Nestled between the action scenes in Bye Bye Brazil (1980) are many brief shots of various sights in the towns and countryside of interior Brazil, areas often unknown to the majority population living along the Atlantic coast. Two images of television antennas are the most significant. These metal “fish bones,” as Lorde Cigano (Gypsy Lord) eventually calls them, signify a dramatic cultural shift for the hinterlands of Brazil as well as economic doom for the five protagonists of Carlos Diegue’s delightful film. It is a time when television is becoming the omnipotent, eventually omnipresent antagonist to the members of the Caravana Rolideí (Holiday): the magician/clairvoyant Gypsy Lord, the Queen of the Rumba Salomé, and strongman Andorinha (Swallow), soon joined by accordionist Ciço and his triangle-playing wife Dasdô, as they bring live entertainment to the backwoods of northeastern and “back-jungle” of northern Brazil. The mission of these itinerant artists is to divert the attention of townspeople from their harsh living conditions and to make some money before moving on. However, in the late 1970s a formidable competitor has begun to emerge – television with its glittery musical programs and romantic soap operas showcasing professional talent from the coastal metropolises of Sao Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. Massive change – some say progress – is spreading to the interior of Brazil, and the audiences of former years – entranced by such simple fare as bombastic speeches, mind-deluding magic tricks, fake clairvoyance, seductive dances, awe-inspiring fire-eating, and impressive metal rod bending – are thinning out or disappearing entirely.
Into each new town the Caravana Rolideí arrives in a tricked-out truck with folksy portraits of the performers painted on a wooden sign towering over the cab. Various decals affixed to the windshield boast: “Only the Driver Is Powered by Alcohol; I’m Not Flashy, But I Like to Hang Out in the Streets; Flirtology; Womanology; It’s Clear That Love and Nonsense Rule Me; Many Horses Under the Hood, Rough Drivers at the Wheel.” On the loudspeaker can be heard the smooth- talking Gypsy Lord promising all manner of delights to be seen that evening: Magical acts that challenge belief, sensual dancing from the Caribbean, and feats of physical strength beyond imagination. His bombastic use of superlatives and inflated promises is worthy of politicians. The Gypsy Lord simply hopes to entice people to pay a pittance to come into their tent for respite from cares and woes.
In one town he declares that he can make the dreams of all Brazilians come true. Naturally, he has predetermined what that dream is – for snow to come to Brazil, something that happens in Europe and the United States, those fabled lands of prosperity. The implication seems to be that after the snow come answers to all those other dreams. Gypsy Lord then intones his version of “Abracadabra!” or “Voilà!” – “Para Vigo Me Voy!” – which releases a shower of grated coconut covering the audience while Bing Crosby sings “White Christmas.”
Like heat following cold, Salomé begins her sensuous dance to the actual tune of “Para Vigo Me Voy,” recorded by Cuban American orchestra leader Xavier Cugat. The men and boys are enraptured with this scantily clad, beautifully “exotic” woman. As always, sex sells.
Unfortunately for Salomé she sometimes has to perform privately for various officials, usually mayors, in exchange for allowing the Rolideí show to pay no fees. She seems rather blasé about not so metaphorically “greasing the palms” of unattractive men. In some ways Gypsy Lord is as much a pimp as a magician. Although he seems to love Salomé and makes love to her at times, he is not possessive and obviously considers her sexual allure as financially and diplomatically useful. At the same time, Salomé seems to be an equal partner in the endeavor and is somehow independent as well as resigned to the reality of their situation.
The sexual situations in the film are a reflection of 1970s cinema as much as they reveal anything about Brazilian society at the time. As in much of the world, the cinematic depiction of nudity and sexual activity was increasingly acceptable, even expected, during that decade. Just a few years before, the worldwide popularity of Dona Flor and Her Two Husbands (R-rated in the US and generally restricted to people 18-years-old and older elsewhere) signaled that shift in Brazilian cinema also. Somehow, even with the military dictatorship that had ruled Brazil since 1964 and would not end until 1985, certain cultural changes were taking place.
In another town near the ocean, where they once made good money, the Caravana Rolideí has an audience of only six adults and four children. After their desultory performance, Salomé and Gypsy Lord go in search of answers to this minuscule turnout. In an imposing building, probably city hall, they find about 75-100 people hypnotized by a program emanating from a rather small TV set housed in a cabinet marked “Televisao Pública.” At this time, the experience of television programs was necessarily and economically communal, just like watching movies in cinemas.
Incensed by the victory of their electronic foe, Gypsy Lord whispers homophobic slurs about TV actors into the ears of the priest on the front row. Salomé more diplomatically hands out Caravana Rolideí flyers. Then, while Gypsy Lord diverts attention with his usual BS-filled spiel extolling their live show, Salomé short circuits the TV set and makes the screen explode. In this ongoing war, they have now devolved into using guerrilla tactics.
A momentary aside: When I lived in Mayagüez, Puerto Rico in 1969-70, there was a large TV set in a cabinet placed outdoors in the Plaza Colón across from the cathedral and city hall. At night, chairs were set up, the cabinet was opened, and about 50 townspeople could enjoy a program together. The town had several movie theaters, but this was the only free entertainment available.
For the Caravana Rolideí a third town seems more hopeful – no fishbones sticking up in the sky. However, a traveling movie exhibitor informs them that the most they might count on are 1-2 days. Also, they won’t get any money, just fruits, vegetables, and other items of barter.
After performing for about 30-40 people, they are suddenly faced with harsh truths. In response to Gypsy Lord’s promise to answer “any question from the audience,” he is confronted with a man stating: “The land is not ours. And it’s not good either. We haven’t had a crop in two years. We’ve made vows, kneeled before the cross. We’ve prayed to Father Cicero for rain. Clouds and thunder have come, but it hasn’t rained. Is God distracted? Or doesn’t he like us?” Gypsy Lord naturally has no answer. He can’t bullshit his way beyond such a dire reality. Glitter, sensuous movements of the hips, entrancing music, and magic tricks can’t erase droughts, crop failures, hunger, poverty, or death.
Another audience member cries out that her husband has recently died and all her other relatives have left town. She wants to know where they are. Gypsy Lord’s response suddenly seems to be the answer for himself and the other members of the group: Altamira! A fabled land that a truck driver had told him about – Altamira, a city in far northwestern Brazil, almost at the end of the Trans-Amazonian Highway – a place where no one has to work, where old people don’t die, where pineapples grow as big as watermelons, where trees are as tall as skyscrapers, and precious stones are just lying on the ground, free for the taking. In short, Altamira is El Dorado, The Golden Place, a fabled land first sought by the earliest Spanish and Portuguese conquistadores of the 16th century. It is akin to Thomas More’s Utopia of the same century. It is heaven on earth!
So, that is where the Caravana Rolideí must go – over 1000 miles away on the Trans-Amazonian Highway, much of it yet unpaved. Along the way they encounter yet another dire situation of 20th century Brazil – a proud but destitute indigenous family. According to a very recent census, there are 391 indigenous groups speaking 295 separate languages in Brazil, mostly in the vast jungles of the Amazon. The Trans-Amazonian highway as well as newer roads have increased contact with these various groups. In the film the head of this small family tells Gypsy Lord they also want to go to Altamira since their tribe has been “ruined by Whites.”
They have apparently become partly assimilated. The mother of the young chief hopes to ride on an airplane. She also carries a boombox that at one point is heard playing the 1950s American song “Bye Bye Love” by the Everly Brothers. Her eager acceptance of a particular soft drink exemplifies the Coca-Colonization of Brazil. A White point-of-view regarding the indigenous population had already been revealed earlier in the film when a truck driver, the one who told Gypsy Lord about Altamira, joked about how the “Indians were being dealt with by dropping dynamite from airplanes on their villages.” Assimilation or destruction as “progress” spreads across the Amazonian rain forests.
Once in Altamira Diegues depicts another element of ethnic relations in Brazil. An African Brazilian talks freely with Gypsy Lord but relegates the indigenous chief to his assistant. The socio-economic totem pole is clearly carved – White Brazilian, Black Brazilian, Native Brazilian. Diegues had explored ethnicity, especially the historical situation of Blacks, in his earlier Cinema Novo films such as Ganga Zumba (1963). It should be noted that enslaved Blacks were not granted freedom in Brazil until 1888, 25 years after Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation. Diegues certainly doesn’t ignore racial disparities in Bye Bye Brazil, but that is not his principal focus in the film.
Altamira does not turn out to be paradise for Caravana Rolideí either. Fishbones abound. A local cinema is showing a Hong Kong martial arts film and a Brazilian sex comedy, so surprises, action, strength, and sex in entertainment are already available to the populace. What can the Caravana offer the townspeople?
Even worse, Altamira brings their downfall as their truck is lost on a bet that Gypsy King made over an arm-wrestling match between Swallow and a muscular man who beats him. The kind-hearted mute muscleman is so ashamed and guilt-ridden that he disappears and does not want to be found.
The remaining four members of the troupe go back east to Belém, not to present their show, but to depend entirely on the prostitution of Salomé and unexpectedly, Dasdó. However, Ciço proves to be a more honorable man than Gypsy Lord and prevents his wife from entering the trade. Instead, they leave.
Fortunately the film doesn’t end there. Diegues had better ideas in mind with a finale in Brazil’s modernist capital Brasilia. A few years have passed. The final scene opens on a flickering image of Ciço on television. He is dressed in an all-white sequined suit topped off by the distinctive hat of musicians from Northeastern Brazil. He is deftly playing his big accordion in the style of Luiz Gonzaga.
Interrupting his exuberant music played for about 100 happily dancing couples is a familiar sound – the voice of Gypsy Lord on his loudspeaker announcing the arrival of the Caravana Rolidey (now ending with a “y” rather than an “i”, thanks to “some gringo’s correction”). Ciço goes outside to find that is not the only change in the Caravana. It is now transported in a Fiat truck with a flashing neon sign and a large trailer containing three women dancers singing “Para Vigo Me Voy.” Thanks to a monetary windfall secured by smuggling “ore” in Belém, Gypsy Lord is resplendent in a glittery white tuxedo and top hat. Nude female figures are outlined on the sides of the large truck and a flashing neon hand switches to a one-fingered salute for anyone driving behind the Caravana.
When invited to rejoin Gypsy Lord and Salomé, the once lovestruck Ciço turns them down but wishes them well. They drive off, headed to Rondonia, a vast indigenous territory, where ironically they will be committing their own brand of cultural intrusion. Salomé is driving the truck while Frank Sinatra sings “Brazil” (another cultural “loan,” originally composed as “Aquarela do Brasil” by Ary Barroso in 1939).
As Ciço re-enters the club, Dasdó at his side, we are treated to a big, beautiful sign proclaiming “O Famoso Ciço, the Best Accordionist of the Plateau.” For the filmmaker Ciço must represent his hope for the future of Brazil. The musician’s life has vastly improved because of his talent and dreams. Along with that hope, Diegues included a message after the final credits: “Ao povo brasileiro do século XXI” (“Dedicated to the Brazilian people of the 21st century”). He was able to witness a lot of changes and hopefully improvements in the lot of many Brazilian lives before his death last year at the age of 84 with 30 films and over 20 international film awards to his credit.
