorealism. We combine the problems of our intellectual reality with those of the economy.”[3].

On another occasion, Nelson was even more precise in his statement about this European influence on independent, non-industrialized Brazilian cinema: “What impressed me in neorealist films were not the themes or their style, but the mode of production – they proved that you can make movies without money”.[4]

Although this statement limits the influence of Italian Neorealism on Cinema Novo basically to the mode of production, a series of analogies between both movements has been made by critics and scholars. Mainly the thesis that Glauber's first film, Barravento (1962), corresponds to the epic drama about Sicilian fishermen by Luchino Visconti, The earth trembles (1947) – observation made by Richard Roud, as famous as it is controversial. Twenty years ago, William Van Wert rejected this statement in his essay “Ideology in Third World Cinema”, saying that “Barravento Glauber's work is often (and erroneously, I believe) referred to as the Third World equivalent of The earth trembles from Visconti […]”[5] Van Wert concludes his essay by noting that “Barravento is not another The earth trembles [...] ".[6]

Which of the two statements is true – this or that of Van Wert's opponents – is something we will not deal with here. However, I would like to show a reading of Barravento quality The earth trembles in the light of their intertextuality, already canonized, which can definitely be seen based on their similar narrative structures. I will analyze both films taking into account stylistics, iconography and ideology as significant cinematographic manifestations, within specific contexts of a transformation of the social and cultural scenario.

Luchino Visconti was initially commissioned by the Italian Communist Party to make a documentary about Sicilian fishermen that could be used as an election advertisement for the PCI. As is known, Visconti returned the money to the communists and turned the project from a short film into a three-hour epic about a family of fishermen trying to free themselves from the exploitation of local dealers. With the help of two assistants, Francesco Rosi and Franco Zeffirelli, Visconti filmed in natural settings, without professional actors and without a script.

The people chosen in the Sicilian village spoke in their own language and were not dubbed for the film's release. Consequently, most of the Italian public could not understand the Sicilian dialect. Visconti, for his part, insisted on the use of dialect (unlike Rossellini) as a political stance, for, as the “Italian” commentary at the beginning of the film puts it, “The Italian language is not the language of the poor in Sicily. ”

What is particularly interesting in this context is Visconti's free adaptation of the famous novel The house by the medlar tree, by Giovanni Verga, who “constructed a style that would accommodate literary Italian to the rhythms, diction, idioms and mentality of oral Sicily”.[7]

Verga’s linguistic creation, which suggests the nature of narrative language as that of a “choral” and “the popular mentality of the Acitrezza community”,[8] has been related to the notion of “free indirect speech”. This choral nature of the language is made significant not only through Visconti's use of the voice over, but also expands in the narrative, by presenting a specific choral effect: Visconti effectively treats the village community as a collective that (ironically) witnesses and comments on the fate of the revolting protagonists. This “choral effect” will be an important point of connection with the Barravento of Glauber, which I will discuss later.

Verga's acclaimed novel tells the story of Malavoglia, a poor fishing family in a small community struggling for their daily bread within an essentially unchanging context. Visconti reinterprets the novel according to the problems of contemporary Italy (late 1940s), and from there suggests "that very little has changed in Sicily since the novel was published in 1881".[9]

Now, I would like to point out that Visconti's villa Acitrezza has several facets of literature that are typical of what Mikhail Bakhtin calls the “chronotope idyll” in the novel. For Bakhtin, the “chronotope” is the “intrinsic link between temporal and spatial relations”,[10] where “time, in any case, increases, takes shape, becomes artistically visible; in the same way, space becomes responsible for the movement of time, plot and history”.[11]

In the specific case of the idyll, Bakhtin distinguishes many pure types such as “the love idyll […]; the idyll focusing on agricultural work; the idyll dealing with crafts; and the family idyll”.[12] But no matter what the differences between these types of idylls are; yet they have much in common. They are “all determined by their general relation to the immanent unit of folk time. This is evident, above all, in the special relationship that time has with space in the idyll: an organic closure, a grafting of life and events into a place, into a familiar territory with all its nooks and crannies, its familiar mountains, valleys, fields, rivers and forests, the house itself. The idyllic life and its events are inseparable from this spatial corner of the concrete world, where parents and grandparents live and where their children and grandchildren will live”.[13]

The reason I quote Bakhtin is to suggest that although “Visconti rewrites in the light of Marx” (Geoffrey Nowell-Smith), he places the class struggle of his protagonist Antony in the “chronotope idyll” of a nineteenth-century novel and subjects it to what Bakhtin calls “the cyclical rhythm of time so characteristic of the idyll”.[14]

To speak of an idyll in light of the tremendous suffering of fishermen may sound bizarre. However, the daily life of the village with its submission to the forces of nature and the exposed life of its inhabitants – birth, passion, marriage, work, death – carry all facets of the “chronotope idyll” and its cyclic passage of time. Furthermore, the notion of folkloric time and its inherent anti-dialectical moment is reinforced by the paratactic narrative with which Visconti communicates, stylistically, through longer shots than usual, and complex footage of great depth.

But why that? Why does this special way of slow camera movement, the fixed shots, the total exclusion of unusual angles and wider shots, reinforce the notion of imprisonment of the main character? After all, Antônio tries to break the cycles of folkloric time by challenging tradition and the exploitative social order. Visconti, the director most faithful to the ideas of Italian Neorealism, carefully witnesses these failed attempts.

On the one hand, as Bazin observes, “Visconti […] seems to have wanted, in some systematic way, to base the construction of his image on the event itself. If a fisherman rolls a cigarette, he spares us nothing: we see the whole operation; it will not be reduced to its dramatic or symbolic meaning, like a normal montage”.[15] On the other hand, and despite the acclaimed sobriety of the images, Visconti achieves what Bazin calls a “paradoxical synthesis of realism and aesthetics”.[16]

Nowell-Smith refers to the same phenomenon as “pictorial realism”, which is the result of the tension between the ideological allegory of The Earth Trembles and – as Sitney calls it – “the monumental nostalgia for everyday iconography in the Valastro family”.[17] In other words, “the attention to detail and pace of village life often takes politics to the side”.[18]

What I suggest is that Visconti – at least to some extent – ​​unwittingly (or unknowingly) reinforces Bakhtin's notion of the inherent aesthetics of the “chronotope idyll”: “Strictly speaking,” says Bakhtin, “the idyll is ignorant of the trivial details of everyday life. Anything resembling everyday life […] begins to look like precisely the most important thing in life. However, all these basic realities of life are present in the idyll, not in their realistic aspect [...], but dampened, and to a certain extent, sublimated”.[19]

Although Visconti's portrayal of the suffering Valastro family does not spare us their misery, there is – despite the deeply depressing story – a certain lyricism in the images that subverts the ideological allegory, to some extent. In this way, Visconti shows a certain continuity between the conditions of the last century, fascism and post-war Italy. You Slogans pro Mussolini, painted after 1945, remain legible on the walls of wholesalers' homes.

From there, Visconti clearly suggests that the new government of the Christian Democrats is not only the heir of the fascists, but also committed to a policy that resists any serious change in the downtrodden south. After all, Antônio, who sets out to become an (autonomous) businessman, follows the acclaimed rules of Christian Democracy, to open his own small business and take his own (economic) risks, not those of the community. This is, of course, one of the reasons why his individualist response to class oppression fails.

On the one hand, Visconti certainly owes much to the opera tradition, particularly in depicting social and emotional struggles. Nowell-Smith goes so far as to suggest that the entire narrative is organized like an opera: “what comes out of the scene are the elements of the action, the style of the setting, the grandeur and subtlety of the music […] the action unfolds slowly. , in a series of paintings, with chorus, solos and duets”.[20]

On the other hand, I still insist on the fact that his aesthetics, his “pictorial realism”, have roots in a bourgeois literary tradition. When, at the end of the film, the defeated Antônio is condemned to return to work on a wholesaler's boat, there is almost a contemplation, an aura of something comforting in the fact that - although Antônio has suffered so much in the course of the narrative - there is still the option to return to sameness and resume the family ritual that has been an essential part of life for generations and generations. The spirit of idyll – perversely twisted – blows around the destroyed hero.

Already in 1965, Pier Paolo Pasolini stated that Neorealism was not – as it was, and still is, put – a cultural regeneration; it was just a crisis, “albeit overly optimistic and enthusiastic at first.”[21] In the Neorealist perspective, says Pasolini: “the fictitious expansion of linguistics remained pascaline, which was a dilation of the ego and a mere lexical enlargement of the world; remained a romantic populism, a way DeAmicis, if you prefer, which was covered up by cultural strata oppressed by nationalist rhetoric; remained by a choice of a hermetic language, or a decadent and classificatory one, to the point where poetics was a precondition, a lyricism beforehand in dealing with reality”.[22]

What is particularly interesting about this quote is how Visconti deals with non-professional actors. The use of formal family portraits as a vehicle for an almost sacred aura is related to the character of Mara, Antônio's sister, who sacrifices her love to dedicate herself to her family. Mara's gestures and looks are so sublime that they seem to be copied from a portrait of a saint. Her posing beauty transcends her suffering.

Bazin has only praise for this solution (albeit praise revealing what Pasolini, ironically, would call another “lyricism”). beforehand in dealing with reality”): “Visconti comes from the theater. He knew how to communicate with actors who were not professionals […] something more than naturalness, a stylization of the gesture that is the crowning achievement of an actor's profession ”.[23]

For a reason I've spent so much time on the stylistics of The earth trembles and its implications: I wanted to place the film not only in the context of post-war Italy and its mode of production, but, above all, in a (literary) tradition that is inscribed in the iconographic system of the cinematographic text. I have already suggested some similarities with Barravento and now I'm going to examine some details of Glauber's film – along the lines established so far to The earth trembles.

Barravento opens with a Marxist affirmation. In a didactic way, the preface establishes the antagonistic movement that will guide the entire course of the film: the contradiction between myth and modernity, religion and economy, superstition and rationality. Visconti's preface – when he explains the use of dialect – turns the voice over irony of the narrator, which is reflected in the events and emotions of the characters in a free indirect speech. Glauber, in turn, almost paternalistically, explains the problem of the black community in Bahia that he is going to describe.

Glauber is quite explicit about his role in his film: “Religion is the opium of the people. Down with the father! Long live the men who fish with nets! Down with the prayers! Down with mysticism!” This radical statement made by the director seems to be – at least in my opinion – strangely dissonant with the development of the narrative of Barravento. Glauber's ambiguous position towards black religion and mysticism, which later transforms into a positive attitude towards candomblé, becomes the strength of his first film.

Like Visconti, he is (stylistically) fascinated by what he is (politically) criticizing. Like Visconti, he shows a certain nostalgia for a kind of rural life he condemns as miserable. Glauber transforms the same “mythical origins”, which he considers the source of the people's suffering, through a frenetic montage. No one would need candomblé to use effective montage techniques – but in Rocha's case, this not only “helps”, but is also used as a tool. The enactment of black religion (as detailed below) becomes an integral part of the organization of mise-en-scène of Glauber and, therefore, a decisive part of its aesthetics – which is the operational structure of the film.

Mainly the use of traditional music is a great example of his practice of making traditional elements more dynamic. In order to reinforce my arguments, I will describe in detail the first scenes (in my opinion the best part of the film), where Rocha superimposes Firmino's arrival on the work process of the people of the village, that is, the fishermen.

This fishing scene starts with a long shot, in which the mise-en-scène is gate of parallel lines. The fishermen are profiled in tune with the coast, the water and the horizon. The image is in balance. The soundtrack, the traditional candomblé chorus, slowly increases in tempo. The second plan, also a general plan, prepares the mise-en-scène for montage conflicts: the row of fishermen forms a diagonal that crosses the parallel composition of the mise-en-scène.

There are two cuts for Firmino, whose musical motif is a solo voice (since he is not part of the community). Glauber starts by cutting the fishing process according to the music. The effect is extraordinary: medium shots of fishermen are shot from the waist up and from the waist down, alternately. The succession of these shots provokes an Eisensteinian conflict: in one shot, the men move the net from the back and left of the image to the front and to the right; in the next, they do the opposite. Even within each shot seen in isolation there is a graphic conflict between the direction of flowing water and the feet of men trying to move against the tide.

The general impression of this montage is that the men never leave the place, on the contrary, they always start the movement from where they started, repeatedly. Basically, the impression is that each new plan throws fishermen back to where they started. Therefore, the montage suggests exhaustion and uselessness, a futile battle with the forces of nature. Glauber manages to do what so admired in William Faulkner’s work, which is the “perpetual movement loaded with contradictions […], this proximity, this search for complete shots carrying all the information.”[24]

His use of candomblé music reinforces this achievement: “The berimbau and the men's chorus take us to the fishermen and then a close-up shot of them is accompanied by music that calls and responds with the lively, incisive rhythm of the drums. These indicate the functional nature of his music – it provides impetus for the work; but the words refer us to their slavery, which expresses gratitude for the marine gift that are fish”.[25]

The rhythm of the candomblé music is “alive, incisive” and fully sustains Glauber's dynamic scene montage, where the song's lyrics point to the fatalistic religion of the community guided by tradition, with its worship of the goddess of the sea, Iemanjá. In other films, he clearly states that music “is the authentic voice of Brazil and its peoples”[26], but in Barravento, music is still an ambiguous part of antagonistic forces that push the narrative forward.

The operating structure of Barravento – which becomes obvious in the dance and fight scenes – has been recognized by the literature[27] and by the director himself: “In Brazil, especially among black people, there is this theatrical representation of their own history. When I portray this aspect, I don't do it out of folklore, nor to apply Brecht's theories... I'm trying to make a musical film, without the structure of a soundtrack [...] That's why I like what we can call "cinema-opera", Welles, Eisenstein”.[28]

Furthermore, Glauber admits that, mainly in terms of mise-en-scène, finds Catholicism and black religions most interesting: “There is also the fact that the religion of blacks has created its own theater in Brazil, its own dramatic structure, performance technique, culture and music”.[29]

Glauber uses these “dramatic structures” typical of black religions to forge the course of the narrative. The important protagonists, such as the santo-de-santo Aruan, the prostitute Cota, Firmino and one of the Candomblé saint-fathers, dance in a circle and introduce their characters to the spectators through a solo in the center.

In a general plan, seen from above, the community appears in a circle – considering Visconti, one could say a choir – which leaves the white girl Naína out. She runs towards the close formation, turns and tries to escape. Firmino follows her and drags her to the dance. But the time for her integration into the community has not yet come; she resists. Firmino gets into a fight with Aruan, whose sanctity he constantly challenges, and they fight capoeira (another artistic ritual rather than "action").

In this sequence, Firmino literally breaks the circle of the community. The pimp dressed in white represents the challenge of rationality and the counterpart for the religious faithful of the village. As the community of The earth trembles, the inhabitants in Barravento they are connected by ties of folkloric “chronotopes”, with their cyclical time. Firmino, in turn, represents the city man who believes in “fragmented time, in frivolity”[30] of urban life, and its message of liberation will later disrupt the ritualistic flow of events within the community. Firmino's mission, like that of Antonio in The earth trembles, is to free its people from economic exploitation, which is reinforced by religion.

At this point, it seems that a more detailed comparison with The earth trembles, by Visconti, will be useful. So far, the stylistic difference between the two directors is obvious: Visconti narrates his story in a paratactic style with long, open shots and depth of field, which reinforces the nostalgic iconography of the Valastros' everyday life.

Glauber, in turn, tells his story through the exhaustive use of montage. For Visconti, says Bazin, each image has its own meaning: “As wonderful as the fishing boats may be when they leave port, they are still just village boats; not as in Potemkin, the enthusiasm and support of the people of Odessa, who sent fishing boats loaded with food to the rebels”.[31]

Eisenstein created symbolism via montage, and his influence on Glauber becomes obvious in this regard. All “actions” in Barravento – like the capoeira scene, not to mention their brilliant montage – are much more staged than represented; they are part of what Glauber called an “interpretation technique”, more the idea of ​​what will happen than the event itself: they are part of the operational, mise-en-scène of black religion with its symbolic codes. Even Firmino, who came to shake and enlighten the community, has to take part in the ritual.

He and Aruan embody the confrontation “between myths and reality, between religion and revolution”.[32] They are representatives of antagonistic symbolic codes, they are almost a visual example of Barthes' metaphor of antithesis as structural forces in symbolic discourse: “the antithesis is the struggle between two plenitudes placed ritually face to face like two armed warriors. […] Every junction of two antithetical terms, every mixture, every conciliation… in short, every passage through the wall of the antithesis… this is how transgression is constituted”.[33]

This transgression is initiated with Aruan's seduction and her body's sexuality: "This transgression is by no means catastrophic [...] and yet his indignation is clear."[34] The secularization of Aruan – superimposed on the frenetic religious ritual – symbolizes the transgression of the sacred into the secularized. The storm of change, the Barravento, is on the loose. In The earth trembles, on the contrary, the storm that destroys the Valastros' fishing boat makes a destructive factor in a high-risk investment. In Barravento, symbolizes desecration and loss of the sacred, but also liberation and enlightenment.

The particular mode of use of Glauber's dialectic is discussed in Van Wert's analysis of the influence of Eisenstein's cinema impact. Van Wert claims that Eisenstein "creates an artificial synthesis for a basically Hegelian dialectic, through a montage imposed by the director, and not through a denotative synthesis within the film".[35] In other words, the third element of the dialectic, synthesis, is absent in Eisenstein's films and is created in the viewers' minds. This is what Van Wert calls "terminal synthesis".

Glauber, in turn, replaces this terminal synthesis with the beginning of another dialectic: “No single opposition is clearly exposed or resolved. It is dialectic more in keeping with Lévi-Strauss's structural conclusion about myth: those irremediable opposites look for factors (analogies) that allow for a mediating factor, which, in turn, becomes one of two opposing factors that will allow for another mediating factor. , and so on, until finally the intellectual impulse behind the myth, but not the myth itself, dies.”[36]

Van Wert's notion of a "dialectical chain", a potentially open dialectic, seems to be quite correct. Firmino and Cota are the initiators of this dialectical process. Together, they re-enact the narrative that drives the myth of the sea goddess who cast a spell over the village. Iemanjá took her victims in the past and reconciled with her chaste husband Aruan. This event was the traumatic origin that structured the mythical conception of the world and the social composition of the village. One of the priests tells Naína this story and part of it in it – which results in the “privileged” position that she and Aruan occupy within the community hierarchy.

while in The earth trembles, the protagonist is expelled from the social order because of his individual actions, exclusion, in the world of Barravento, gives rise to the mythological narration. Firmino, with the help of Cota, “retells” the story of the myth through the “victimization” of one of the members of the village, of his offering to the goddess of the sea. When Chico dies, the sacrifice is repeated; only, this time, it is desecrated and secularized at the same time that Aruan's body is “re-humanized”. When Barravento, the wind of social changes, ends, the world becomes more rational.

What Van Wert calls the “search for analogies that allow for a mediating factor” are the homologous couples Firmino and Cota, Aruan and Naína. The initiators of the dialectic movement transmitted their mission to another mediating factor: Aruan, and his future wife. Aruan embraces Firmino's idea of ​​the liberating dimensions of life in the city, where he finally wants to go to look for work. Naína, on the other hand, completely reverses his movement: while he intends to leave the city, she initiates herself in the ritual of Mãe Dadá. This step seems quite enigmatic: Why – after the spell (and the structure of the myth) is broken – would a white outsider become a member of candomblé? Was not the whole mission of the narrative devoted to the abolition of religion? And why a white one?

About that I can only speculate. Perhaps Glauber wanted to react to the social appeal of Brazil's ruling elite, to raise the population's awareness of “marrying whites”.[37] The marriage of Aruan and Naína, who became a member of candomblé, not only subverts Vargas' Estado Novo with its attempt to repress candomblé, but also makes an alliance of a white woman with the roots of African tradition.

As demonstrated throughout Barravento, Glauber does not kill the myth itself, as Van Wert puts it, but the intellectual impulse behind it. The mythical driver of the narrative as an instrument of exploitation, that is, the intellectual impulse that maintains the oppressed class of network owners was “re-enacted” and “re-read”. Throughout the entire process, Glauber used “instruments of interpretation” of black religion to re-examine black religion itself. By enacting the elements of tradition and making them dynamic via montage, he expels their inherent oppressive meaning without “killing” their form, that is, their ritual.

My conclusion, after comparing The earth trembles e Barravento, is as follows: both Visconti and Rocha are criticizing a political situation with which they do not agree. Both start with a society in which marginalized parts of it are exploited, and both try to analyze the reasons and conditions of this oppression. Both “analyses” are carried out through the use of stylistic registers grounded in specific operational traditions.

In particular, Visconti's aesthetics – his “pictorial realism” – is deeply rooted in the same tradition he accuses of class oppression, the bourgeois tradition which, in this case, is not mirrored in the mechanisms of exploitation – as Lukács would claim – but aesthetically “disguises” them through contemplation in which a certain dose of nostalgia is inscribed. Glauber, on the other hand, criticizes the magical view of the world and its relationship with social organization, but he does so stylistically leaning on an operational tradition – a tradition (black religion) that has been marginalized throughout history. From then on, Glauber's visual style, contrary to Visconti's, is on the side of the history of the oppressed, even if the price is not to get rid of religion, of social opium.

*Alexandra Seibel holds a PhD in Cinema from New York University. Author, among other books, of Visions of Vienna: Narrating the City in 1920s and 1930s Cinema (Amsterdam University Press, 2017).

Translation: Taís Loyal.

Originally published in the magazine Cinemas 10, March/April, 1998.

 

References


The Earth Trembles (La Terra Trema – Episode Del Mare)

Italy, 1948, 160 minutes

Directed by: Luchino Visconti

Assistant directors: Francesco Rosi and Franco Zeffirelli

Screenplay: Luchino Visconti, Giovanni Verga, Antonio Pietrangeli

Cast: Antonio Arcidiacono, Giuseppe Arcidiacono, Venera Bonaccorso

 

Barravento

Brazil, 1962, 78 minutes

Directed by: Glauber Rocha

Screenplay: Glauber Rocha, Luiz Paulino dos Santos and José Teles

Director of Photography: Tony Rabatony

Editing: Nelson Pereira dos Santos

Art Direction: Calazans Neto

Cast: Antonio Pitanga, Luiza Maranhão, Aldo Teixeira, Lucy Carvalho

 

Notes


[1] Cinema Novo vs Cultural Colonialism in The Cineaste Interviews: On the Arts and Politics of the Cinema, edited by Dan Georgakas and Lenny Rubinstein. Chicago, Lake View Press, page 22.

[2] Randal Johnson and Robert Stam, The Shape of Brazilian Film History in Brazilian Cinema, New York, Columbia University Press, 1995, page 49.

[3] Sebastian Dominguez, Brazilian Cinema Re-Awakens: An Interview with Nelson Pereira dos Santos in Film Library Quarterly nº 12, 1979, page 30.

[4] Richard Pena, After Barren Livres: The Ledacy of Cinema Novo. An Interview with Nelson Pereira dos Santos in Reviewing Histories: Selections from New Latin American Histories, edited by Coco Fusco, Buffalo, Hallwalls, 1987, page 49.

[5] William F. Van Wert, Ideology in the Third World Cinema: An Study of Sembene Ousmane and Glauber Rochain Quarterly Reviews of Film Studies, nº 4, 1979, page 225.

[6] Same, page 224.

[7] P. Adams Sitney, Vital Crises in Italian Cinema: Inocography, Stylistics, Politics, Austin, University of Texas Press, 1995, page 63.

[8] Same, page 64.

[9] Same, page 65.

[10] Mikhail Bakhtin, Forms of Time and of the Chronotope in the Novel: Notes toward a Historical Poetics in The Dialogical Imagination, Austin, University of Texas Press, 1981, page 84. See also Robert Stam, Subversive Pleasures: Bakhtin, Cultural Criticism and Film, Baltimore/London, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1989, page 11ff, page 41ff.

[11] balhtin, The Chronotope in the Novel, page 84.

[12] Same, page 224.

[13] Same, page 225.

[14] Ibid.

[15] André Bazin, What is Cinema? Volume 2, Berkeley/Los Angeles/London, University of California Press, 1972, page 43.

[16] Same, page 42.

[17] P. Adams Sitney, Vital Crises in Italian Cinema, page 71.

[18] Idem.

[19] Bakhtin, The Chronotope in the Novel, page 226.

[20] Geoffrey Nowell-Smith, Luchino Visconti, Garden City, New York, Doubleday, 1968, pages 51 to 53. Quoted in P. Adams Sitney, Vital Crises in Italian Cinema, page 61.

[21] P. Adams Sitney, Vital Crises in Italian Cinema, page 174.

[22] Idem.

[23] André Bazin, What is Cinema?, page 44.

[24] Michel Delahaye, Pierre Kast, Jean Narboni, Envisioning Popular Form: Interview with Glauber Rocha in Reviewing Histories: Selections from New Latin American Histories, edited by Coco Fusco, Buffalo, Hallwalls, 1987, page 42.

[25] graham bruce Brazilian Soul: Music in the films of Glauber Rochain Brazilian Cinema edited by Randal Johnson and Robert Stam, New York, Columbia University Press, 1995, page 292.

[26] Same, page 295.

[27] See William F. Van Wert, Ideology in the Third World Cinema: An Study of Sembene Ousmane and Glauber Rochain Quarterly Reviews of Film Studies nº 4, 1979, page 214.

[28] Michel Deloye, Pierre Kast, Jean Barboni, Envisioning Popular Form : Interview with Glauber Rocha in Reviewing Histories: Selections from New Latin American Histories, page 38.

[29] Idem.

[30] Mikhail Bakhtin, The Chronotope in the Novel, page 228.

[31] André Bazin, What is Cinema?, page 42.

[32] William F. Van Wert, Ideology in the Third World Cinema: An Study of Sembene Ousmane and Glauber Rochain Quarterly Reviews of Film Studies, nº 4, 1979, page 219.

[33] Roland Barthes, S/Z, New York, Hill and Wang, 1974, page 27.

[34] Idem.

[35] William F. Van Wert, Ideology in the Third World Cinema, page 214.

[36] Idem.

[37] Abdias do Nascimento and Elisa Larkin do Nascimento. Africans in Brazil: A Pan-African Perspective, Trenton, NJ, Africa World Press, 1992, page 91 ff.

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