Saturday, April 15, 2017
105 - Black Orpheus, 1959, France, Italy, Brazil. Dir. Marcel Camus.
Something exploded at the color factory.
Blame it on Rio.
Rio de Janeiro, that is.
It is Carnaval.
Time for color. Lots of rich, lush, beautiful colors.
Filmed in Eastmancolor.
Time for music and singing and dancing and revelry.
Composed by Antonio Carlos Jobim.
The boy who loved the girl from Ipanema.
Who wrote this music before he wrote that music.
Who was responsible for making at least two styles of music international sensations.
Blame it on the Bossa Nova.
And the Samba.
And a soundtrack that will not stop.
Or just stop all the blaming and shut up and dance.
Because when you watch this film, that is exactly what you will find yourself doing.
On a high hill overlooking the deep blue sea.
In a landscape so picturesque you almost expect Icarus himself to crash this story just to fall into that beautiful sea in the background.
But this is not his story.
It is someone else's tragedy.
Tomorrow.
Today, it is time for celebration.
Eurydice is coming.
She is trying to get away.
Trying to escape a man. Someone seems to be after her. Seems to want to kill her. Why?
Maybe she can visit her cousin. Serafina.
Maybe she can hide with her.
And be safe.
She takes the streetcar.
A streetcar with no name.
And meets Orpheus. The conductor. As they go to the end of the line.
He goes by Orfeu.
In beautiful Brazilian Portugese.
He tells her how to get to Serafina's street.
She goes.
He goes to Mira. His fiancée. His fiancée because she told him so. She tells him a lot of sos.
Orfeu is beloved in these parts. Today is the day before Carnaval. Everyone is putting together his or her costume. And mask. And preparing to celebrate.
Orfeu has got some money cause he just got paid.
But this is not just another Saturday night. This is Carnaval!
He wants to get his guitar out of hock.
He needs it to play and sing.
All the children know that when he plays, the sun comes up.
Orfeu and Mira go to the licensing office to get their wedding license. Get it because she told him so.
Now she wants an engagement ring. He needs to buy her one. Buy one because she told him so.
Who cares about your guitar?
She decides to buy the ring herself. And make him pay her back. He will owe her.
Do you see where this relationship is headed?
Orfeu has lady friends. They are platonic. But they love him the way lady friends love the local golden boy.
He is important to their community. He is beloved.
One of his lady friends runs interference with Mira to allow him time to escape to practice his guitar for Carnaval.
The boys sit and watch. Benedito and Zeca. They look up to him. They want to be like him.
When he plays, the sun comes up.
It is not too much of a stretch to guess that Orfeu will end up with Eurydice.
And that the man who wanted to kill her--let's call him Death--will succeed.
And that Orfeu will try to bring her back.
And almost will.
But will look back.
And lose her.
And will lose himself.
After all, this is Orpheus and Eurydice we are talking about.
But what a retelling.
The energy. The dancing. The giving over of one's self to life. LIFE! The joy of living. The joy of being alive.
Someone start some Samba.
Somebody play some Boss Nova.
I think I want to dance.
* * * * *
Blame it on the Bossa Nova.
Antonio Carlos Jobim was born in 1927.
In 1932 he was moved to the beachside community of Ipanema in Rio de Janeiro. He would celebrate that community in song for the rest of his life.
In 1935 his father died, and his mother would go on to remarry.
His new stepfather bought him a piano and encouraged him.
Let me say that again.
His new stepfather bought him a piano and encouraged him.
Let that sink in.
He grew up playing in clubs and arranging music.
In 1962, at the age of 35, Antonio Carlos Jobim helped to make the Samba an international sensation.
In 1963 he did the same thing with the Bossa Nova.
He played piano while recording his own compositions with jazz saxophone player Stan Getz, guitarist Joao Gilberto, and Gilberto's ~then-wife, singer Astrud Gilberto.
In 1964 they released the album Getz/Gilberto and its international super-hit "The Girl from Ipanema," a song as silky as it is complex.
But before all that, in 1956, he composed the music for the play Orpheus of the Conception, which premiered in Rio de Janeiro
He returned in 1959 to compose a completely different score and different songs for the film Black Orpheus.
The rest is history.
And worth listening to.
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