GRAMADO 2004: 32o Festival de Cinema Brasileiro e Latino

16 August 2004, 4:50 pm: In the center of Gramado--a small town in the Serra Gaúcha, the mountains of southern Brazil--is a short stretch of commercial street that is covered with a hard plastic canopy. In a few minutes, at 5:00 pm, on this Monday evening in August, this "rua coberta" will witness the official opening of the 32nd Festival of Brazilian and Latin Cinema, the most important annual event of its kind for Brazil's commercial film industry. A crowd of the curious is lined up behind barriers along the street while two young women in blue smocks madly clean the red carpet set out in the center. Minutes ago, the last posters went up in front of the Palácio dos Festivais, the huge theater with a Bavarian look where the official competition takes place. A golden smiling "kikito"--official symbol of the festival and the name of the statuette awarded to its winners--has been attached to the top of a white plastic marquee under which officials will doubtless march. I stand and watch to see what will happen.

5:10 pm: Music comes from the loudspeakers--something must be about to happen. At the other end of the one-block covered street, the orchestra from Porto Alegre's Pablo Komlósis Conservatory is still warming up--on the far side of a bigger-than-life photograph of the "Splendid," Gramado's first movie theater, built in the 1930s and now long gone. The red carpet leads up to and through the cut-out doors of the "Splendid" so that people can see through the photograph. The town of 28,500 inhabitants is celebrating its 50th birthday as an independent city this year and local history is a focus for celebration. The "Splendid" looks more like a big wooden barn than a movie palace--typical perhaps in the old days for this farming, logging, and furniture-making area known for its cool climate, clean air, forests, chocolate, and tourists.

The orchestra has started playing--the strings are playing "Moon River"; beyond the "Splendid" while soldiers (could they be real?) take their place at this end. The soldiers look to have come out of some operetta with their golden helmets, white jackets, blue gaucho pants (yes, really), black boots. The orchestra has dropped "Moon River" and moved on to practice bits and pieces of other music.

The sun is getting low in the sky--it's only 5:15 pm, but this is winter in Brazil, although no one needs more than a light sweater right now. I'm told that there's an occasional bit of snow in the air in a lucky August. Having grown up in upstate New York, I don't need snow to make me feel lucky. Especially not in August.

How many people are here for the films? how many are here just for the show? How many have ever seen a Brazilian film in a Brazilian movie theater? hard to know... Certainly there's enthusiasm here for Brazilian movies, even if you have to hunt for such films in normal Brazilian theaters.

The blue-smocked ladies make one more pass with their brooms. Someone must fear the Governor or the Mayor will spot some dust somewhere. That just would not do in this town settled by German and Italian immigrants. Maybe the red carpet is from last year's festival and is being used again this year. But it looks pretty clean to my North American eyes.

The orchestra starts up another piece. Cacophony. Or are they just warming up while we wait for The-Yet-To-Be-Determined Event?

The soldiers hold spears with red banners attached to the tops. Red, green, and blue ribbons at their waists move gently in the wind. On either side of the entrance to the Palácio stands a fifteen-foot bronze-colored statue of a man staring out at the crowd. One, Oscarito, the legendary Brazilian actor, holds a "kikito" while the other, Eduardo Abelin, a pioneer of cinema in southern Brazil, points with outstretched arm towards a place where nothing is happening.

The children are starting to look a little bored. Come to think of it, the rest of us are getting bored too. But the blue smocks have gone. it must be time.

"Boa tarde!" A complimentary chocolate kikito is placed in my hand as a bit of a Verdi aria fills the air. This time it's for real. And the chocolate tastes wonderful.

Meanwhile, our attention is drawn again to music from the other end of the street, beyond the "Splendid." At our end, near the palácio, workers are still installing lighting under the white plastic marquee. This is really going to be close. It's 5:20 pm. Did I miss the opening event twenty minutes ago?

The lighting turns out to be a massive bronze chandelier. And the music turns out to be the theme from the "Pink Panther." The crowd loves both.

I look at the (now exceptionally clean) red carpet. "Will the 'artistas' be walking down the carpet in front of us?" a 20-year-old fan asks me. (Do I look like I would know?) "No idea," I admit, "it's my first time here." But it's certainly set up that way. Across the way, a man and his wife stand waiting, watching, talking and passing back and forth a small white dog who looks like he'd rather be someplace else.

More movie music, American, from the orchestra. Three shoeshine boys tap along to the music on the wooden boxes they've mounted on their shoulders--and try to drum up a little business as well. At 12, it's hard to make a living.
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Back to Verdi--maybe La Forza del Destino? it would certainly be appropriate in a town whose mayor is named Bertolucci. Wait a minute, that's not Verdi, it's Bizet. Carmen. My music teacher would flunk me for mixing up those two, but it looks like I've done so. Yes, it's definitely Carmen.
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What's this? up by the operetta soldiers, a four-foot bronze dog with wings has taken his place on the red carpet near the entrance. The soldiers, their banners, and their ribbons continue their labors unperturbed. A photographer moves the dog a bit to get a better shot. And now the dog is gathered up by an official and carried back inside.

Mayor Bertolucci's turn now at the other end of the covered street. A carefully composed speech, thanking all the people who are responsible for this event that is the highlight of winter in Gramado. But I'm not sure who listens to such speeches, necessary as they are. It's part of the setting for a festival, taking its rightful place with the winged dog, the be-ribboned soliders, and the blue-smocked ladies. Not to mention the public and the press.

The next speaker, Germano Rigotto, governador of the state of Rio Grande do Sul, actually has something to say. But is anyone listening? About cinema as being an art of the eternel present, tied nonetheless to the past and to the future. That cinema is always of the present moment, that it is a special means of expression and for critical reflection about society and about democracy. And that it is a reason for hope here in Gramado and in Brazil. Yes, there is applause, but it seems that most of the people just want the party to begin. The little white dog is getting impatient. The man hands him off to his wife while beyond them, the coffee cups and beer glasses are filled once more.

6:00 pm. The speeches continue. The crowd is getting louder and larger. It's difficult to imagine anyone can hear--but no one is trying very hard. Except the speaker's friends. This is an election year in Brazil and no politican can afford to waste an opportunity when the press is present.

This can't last much longer (can it?) since the opening film is supposed to start at 6:30. Ah, but that's the wrong mentality. What does 6:30 mean?

The little white dog is barking. He's ready to go home. And he's apotted a toy poodle on our side.

The speaker hasn't finished, but the chandelier and all the other freshly installed lights are on now at our end of the street. It's a miracle--they all work. The stage is set. Even if Act I isn't quite over at the other end of the street, we're ready down here!

The lights go on over the red carpet from one end of the rua coberta to the other. A sign for the officials to finish up their speeches. The orchestra starts to play the Brazilian anthem and then the journalists and photographers come through the "door" of the "Splendid" and make their way down the street, ready to take pictures of the artistas.

Now I get it! everybody who's got a ticket for tonight's opening film (40 R$, about $US13.50) gets to walk thorugh the door and down the clean clean red carpet, past the soldiers, past the throngs, under the brass chandelier, and into the Palácio dos Festivais. Everyone! I walk to the end of the line and join in. It's time for Gramado's 32nd Festival of Brazilian and Latin Cinema. Time for everyone who managed to get their ticket for forty reais.

Even the music has changed tone: Tristeza não tem fim--but let's everybody enjoy the film-mania for a little while. Even if it's all over in just a few days and the red carpet has to go back in storage with the statues, the bronze dog, the chandelier, and the soldiers' ribbons. Welcome, bem-vindos, to Gramado!