O Homem do Pau-Brasil (1982) - full transcript

Fantasy comedy about Brazilian writer Oswald de Andrade, one of the most important icons of Modernism in Brazil. In the film, Oswald is played by two actors: Ítala Nandi, as his feminine ...


Did you like it?

Please, two by two.

Madame is tired, please.

We're theater critics.

We came to see the show
and to interview you.

But, after seeing you dance,
we are speechless.

How lucky that your wandering
genius brought you to Brazil.

It seems you were born dancing...

touching the five corners
of the world

with your scandalous personality.

Before my birth,

my mother was deeply depressed.

Her state was so tragic...

that she could only
eat oysters...

and drink iced champagne.

When asked when
I began to dance

I reply: In my mother's womb...

perhaps as a result of the oysters
and of the champagne...

...Aphrodite's food.

Thank you.

You were superb!

How nice of you to come.

Let's go!

My folks almost made me into...

a mystic Puritan...

prepared for heroism

and definitely removed...

...from any sensual expression.

When I started to dance,
as a child...

I was moved by an
interior urge...

...the joy that ran
through my nerves...

...was so strong...

...that the simple idea
of physical contact...

...even imaginary
made me shiver with ecstasy.

And I swooned...

...awaiting the sting,
both sweet...

...and painful of pleasure.

I wanted to scream.

As if all the fibers of my body...

...were waiting for...
the apex of love...

...which lasts but an instant.

As if all my nerves...

...vibrated so intensely...

...that I no longer knew if
I was enjoying an endless joy...

...or a pain without reprieve.

I felt these sensations...

...so languid and terrible...

it seemed pleasure would kill me.

And I swooned.

My soul was a battlefield...

over which Apollo and Dionysus...

Christ, Nietzsche...

and Richard Wagner

fought for my possession.

It's Dorot?ia.

She lives with us.

She also dances.

How old is she?


There are thousands like her.

Here, it was for you.

Her panties!

Give me a sniff?

What the hell is this?

What's that in your hand?

That's what I'd like to know!

If I'm not mistaken,
it's a pair of panties...

...medium size,
your size, actually.

It was next to the front door.

You've gone crazy!

Has someone bitten your ass?

One of your panties was
next to the front door...

...through which you should
have left a long time ago!

But, I don't use panties.

What's this panties story
that's driving Lala mad?

- She's imagining things...
- Don't hide it... Show me!

Has anyone seen the panties
I've just bought?

It was just a cloth
hanging outside...

Lala is dumb.

To work, Dorot?ia.

Let's do number one.


One, two, three and four...

It's the romanticized intellect...

...that chooses the poetic themes.

But the poem can be born
from an onion...

...or from a lost love.

It doesn't need night or darkness

nor solitude...
nor silent hours...

It can be inspired by a sunset...

...or by a smokestack.

By a woman's divine body...

...or by the polished hood
of a Cadillac.

Blaise Cendrars...

one of today's greatest poets...


"The woman?

But what about irony?"

Haven't the modern poets picked...

Einstein's theories...

...sports, soccer,
the telegraph...


and nightclubs...
as sources of lyrical impulses?

This noisy opera plays
on the stage of our century:

The man on the street.

Let's play it!


Thank you. Thank you.

"...Provoked by a sunset..."

"...or by a smokestack..."

"...by a woman's divine body..."

"...or by the divine body of
a Cadillac."

Figures my friend, just figures.

"Everything is vital,
there are no poetic themes."

"The poem can be born from an onion...

...or from a lost love."

"Poet Guilherme de Almeida,
Still In Love With The Telephone"

"Luis Aranha Shocks Lover
With Electric Poem"

"Freedom of choice enriches
the modern poet."

"He can use everything:
Scientific discoveries..."

"The poet, no longer in
his ivory tower..."

...receives the telegram of
Intelligence in the tramway."

Anything eminently lyric.
Everything is pertinent!"

"On the stage of our century..."

"...we play this noisy opera..."

"that of the man on the street.
Let's play it!"

Publish it!

Take off your hat.

You take it off!

Let's stop daydreaming
And invest in ourselves!

We need basic orientation.

For instance: The question of
Impersonality in art.

We need to solve it.

We must clarify
some shocking stories...

...like the one between
Victor Hugo and Saint-Boeuf.

- If true, we must start from zero.
- I decided to study seriously.

Rehabilitate my ignorance.

Portuguese, arithmetic,
ballistics etc.

There's only one way
to boost my moral:

Cutting off this carrot
that God gave me!

I had a completely idiotic idea:

To bugger the poet Fontes!

We, his admirers,
went to see him yesterday.

He thinks that here,
there's no public opinion.

He says he's a victim
of intrigues and scandals.

I got a hard-on.

It's time to take an
ir-re-vo-cable decision!

To hell with Lala's jealousy...

...and the kid's eternal bronchitis...

It's time to jilt her!

But with style!

And Dorot?ia?

A goddess who descended onto earth.

You should have seen her
Dance of the Elephants. Mimed.

A true genius!

The other day,
she showed me her tits.


If there was a double
or triple force... multiple...

To touch all balls at once.

"Under the forceful penis
of Herr Eckstein..."

You waste too much light reading.

Do you want us to be ignorant?

Here, drink up.

It's a ginger and cinnamon punch.

What are you insinuating?

- And the day before yesterday?
- Three days ago...

"During Herr Eckstein's embraces,
she felt..."

"...the contact of his penis
on her body."

- What's that?
- Freud.

"This revolting perception
was repressed..."

"...and substituted in her memory..."

"...by the innocent sensation
of a pressure on her breasts."

"Dora then evoked the most
tender scene of her infancy..."

"...where she sucked
her nurse's breast..."

"...while pulling rhythmically..."

"...at her little brother's penis."

"Clearly, the primary erogenous object;
or the nipple..."

"...was substituted by..."

"...the sexual organ at hand:"

"Herr Eckstein's penis."

"We further observe
that this perverse fantasy..."

"...of penis sucking..."

"...has an innocent origin..."

"...as a remote memory
of the mother's or nurse's breast."

"In other cases,
the teats of certain cows..."

"...play an intermediate role..."

between the breast
and the penis."

What's this?

A surprise.

It's a new spermicidal.

Science's latest find!

It'll help us a lot.

It's fool-proof.
A great contraceptive.

Must one stick it up?

Just a bit.

No, it's not poetic.

Don't be old-fashioned.

It's the latest thing.

Most modern people are using it.

- Just a little!
- No!

An umbrella can hide
such feelings...

I'm terribly alone.

Dorot?ia, you're a bright angel...

...the dancer of mystic tangos.

The spring from where
poetry flows.

Even without knowing you,
everyone admires you!

Alone, but surrounded
by the greatest honor...

The applause of
the literary youth!

I can't bear it anymore!
That woman isn't my mother.

She falsified my papers,
it's all fake!

She says I'm wasting my time
with you.

That I could have
princes in my bed.

Let's escape to Ethiopia!

I'll abandon everything,
but you leave the old witch!

They want to kill love,
To subvert the pole...

To quench the thirst
I have for another.

They come from all sides.

If he comes, I'll defend you.

If she comes, I'll fight.

If they all come,
with raining arrows...

I will defend you!

You don't want to marry me.

I can't, my sweet.

Not even Lala I married,
with a son and all...

Haven't you heard my father?
He'd disinherit me.

I need time.

I won't live in the
boarding house!

It's a good home, my child.

We'll spend Carnival there.

Perhaps then, some people
will make up their minds...

Why do you only squirt
the others?

Why do you squirt everyone
but me?

I squirt who I want to.

The perfume squirter is mine!
Biriba gave it to me!

You don't love me.

You suffocate me.
I'm leaving for Rio.

I'm going to star in a movie.

Which film?

Love and Patriotism.

Who is the idiot directing it?

None of your business!
I'm leaving forever.

Get out of my life!

A whore a thousand times over!

Our great love,
killed by jealousy.

My kingdom for a wheelchair.

I've become the critic
of my own tragedy.

She could have left a letter,
written in violet.

Our love should've been protected.

Now, anything is possible.

Jails, courts, asylums...

The electric chair.

Madam Corina!
What a pleasure. Please sit down.

I had to come
and compliment you, Dr. Coelho.

Your poem about the little dog
that was raped in the street...

How moving!

That description
of the moral suffering...

...of that little animal!

How humane!

Moreover, it seems to me,
the poem is ironic.

I haven't penned it unfortunately...

The author died recently
in that absurd accident...

Was it he who visited Italy
and fell into Mount Vesuvius?

How extraordinary!

My friends, the surprise...

...I've been saving.

Dorot?ia, the future
and promising star...

...of Love and Patriotism...

...a very important
Brazilian film.

This young girl will enchant us...

...with the magic whirlwind
of her art...

...reproducing the splendor
of the divine inner flame...

...of the bacchants of the spirit.

At the piano, her eminent mother.

Dance, Dorot?ia...

...the rising sun
of our national art.

My dream is to deserve
the applause of the families.

She doesn't answer in S?o Paulo.

That third generation whore!

For me, man is a microcosm...

...a summary of the Earth.

And thus guided by
immutable eternal laws.

I agree with these ideas...

...corroborated by science.

However there are eruptions,


Dorot?ia is my Etna in bloom.

The most extraordinary of whores!

She left for Rio without paying
the boarding house.

She's still there
frequenting the worst literary circles,

the highest degree
of national idiocy!

Let's trip them!

Let's fix them up in great style!

We'll do no literary politics.

Just intrigue.

Down with rich rhymes
and poor ideas!

We'll create the modern woman.

Cecil B. De Mille killed
the bad French theater.

Soaked, sick...

...rheumatized by a tradition...

...of artistic tears...

We demand surgery!

Removal of the tear glands!

Down with the yawn
as an aesthetic sensation!

And long live dizzying audacity!

We want athletic Dulcineas.

Don Quixote was a great athlete
in the wrong century.

Today, he would be
a champion horseman!

We don't care about being new.
We're contemporary.

Brazil wasn't discovered
by chance!

The intellectual sanitation begins.

Long live us! Down with the others!
Summon the intellectuals...

...even that dull Aranha.

The modernist revolution
has begun!

Agile the theater,
son of the acrobat!

Agile and illogical.
The novel born from invention.

Agile, our everyday poetry
The Brazilwood poetry!

Our themes shall be
the struggles

taking place in this huge city.

Workers fighting
for their rights...

The bourgeoisie defending
its savings.

Bureaucrats backsliding
on the rails of state rules...

Manufacturers competing
with each other.

Aristocrats showing off.

Politicians ascending.

Women breaking their secular handcuffs.

Poetry exists in facts.

The green slums and shacks...

...under the tropical sky,
are aesthetic facts!

Carnival is the religious
event of the people.

Barbarous and ours!

Synthesis, invention...

...a new perspective, a new code.

Language without archaisms,
or erudition...

...the millionaire contribution
of errors!

We speak as we are.

I insult the bourgeoisie.

The bourgeois-money,
the bourgeois-bourgeois.

S?o Paulo's good digestion.

The bent-man. The rump-man.

The ever-cautious side...

The scholarly side,
the fatality of the first white...

...landing and dominating
the savage jungle.

Everyone to the center
of my inebriating rancor.

Red rage, fecund rage,
cyclic rage.


Out with the good bourgeois!

Imagine, I dreamt
I had a sex change...

...and I was your fianc?.

It's the downfall.

If I do nothing,
I'll lose myself.

I must act energetically at once.

Kidnap Dorot?ia and get married
at the police station.

Yes, I have a plan.
I can't let her finish this film.

She'll be forced to kiss that
idiot hero at the end, as always.

We're going to Rio today.

We'll have a truck
at the hotel's entrance.

You'll pretend to be filming.

I already rented
the truck and the camera.

I arrive in a taxi...

...club the old lady
and grab Dorot?ia.

If anyone asks for help,
you scream: It's a film!

...and nobody will react.

Camera! Action!

The next day, in the headlines:

"Star Honored By The Hardness
Of The Tropics."

Below, a photo of the kiss...

...with an obvious erection.

I warned her that the camera lens...

...would soil her for good.

Yesterday I weakened,
and I buggered Lal?.

But my attitude is now
absolutely stoic.

Total abstinence, isolation,
serious studies.

I spend days locked in my study.

By the way, yesterday

...a true Adonis moved
across the street.

I've been planted here
for two hours!

Didn't you get my telegram?
Where's the other one?

Outside, waiting.
He didn't want to come in.

Why? What's the matter with him?

Now, come!

Not only that photo appeared
in the paper...

...but he was there, he saw it.

Saw what?

That kiss in
Love and Patriotism...

...the leading man with
the hard-on.

Who had a hard-on?

Look, don't play innocent.

The leading man got a hard-on
while shooting...

it was in the papers...
Everyone saw it.

You call that nothing?

It's not my fault!
Was it my prick?

Let's say that a prick is not your
most notable attribute.

But the fact that certain pricks
have been your property...

...more or less private,
for more or less time...

...is a fact.

You've always thought
that I'm a whore, haven't you?

If I had the fare,
I'd take the first train.

And really become one.

It's not my fault
the guy got a hard-on!

Maybe it is, maybe it isn't.

a slight touch is enough.

Or even a look.

The film stinks.

The actor is even more stupid
than the director.

They didn't even pay me.

My dance was crummy.

The critics ridiculed it.
My friends vanished.

I was unfaithful to you.

I went out with men...

...who chased me insistently.

Mother begged me.

Nothing much happened.

But I was unfaithful
to our dream.

I no longer deserve
the life we dreamed of.

Dorot?ia, our dream is invincible.

These critics from Rio are fools.

You're a sly angel. An artist.

We'll launch your career
in S?o Paulo.

And at the Opera, no less.

We'll bribe all the critics.

Thank you.

Thank you for coming.

The critics from Rio were unfair...

...with our young dancer.

You will now see a spectacle...

...of great simplicity.

You, the critics from S?o Paulo...

...will recognize the talents
of our little Dorot?ia.

The show is starting!

My legs are paralyzed.

I can't dance.

Don't be a smart ass.

The critics are waiting. Dance!

What's up?

She's got a nervous paralysis...

The number is starting.
Dance! Immediately!

No dead weight!

- Hold on!
- Go!

Please excuse us,
but she's not well.

It's purely psychological.

- Back off!
- Son of a bitch!

Get up, you're heavy!

Quick, the Juvenile Court!

- Bitch!
- Cads!

Out of my way,
I want to speak to the judge.

- Speak to my lawyer...
- Is she a minor?

It's a serious affair.
She's my client.

It's not allowed to put
anything on this table!

What's going on here?

Your honor, this child is being
exploited and debased...

...by this woman who says
she's her mother, but isn't.


- The poor girl's just fainted...
- This woman is a pimp...

An exploiter, a shrew...

They abducted my daughter!
Bandits! You fakes!

Get up at once!

I'm this ingrate's mother,
Your Honor.

I can prove that these
are creeps!

This one's a scorpion
and that one a red spider.

I can explain it, Your Honor!

The minor will be
put in a reformatory.

Oh, no! For Christ's sake!
I'm her mother!


What relationship have you got
with the minor?

- Where's the father or the tutor?
- I'm the mother!

Enough! Quiet!

I must proceed to the
gynecological exam.

Your Honor, is this
really necessary?

Don't spread your legs!

Spread them!

Let go of me! Let go!

Take this man off me!

It's good to see you.


Did you believe that story?

Look at my belly.
You really believe I'm pregnant?

Only if by God.
Now I'm God's bride.

I belong to Him only.

I can't stay long.

Put this on your father's grave.

Will you leave me
this newspaper?

I'd like the photo
as a keepsake.

You'll excuse me...

...but the Parnassians
are totally obsolete,

verse machines.

Times changed.

Recently a businessman cashed
the same check several times...

...with the aid of photo-collage.

An innovation in Brazil, finally!

Do tell me everything, quickly.

Despite the booing,
the Art's Week was a success.

Henceforth, no one will dare
to write prettily!

You can't be circumspect...

...if you want to renovate art:

One doesn't need to be boring
to be serious.

So nice of you to come.
We must talk.

Social snobs open their doors
to modern art.

My dear Branca Clara...

When one begins to fancy
our stores? windows...

...it's time to re-visit Paris.

I want to escape, leave.

I don't know,
play golf, badminton...

...have fun, go wild!

We, the modern poets...

...are the aspirins of madness
and junkyards.

The 'Cloud-Breaker'
is pulling anchor soon, as you know.

We could travel together.

Wonderful! When do we leave?


Branca Clara...

...what could be awaiting us
after so many waiting rooms?

I'm a loner, my dear sirs.
Bored in First Class.

Existence means little to me.

S?o Paulo, Paris, Luxor, Ashwan...

...the dams of the Upper Nile...

...nothing satisfies me.

Life is dull, my friends.

Yes, next to you, Madam.

But, take this little red purse.

It'll make you look like a hussy.

Perhaps not very elegant
in the street, in daytime.

But, at night, in bed...

I only ask an "apr?s-minuit"
of your life.

What is an "apr?s-minuit" anyway?

We'll part at 1 a. M...

but you'll carry in your body
the pride...

...of having made love
to a modern poet.

You enchant me.

Stop. Don't bewitch me...

For your Mother's soul sake...

I'd like to fill your pockets...

...with loaded,
drugged cigarettes.

Hold the hairs
of your hairless body...

...the belly that points
to the cold center of the Earth.

My dear Sir,
all men whoever came near me...

...went limp! All of them!

I'm completely anxious.

I dreamt I had sex...

...with Jesus Christ
and other gods!

Don't you think that's too much?

You know what I think of you, Madam?

That you're your own victim.

An impassive victim.

Explain everything, please.

Simple, Madam.

You should leave us
sufficient space...

...for a few cynical jabs
of psychoanalysis.

I permit everything, gentlemen.

Except one thing...

A capricious personality...

...never finding happiness...

...calmly surrendered
to pleasure...

to the ephemeral pleasures...

An analysis and then some...

You've already suffered too much.

Don't you see that's over?

You're in a state...

...that can be truly dangerous...

Not for yourself...

...but for the rest
of the male mankind.

Our faith in life...

...could be useful to you
in this delicate moment.

Our permanent dynamite
of willpower...

Why restart this endless game?

For me, it's like potato race...

I'm not interested.

If you like...

...send a written
declaration of love to my cabin.

It's the night watchman.
A message for Madam Branca Clara.

Come in and read it.

It's long!

Read it.


..."our pride crumbled..."

"...before the chirping
of your gestures."

"Meanwhile, note
that from these words..."

"carelessly put down on paper,
like a billionaire's gold..."

"...on a roulette wheel,"

"rises, like a phallus
inside the pants..."

"...the hard nerve of a personality".

"You, on the other hand,
are a gutless chicken..."

"...only interested
in two things:"

"Greyhounds and chewing gum".

"Since tender childhood,
we've endured..."

"...the battle
of the crocodiles..."

"...and of the earthworms
of our native country".

"You look for exterior beauty..."

"...while we, on the contrary,
search for the beauty within".

"You are given to whims..."

"...while we, to the masculine fight".

"In our free time, we practice..."

"...hitting below the belt".

"This stand-offish happiness
that we protect..."

"...was achieved, like by
the other men,"

"through humiliations
and piracy."

"It is in fact, made of pacts
with the non-existent".

"But tonight, love hits us."

"From the bridge
of the Transatlantic..."

"...we see this
humiliating mardi-gras..."

"...of all these fools

"...we compare the solar scorn..."

"...of our new friend..."

"...lying, by now,
in her orthopedic bed..."

"...with all the rest".

"Signed: Oswald".

St Joseph...

Patron Saint of Fools.

What a kiss.

It went all the way down...

How I miss
Miss Bankhurst's advice.

Whatever he wants, it's there.

I gave him all.
For the first time.

My spherical breasts, my belly.

But he has obstinate hands.

He wants to get there,
at the division of my being.

He made me play
with his perfume squirter.

He licked my pussy.

I never knew it was so nice.

And the other way around...

Good idea, Captain.

Such an ing?nue...



Starboard, shit!

Branca... Branca Clara.

Why this anesthetic suicide?

To love is vulgar, dear sir.


Thank you, I'm full.

I just want to wash my hands
and take a piss.

An eggnog?

I'm afraid it'll give me gas.

After so many years,
for the first time...

...my weary heart blushes.

At last, I can touch happiness,
worn in a man's suit.

Shall I wait in vain
for the masked bandit...

...to steal my pearls...

...and rape
my anti-hygienic virginity?

No, let's do it now.

On a full stomach.

Ah, Paris, Paris...

City of lights.

The Seine, the Eiffel Tower...

The Louvre, Pigalle.


Please, try
our black tobacco.

Typically Brazilian.

Eat, drink, smoke it
and fall down.

La cacha?a...

My dear Jacques...
I find the feijoada tastes like shit.

But this cacha?a...

C'est absolument d?testable!

Is anybody looking?

No, all clear.

It's gone. Discr?tement.

Without offending
your Brazilian pride...

...I must say,
you're a Russian princess.

Beautiful, generous, amiable.

Your studio is as original...

...as your canvasses
are beautiful.

Big spaces always attracted me,

my dear poet.

Traveling is my life's leitmotiv.

But now, I'm traveling
within myself...

...with my two new friends.

And not only spiritually.

To leave, travel, forget parents...


And lovers!
Adventure is what counts.

What is Brazil actually?

A slave philosophy...

...braced in the depths
of national character.

Prince Tovalu!

A rare example
of our cultural roots.

My latest composition;
"The Brazilian Woodpecker".

A rhombic piece...

with the empathy of heavy humor.

One doesn't sense the design...

Oswald, can I slap this faggot?

Of course, my dear.

You know, M'am, in my country,

There is a small village
called Brazi.

"Corruption of Brazil", you know.

It's a town of old slaves

who made an illustrious entry
among us.

Brazil in Africa.

They had taken over
the names of their masters:

Nogueira, Camargo, Mesquita, etc.

Oh, you little niggers are so delicious!
Que c'est mignon!

I'm sorry, Madam.
My name is "Filet".

Please sit down.

Here, my latest painting.

It's called "The Negress".

A metaphysical portrait
of my black mother.

An image asleep for a long time
in my unconscious...

that I recovered by reading Freud...

which they made me swallow.

What do you think?

But... it's grandma!

Who? The dry cleaner?

Tell him to come up. No wait.

I'll see him tomorrow at 3:30.

My tea and toast!

Your stockings are so sheer!
Do they last?

For three... four hours.

You're so silent and spiritless...

Tongues that lick themselves
as in the best kennels.

And I, who expected myself
to be cynical forever!

You talked about embellishing
the passing days.

With someone else,
I would burst out laughing.

But your simplicity,

your barbarity...

I never thought
you were so strong.

You're held in the atmosphere
that you yourself created.

Fornication is delectable.

I'm the newest and the
most beautiful of loves...

...in a new skin...

You're the answer in life's
vast telephonic dialog.

When we foxtrot in these hotels...

...with rotten orchestras...

...I feel your breasts prick my heart...

...and I take your warm ass...

...muscular, lively,
like in the best Charlestons...

Love's effects...

Today, I was nude in my room...

...and noticed
my thighs got rounder.

My tits became hard...

...by the labor of your hands.

And now my nipples itch.

The light comes from above.

Let's see these two for now.
They're not bad at all.

Four days of joy and parades
that take over the capital.

Carnival is unique, Blaise.

The bacchanals of antiquity...

...are no comparison.

Total debauchery.

You can't miss it!

This is more symbolist.
That one's more radical...

...more ironic,
absurd, provocative!

Paulo, finally I'll see the sun.

Just existing is happiness.

Thanks to you, I found Brazil.

I'm as happy as a king...

Free like a man.

Let's go.

You only steal
from whom you love.

Mal de mer, my dear...
Mal de mer...

It's always like that,
my dear big Olive.

Going is always better
than coming back.

Especially, from Paris...

Ah, Paris...

If you lift your bust
over the ocean...

...you'll see, my dear sir...


Like a harp or a ham,

with the Andes behind.

Even birds have trouble
in going over them.

- The Sugar Loaf is artificial!
- Mais quelle merveille!

Brazilian women are so chic...

that they're not content
with taffeta.

They're so bejeweled...

that it seems
that rubies and diamonds...

rained on them.

All delicious...

The Indians don't have
the verb "to be".

Therein lies the difficulty
in making them moral creatures.

The most you can get
is a suckling Christian.

People there are born
with tails...

All people have tails, se?or.

What changes is
the use one makes of it.

Surely, dear Madam.

Montaigne said:
"We're all animals".

Not everyone, dear sir...

In our country, Blaise...

...we have one called the 'sloth'.

His neck hairs stand on end...

and it moves so slowly...

...that even hurrying,
he takes fifteen days...

...to cover a child's
stone throw.

But, we also have
the wild eagle.

And "emus" so big
that their wings...

...look like enormous sails
in the wind.

Even St. Domingo
lost patience.

He said:

"If you won't
listen to my pleas..."

"...I'll club you to conversion."

It seems the Indians
are a sad race, aren't they?

All animals are sad

It's universal.

Our famous Duchess
of Santos should know...

Remember Our Lord.

He lived in Jerusalem
and other great cities.

He only passed through
the smaller ones.

Four centuries of beef!

Let's have frog's legs.

If not with too much garlic,
they're delicious.

Now, let's get to the widows...

...our greatest source of income.

Always exaggerate
our troubles with them.

Thus, we can profit
from their pity.

Even if we must resort
to violence.

It seems that Champagne
in Paris has less alcohol.

It must be delicious...

There comes our food, jumping!

"Tupi or not Tupi,
that is the question!"

To be or not to be Tupi,
that is the question!

Down with spiritual dictators!

What matters now are dentures!

Freedom for frogs!

Have mercy...

The Indians didn't have mercy.

Just contempt.

Hans Staden saved himself
by crying.

Your Archbishop "Sardinha",
all macho that he was,

...was eaten alive.

Not from behind, surely.


Only anthropophagi unites us!

We're all anthropophagous!

Anthropophagi flows
from the lack of fauna.

It is the basis of the
instinctive aesthetic of Brazil.

The destruction
of imported idols.

The totemic ascension
of the national revelry!

I want to be crowned
the Queen of the Anthropophagous!

We'll take care of that.

Gentlemen! Never have ideals
or religious questions existed,

which haven't been resolved
through blows!


Down with Father Vieira
who made our first foreign loan...

...to get a commission.

Down with low anthropophagi...

...clustered in the sins
of catechism.

We'll attack the dove of peace!

At times, I think that God,
in flooding the earth...

...made His only error: Noah!

I decided to leave at once.

Poetry is exploding worldwide.

I came to live an adventure.

You're lucky not to be bookworms.

What are three or
four centuries of history...

...in terms of this savage
and prolific continent?

The time it takes for the worms
to devour the libraries...

...and for men to knock down
jungles and to reproduce.

Down with theories!
Civilization! That's it:

Establishing Man in a climate,
come what may.

When purchasing land,
always use a friend's name...

who's trustworthy and secretive...

...so as to better show our poverty.

Please, don't touch this.

They're only cult objects,
no value whatsoever.

Religious objects.

At customs, everything has value.

No need to open.
Discipline instruments.

Thirty bottles of perfume!

You have to pay tax.

Let's settle this between us.


Brazil needs the work
of strong arms.

You're missing one.
You can't come in.

What a lack of respect!

How absurd!

He's a French intellectual!

He's not a worker...

What of it? You creep.

He's not immigrating.
He's a tourist.

Only in Brazil.

Disgusting country!

Please, come in.
A Frenchman, here.

What a great day! I'm so...
Oh, forgive me.

I'm so happy, my dear Sir.

A French poet!

I adore France...

You're the first
Frenchman to ever come here.

The first!

Feel free. My house is yours.

Breno is at your service.

It's too much for me.

Permit me to take some air...

...we'll meet afterwards.
We have a lot to talk about.

You're very kind.

Breno, I need a good hot bath...

Master Padroso is quite nervous...
understandably so.

I too love France,
Monsieur Blaise.

My daughter was to be called,
'Battle of the Marne'...

...but we only got
as far as 'Joffrinette'.

I'm sorry to come so late.

Not at all.

Master Padroso has no set hours.

Sometimes he dines at 2 a.m.

We're used to it.
He's sub lunar.

Somnambulist you mean.

No, sub lunar.
It's the moon that makes him walk.

Be frank, Breno.

What's this animal up there?

You noticed it?

Something's spying on us.

Don't say the name,
it's listening.

It's a rattlesnake,
queen of these lands.

My white suit, please.

Master Padroso must be waiting.

Finally, my dear friend.

Come and see my discovery:

A new constellation.

I want to ask you a favor:

Register it officially in Paris.

My life's dream.

My supreme homage to France.

Finding the Eiffel Tower...

...in our austral hemisphere.

It's France's
spiritual projection.

As I informed the Academy of Sciences,

it's not merely a whim.

The Institute didn't answer me!

In spite of the proofs I've sent!

Like the astronomical photos

which confirm my discovery.

And all of my notes...

...that I've sent since
the Battle of the Marne.

Come. Look!

See for yourself...

The sidereal Eiffel Tower.

Quelle merveille!

It makes one dizzy to think...

That each of these shrubs
built a sky-scraper in S?o Paulo.

That another brought to Santos

a ship laden with European luxuries.

It's incredible.
Why so much coffee?

Why this need of intoxication...

...since the beginning of times?

Every epoch has its drug.

As our modernists say...

...the thing now is the
import-export of human meat.

Big iceboxes,
great slaughter houses.

Canned scoundrels.

Finally, the diversification
of exports.

The end of monoculture.

How am I not to be a communist
if I'm modern?

The proletariat prepares
for the final assault.

While the rich have a ball...

...the humiliated cooks
conspire in the kitchens.

The bourgeoisie wavers.

You're quite wrong.

Not only in art. Also in life.

You're the painful middle class.

Ah, this heart too alive to stagnate.

Rosa. I'm a feudal upbringing...

...in the 20th century!

This bench you're sitting on...

...is very insensitive.

You must understand art
in it's material causes.

Modernism is the peak
of the coffee bourgeoisie.

You modernists are exactly
like coffee.

Your valorization
is entirely artificial.

Imagine. We, anonymous artists
of the revolution.

A bourgeois like you.
Marxist by accident...

...will at most be towed
by the proletariat.

Be careful. I'll jump!

Life is the conflict of classes!

My God, the archangels' revolt...

...was the first class struggle!

Rosa, will you fuck me?


The sexual question
is secondary.

What do you think
about anthropophagi?

I don't "think it", I like it.

And modernism?

It's like the coffee graph.
Right now it's low.

I feel middle class:

Between the hammer and the sickle.

What a growing sexuality!

Our first phase...

...was Export Poetry...

against import-colonization.

Anthropophagi is the ideological apex.

The rising wave of the future!

Dearest, not everything
that grows is soft.

Brazilwood first, anytime.

Governor, I didn't come to Brazil
to make films.

On the contrary,
I didn't even want to hear about it.

But traveling through
your marvelous country...

I said to my companions:

It's too beautiful...
too spectacular.

No one can imagine a country
like this.

Silence! Beware of the dog!

Careful of the tilt. Slow down.

Attention. Take care with this shit.

The hole, I told you!

You made this hole?

Seeing the countryside...

...I was so charmed,
I bought a jungle...

...not for profit or speculation...

...but with the intent of returning.

Upon my return to France
I'll search for the financing...

...to make a film in this country.

- "Independence or Death"
- "Long Live Brazil!"

...but a great documentary capturing reality.

My stars will be the stars of Brazil.

Nature, the light, the jungle...

...and a giant river,
like the Tiet?...

...which historically was the way
to penetrate the jungle.

I heard, Governor,
you have an obsession:


A friend told me that your thesis...

...traced the history
of a family in S?o Paulo.

I read it. Would you permit me...

...to use as the basis for my film?

Not only may you use my modest study...

...as your screenplay, but also...

...I wish to have the honor
of financing your project.

After all it's
a 100% Brazilian film.

Alerted by friends,
I took the liberty to ask...

...a Treasury Bond...

...for 50 million...

...which is my pleasure to sign
and turn over to you.

This is a secret mission!

We can't get the Palace
from here...

...but the Defense Department
is in our line of fire.

Isn't this is a job
for our double agent?

A military mutiny?

They're going to bomb the Palace?

The only safe place
is the Defense Department?

Let's go there immediately.

This is the first time
in the history of Ballistics...

...that instead of the
bullet searching for the target...

...it is the target that searches
for the bullet.

This never was a revolution.
Both sides...

...have a mutual interest...

...stockholders of the same
bankrupted crowd.

One must side with the exploited,

against the great parasitical trusts...

...that live off of our
Turkish bath of workers.

You believed in the
high society's comedy.

You've contaminated yourselves...

...gotten stuck in the mud
of this perverse bourgeoisie.

Which nowadays
hardly defends itself.

I don't want any more of it,
I quit.

Today, a memorable day...

...we rid ourselves of two cows:

- Branca Clara...
- And the bourgeoisie!

Bravo, comrades!

Isn't my misery beautiful?

It's beautiful, Cesar.
I never want to leave here.

Nothing better than a
revolutionary grub at Cesar's.

People say that my house
is a chicken coop.

Comrades, our two friends here...

...until today were clowns
of the bourgeoisie!

Bearded in London...

...I ran into Karl Marx,
not knowing that he existed.

I often got stuck...

...in reactionary ditches.

For me, the opposite of the bourgeois...

...wasn't the proletariat
but the Bohemian.

My epitaph of the man I was...

...will be the obituary
of the bourgeoisie!

Faggots, opportunists, rebels...

...conservative and sexual...

...now they're at most...

...the lancers of the
Proletarian Revolution.

Heroic tasks, for who was an altar-boy...

...square-danced in the countryside...

...and dressed as a Turk
on board of a cruise.

I know the road is hard...

...numerous vices
and hesitations.

But turning back is impossible.

History is like my watch.
It only runs forward!

My sons: Marx and Engels.

imperialism defends itself.

They want to smother...

...the revolt
that the exploited lead...

The U.S.A. Sends us cinema...

England, soccer; Italy, priests...

...and France, prostitution!

Is "sucking" imperialism?

Let's get serious,
the fight approaches.

The comrade wants to split us.

Demoralize our blocks...

...and take control
of our strike.

Down with bossism
in the labor movement!

The bourgeois avant-garde
penetrates the proletariat...

...disguising itself as the left.

Comrades, we must avoid
ideological immobilism.

The bourgeoisie has lost its meaning.

Now it crumbles and divides.

The good bourgeois of today...

...might be the revolutionary
of tomorrow!

Bourgeois is bourgeois, fuck!

I've given up for good
the filthy morals...

...and politics of the bourgeoisie.

I'll prove its validity
in the fight.

Your political line is perfect!

We're here to strike, now!

They take the bread from our mouths...

...cut our wages.

We can't allow that!

Our kids go hungry. Strike!

The fight is now.
At night, we don't even have strength...

...to cradle our kids.

But lamentations weaken the strike.

We must unite to fight the bourgeoisie!

...who turn us into rags...

...and take the last drop of milk
from our breasts...

...to live on champagne and parasitism.

Dear comrades,
our wages are late.

Our bosses live luxuriously...

...but we won't be slaves forever!

They defend themselves
with armed lackeys.

But we too...

...can defend ourselves.

Comrades, let's unite
against the bourgeoisie!

Police repression incites
us to fight!

For the freedom of
our friends in prison!


A general strike...

...against the bourgeoisie
and their armed lackeys!

Don't shoot your brothers...

...shoot your officers!

They kill the workers,
but the proletariat won't die!

Murderers! Bastards!

Rosa, you must know the story
of the old woman...

...who wouldn't open the door...

...thinking it was the landlord...

...but in fact was a friend...

...coming to give her money.

I know you won't refuse
to hear the word of God.

Open the door.

I'm warning you.
You'd better not go inside.

You know...

that nigger who died at the meeting...

...his funeral was a no show.

at Christ's funeral...

only three people attended.

It's your responsibility.
I'm warning you.

Everybody has sinned,
Rosa Lituana...

...you're no exception, nor I.

If you ask what to do now...

...with your life...

...the Bible has a diagnosis.

The importance of the Works.

"Not all who say onto me, Lord... ''

She's crazy. Dangerous. Violent.

Let her be, you witch!

I'm getting you out of here.

The lyrical catacombs
either waste themselves...

...or flow into the
political trenches.

Get into your tanks,
you fucking intellectuals!

Joy is the final proof!

Do you like beer?

To sell.
I only drink champagne.

I'm like my friend, Ford,
who only drives Rolls Royce?s.

Pardon my timidity.

the Queen of this Whorehouse!

A shame Cleopatra
didn't rule over Greece...

Man conquered woman...

...and she crowned the winner!

here is your prison!

The rubber!
I should've invented it!

What's this henhouse?

The first to speak will get
a cannonball up his ass!

Today, nobody fucks!

Not even up the ass!

We haven't even earned
dinner yet!

"Have mercy on the whores!"

"Give us today our daily cock..."

"Remember you too got paid
to screw."

Oh, gonorrhea!

Clap! Cancer!

We've got to regulate this profession!

You fucking fairies!

A woman's job is not to fuck
nor to give birth!

It's to salute the flag.

Remember your aunts,
the Amazons.

Joan of Arc, your grandmother...

Pulqu?ria, our own heroine...

...who alone, breast fed
18 sergeants...

...during the Paraguayan War.

Get a lifesaver.
We gotta jump in the water.

Sailors! Know how to fuck?


Then you know how to eat.
To eat and to fuck...

...all men are prepared.

The ether is finished.
Gar?on, whiskey!

Sailors, get up!

The spirit of revolt has come
to the depths of the furnaces...

...where you toast your veins.

Now, you dance...

...and you the bosses,
get to work!

I'm going to call the police.

Form a militia
of rich men's sons.

Socialism is Soviet power...

...plus electrification.

Naval aviation has abandoned us...

...the decadence of monogamy...

...the ruin of bourgeois morale...

Clearly, freedom was near!

No more repression of clothes!

Clothes hide the truth!

I'm a nudist for health.

What an idea!

Get into the water to expose ideas!

From the horse to horse-power...

...from one animal to another...

...that's the great
Leninist metaphor.

This bastard will pay.

He destroyed two bungalows
of mine.

We must do something
before it's too late.

Today I received a call
at 2 a.m.

You know why?
To tell me to fuck off.

Covet not thy neighbor's
wife or husband.

Thou shalt not steal.

Thou shalt not use my name in vain.

Thou shalt love God above all.

Let peace be with you!

Christ indoctrinating
the natives!

Sailors, catch them.

This man introduced the super-natural
into procreation!

You can't deny that
the Sermon of the Mount...

...was just a provocation.
It made way for the Roman Empire.

You can't deny your relations
with Pontius Pilate.

They were all interested
in the olive oil monopoly.

I only wanted goodness!

Then explain Matthew 5,
Verse 35:

"Harmonize quickly..."

"...before he puts you in prison."

I taught: "If someone slaps your cheek...

...offer the other."

In political language,
that means:

If the Romans take Judea,
give them Galilee too!

At the Gethsemane meeting
when a self defense group...

...led by Peter...

...tore off the ear of
the pig who arrested you...

...you put it back in place.

- You!
- You!

Religion isn't even madness,
it's a con game.

Not this!

Cut the magic.

Idiotic magic. Out of style...

You have to create
through homosexuality...

...friendships and vigorous relationships.

Impossible. Between the cock
and the asshole...

...they've erected a wall.

We've captured the fianc?e
of the unknown soldier!

A great catch! Kneel.

I wouldn't fuck you for anything.

I can wait. This is hard
as a rock, take her!

And who is this little bourgeoise?

Lil' Mariana.

- Age?
- 20

What's your biggest defect?


What should we teach our kids?

Religious ideas.

What's your biggest goal?

To own a convertible.

What leads a country to ruin?


What do you want to be?

An envied woman...

What's your favorite pastime?


What's jealousy?

Without it, there's no love.

What bothers you most?

To have to work.

There. The transformation
of sweat into cocktail.

Christ, at least,
was the son of a mother.

Yes, because the Holy Ghost
is the tribal prick.

Here we'll build socialism.

Contests of laying hens...

...heated stables, daily work...

...in the springtime snow
and summer's heat.

Neither love for one's country nor God...

...nor honest hypocrisy...

...but organized flocks...

...the tractor,
the pathetic collective milk skimmer...

...the end of magic.

Without mystery...

...nothing happens,
without magic, without cheating...

Long live matriarchy.

Woman giving orders and fucking man.

The dogma of the immaculate revolution
is proclaimed.

We'll erect here
the society of desire.

The hollow cock!

Fuck him! Rip his cock off!

Calm down, let's talk.

Not with your teeth!

We'll start the
"Caraiba" Revolution.

Bigger than the French...

...Bolshevist and Surrealist
revolutions combined.

Go fuck yourselves,
you shithead revolutionaries.