Oscars? Carnaval? Oscars? Help!

The unthinkable is happening this evening, Sunday. The (for me) all-important 86^th Academy Awards are scheduled to start at 9:00 p.m. Brasília time, the very same hour at which the Império da Tijuca samba school is scheduled to step onto Rio’s Sambódromo runway as the first of the evening’s six samba schools. What a conundrum! Well, this would not have been a conundrum if, like most normal people, Mark and I had cable television. If we did have cable television, I could watch the Oscars on TNT and Carnaval on Globo’s channel 1, and switch back and forth to my heart’s content. But this year I have been hoist by my own petard. Globo, which usually transmits the Oscars live, chose instead — and rightly so — to stick to its Brazilianness and just transmit Carnaval. So no Oscar broadcast on Globo. No TNT in our house. No Oscars, period.

In past years I’ve watched the Oscars on Globo, even though they start an hour late (after the novela) and translate the proceedings in a loud voice-over, leaving me to strain to hear the original English. I mean, the translations are very competent, but not every reference or joke translates well. Every year I try to find someone on the Internet who livestreams the Oscars, but I’ve never succeeded. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences keeps a tight hold on its intellectual property, and even in this day and age of "everything’s available on the web," this show is most emphatically not. So I know what is going to happen this evening. I’m going to be relegated to getting written updates on the Oscars from the various sites that can at least do that. What a bore. Globo’s only sop is that tomorrow, Monday, it will offer a cobbled-together special program called "Tapete Vermelho do Oscar" (Oscar’s Red Carpet) at the ridiculous time of 3:34 p.m. Too little, too late.

These people know their movies!!

One year we tried to satisfy my Oscar cravings by going to an Oscar party at Cavídeo, a real film buff’s video store in Rio. They show the Oscars in English, with nice, quiet subtitles, in a room above the store. But they also have a hard-fought film trivia competition before the show starts. Well, Mark and I felt pretty smug when we learned of the competition. After all, we’d been watching films since — well, for a long time. I admit to thinking that my knowledge of film was most likely superior to that of anyone else in that room. This thinking was fueled by a Brazilian who, hearing us speak English, came over and asked if he could join our "team"; he figured we’d do well. Well, we didn’t. We were pathetic. Awful. A disgrace to Hollywood. We lost, and lost badly. Brazilian moviegoers are really something. They know their movies.

I really haven’t felt like watching Carnaval at all this year; I haven’t seen anything in the papers or on television to excite me. Mangueira, the only school I really care about, will not be coming out until one or two o’clock or later in the morning, and that’s w-a-a-ay past my bedtime. The schools that parade tomorrow? Do I care? One thing for sure, I’ll probably still watch the apuração, when the winners are announced, on Wednesday. Except — oh, no — the apuração collides head on with the amistoso, the friendly soccer game, the last one Brazil will play in before the World Cup, against South Africa! Both are on Wednesday afternoon! They’re going to overlap! Which one will Globo broadcast? Here we go again!

The Carnaval Grinch



Dr. Seuss's famous Grinch

How could I have let Carnaval just pass me by this year? I really surprised myself. In the past I’ve always followed the Rio samba schools, or gone to the Sambódromo, or joined a street bloco, or kept samba playing incessantly in the background. I’ve gone to my share of Carnaval parties, I’ve learned the lyrics of my favorite sambas, and on Ash Wednesday I’ve parked myself in front of the T.V. to watch the apuração, the final judging of Rio’s top twelve samba schools. Last year I wrote six blogposts on various Carnaval subjects, each one more enthusiastic than the other. So what happened this year? I feel like the Grinch who stole Carnaval.

If you’ll forgive me my bluntness, I just couldn’t get it up this year. I didn’t care. All I kept thinking was, Thank goodness Carnaval falls early this year. And I held on to that, because it meant an early end to the high season in Búzios, an early end to the bumper-to-bumper traffic, an early end to long lines in the stores, an early end to the groups of loud, noisy renters in the house across the street from us and in the house right next door. I didn’t even care when I read the stunning news that at three weeks before Carnaval, two of the most traditional samba schools in Rio, Mangueira and Portela, were nowhere near ready. Not one of the eight floats that each school would use in their parade had been completed, not one. Usually at three weeks to show time at least half of the floats are ready to go. This was an amazing story for those who follow the Rio schools. What did I do after I read the article? I put it aside and took a nap.

Perhaps my ennui is just a reflection of an unusual Carnaval year. For the first time, more than half of the  special-group samba schools chose themes cynically, expecting to garner paid sponsorships. There were themes honoring South Korea, Germany and Rock in Rio, just to name three, and the schools had no reason to doubt that the honorees would dig deep into their pockets in gratitude. But they miscalculated badly. In hard economic times, some of the entities so honored said, Thanks, but don’t expect any financial aid, we didn’t ask to be honored. In one instance (South Korea) money was promised but, in the end, never paid. A week or so before Carnaval these schools were scrounging for ways to pay their debts. Things were not going quite right.

Firemen at the ready . . . but not part of the show

Fainting tree, also not part of the show

At the end of the day, though, I still do love a good competition. I began to wake up a little when the champion school, Unidos da Tijuca, had serious problems barely five minutes into their parade. One float broke down, pieces from another float broke off, smoke came shooting out of yet another float, and several participants were overcome by heat exhaustion. This was the school to beat and there it was, giving the championship away, point by point. Another serious contender was Beija-Flor, which also had mechanical and technical problems during their parade. And there was more drama with Mangueira, always a crowd-pleaser and my all time personal favorite. They had finished their preparations in time, they put on a great show, but then ran six minutes over the allotted parade time of 82 minutes. This meant that even before the judging started they’d lost six decimal points, not an easy deficit to make up.

Float stuck on TV tower

Broken-down float

So last Wednesday I found myself settled in front of the T.V. to watch the apuração, and for two hours I "got into" Carnaval. That was all I could muster this year. But this Grinch will get her comeuppance in 2014, when Carnaval falls on March 4^th, three weeks later than this year!

Rio's Eight Minutes

Mark and I just suffered through the Olympics Closing Ceremony — a two-and-a-half-hour long anthology from hell of five decades of bangers-and-mash British rock (the Queen was smart, this time she stayed home) — for no reason other than to watch the eight-minute Introduction to Rio segment. When the spotlight hit Renato Sorriso, and he began his magical samba footwork, I applauded. But then I worried that no one outside of Brazil would think he was anything other than an actor in a funny orange costume. No one would understand his importance to the city of Rio, and why he had been picked to open the closing. And then, to prove I was right to worry, I read this in New York Times reporter Campbell Robertson's blog: "In the middle of the stadium is  Renato Sorriso, ‘the garbage collector who is a samba dancer and a symbol of Rio de Janeiro's Carnival.' Seriously. A samba dancing garbage man is Rio's introduction to the world." So arrogant. So smug. So ready to put Rio down. Robertson obviously considers a samba-dancing garbage man pretty low down on the food chain.

Renato Sorriso on the job

I don't know why this bothers me so much, but it does. You see, I've seen Renato Sorriso in person. I know his story. I know how important he is. Renato Sorriso (which, by the way, means Renato Smile) has become a larger-than-life personality, and even something of a tourist attraction in Rio. Renato Luiz Feliciano Lourenço has worked for COMLURB, Rio's municipal sanitation company, for 15 years. If you want to go and talk to him, he can be found every day sweeping up around the Praça Xavier de Brito in the north Rio neighborhood of Tijuca. Back in 1997, Renato signed on to work the Sambadrome during Carnaval for some overtime pay. As each samba school finishes its show on the runway, a group of COMLURB men follows behind, sweeping away the ribbons and sequins and feathers and anything else that fell off the floats and the costumes, and getting the runway ready for the next samba school. Except that Renato, who loves Carnaval and samba, didn't do as much sweeping as he did samba-ing. His boss reprimanded him, but since the public was applauding and demanding more, his boss gave up and decided to let Renato do his thing. A star was born.

Nowadays Renato spends Carnaval parading down the runway with one or another samba school, in between his cleaning duties. There aren't many sambistas as good as he is, or as talented, or as charming, or with as much charisma. And that smile, well, it's contagious. It's from the heart. Renato has also appeared in a Brazilian television soap opera, he's done a telephone commercial in Europe, and he's toured with professional dancers in France, Spain and England in a show called "Brasil Brasileiro." And now he has danced at the Closing Ceremony of the London 2012 Summer Olympics. Campbell Robertson may not think that this "samba dancing garbage man" should be Rio's introduction to the world, but that just shows how very little Robertson knows of Brazil. It also shows how much a person's brain can be fried after hours of rock music.

Judging Carnaval

Getting ready to read the scores

That's it, carnaval is over. Yesterday was the apuração, the judging, the final tally, the crowning of the winner. The apuração is always broadcast at 4:00 p.m. on Ash Wednesday, and anyone who calls me during that time gets a "she can't be disturbed" from Mark. I love watching the apuração almost more than watching carnaval itself, even though I don't really have a dog in the fight. I love the guy who reads out the scores in his deep, stentorian voice, with his carioca accent. I love all the self-important rustling of papers and whispered, last-minute consultations behind hand-covered microphones. The heart-wrenching emotions of the samba schools. The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.

And it's not as if the judging is easy. All the samba schools in what's called the Special Group are excellent, or they wouldn't be there. This year, an astonishing eight of the 13 schools vying for the title had near-perfect presentations, and this is not just the opinion of a foreign lay-person. The results were tight, and depended more than ever upon fractions of points and the subjectivity of the judges. Here's how the final judging went:

My tally sheet

Champion — Unidos da Tijuca (The samba school of my favorite carnavalesco, Paulo Barros!)

Vice Champion — Salgueiro (How? Why? This school had loads of technical problems that caused huge holes in their parade . . . they should have lost points left and right! But they didn't.)







Unidos da Tijuca —

Standard-bearer and Master of Ceremonies

Another live float from Paulo Barros

I've dedicated a good part of February to carnaval blogposts in the hopes of introducing aspects of the spectacle that are barely known outside of Brazil. But for those of you who have had your fill of carnaval, and of my carnaval posts, rejoice! Not one more carnaval  peep out of me until February of 2013. Those cars that jammed our streets since the day after Christmas have turned around and gone home. High season is officially over, life officially returns to normal. Deep breath, everyone, and let's all let out one long, big "Whew!"

Bye-bye for now

The Tree Guy

Before 

After 

We're naked. For years, well-meaning visitors have been telling us that we`d have a better view of the bay if we cut back the three beautiful poinciana trees that rise up from the little green area below our terrace that sits between us and the beach. But we love our poincianas (known here as flamboyants) and, when we did cut them back last week, it was absolutely not done on a selfish whim, merely to improve our view. We cut them back because these normally gorgeous trees didn't flower well last year or this year. They were getting sick. We thought that a careful but drastic pruning would give them a new lease on life. We thought it would help them grow better.

After

Before

Angelo, the tree guy

I don`t know about tree surgery anywhere else in the world, but if you just merrily lop off branches here in Brazil you make yourself liable to some heavy fines. Lucky for us, then, that poinciana trees are not native to Brazil. In the authorization our muscular, good-looking tree surgeon Angelo got from city hall, they are identified as an "exotic" foreign species and we were at liberty to do with them whatever we wanted to, as long as we promised to do it safely. No site inspection by the environmental people. Nothing. At 8:45 in the morning, Angelo climbed up into the branches with his motor saw. By three in the afternoon, we had that open, cleaner view that so many people had wished on us. But now we were totally exposed. There was no more shade on the terrace. There were no more birds flitting from branch to branch. We hadn't made things more beautiful. We had made things ugly, awful. But we had no choice. We had to do it.

In a way it was amazing that Angelo was willing to prune our trees just a day before the start of carnaval weekend, because Angelo had other things on his mind. Angelo beats the huge surdo drum in the bateria (percussion section) of a neighborhood carnaval group, Cocotas de Tucuns, based in Tucuns, a beach on the Búzios periphery. Easy to figure out where he got all those muscles. Anyway, as he sliced and diced our trees, he spoke so passionately about his carnaval group, he was so eager to have us come to their pre-carnaval rehearsal, that it was hard for us not to accept the invitation. I didn't really think it was how I wanted to spend last Friday night, but off we went to Tucuns and — even though it was really late for me (their first downbeat started around midnight), and even though traffic was pretty bad, and even though I'm famous for not liking crowds — Mark and I haven't had that good a time in ages! This was carnaval at its best and at its roots, all locals and families and children coming out to enjoy the festivities. And though it was loud and driving and the beats reverberated in our bodies, and I had to take aspirin when I got home, I'm up for a repeat visit next year. Angelo says our trees will have grown some new, beautiful, flowering branches by then.

Some Carnaval Rules and Regs

Okay, this is it, carnaval weekend looms ahead. I've been to the Sambadrome in Rio three times to see the 12 main Rio samba schools do their thing first-hand, but this year I'll be staying home to watch from the comfort of our living room or at least until I fall asleep (the excitement starts at 9:00 p.m. and usually doesn't end until 7:00 the next morning). A few blogposts back on the subject of carnavalescos, I wrote that the Sambadrome parade is actually "an aggressively-fought competition." It is indeed, and to my surprise the contest aspect has become my favorite part of carnaval. I'm actually amused that a person as averse to competition as I am relishes this competitive side of carnaval. But I do.

The judges . . . they look harmless enough

It took me a couple of years, but now I'm into the nitty-gritty. The schools are judged in ten categories, or quesitos — percussionists, samba (music and lyrics), harmony,  evolution, theme, overall effect, floats and props, costumes, the opening vanguard and the boy-girl couple that are the standard-bearer and master of ceremonies — with four judges per category. Some snippets for those following along at home:


Percussionists — these guys are LOUD. They are responsible for maintaining the rhythmic pulse of the samba at all times during the parade. I'm still not sure I hear all the subtle differences myself, but each samba school has a unique, identifiable percussive sound depending on the number of drums and the way they're hit. Take Mangueira's percussionists. They are known as Surdo Um — surdo is a large drum — because they hit only on the second beat, with no answering surdo on the downbeat, like all the other schools. When Mangueira's percussionists begin, the crowd goes wild. And I get goose bumps.

Harmony — in order to score high in this category, the music, rhythm and singing must all meld seamlessly with the choreography and dancing of the participants. Points can be lost if the judges catch any of the participants not singing. And here lies one of the annual controversies: to allow or not to allow foreigners to participate in the parade. As non-speakers of Portuguese they can't sing the samba, and as non-dancers of samba they don't get the rhythm. So that group of hulking, blond Swedes jumping up and down alongside the group of Americans energetically waving their pointer fingers in the air, Broadway-style, inevitably end up costing the schools precious points. On the other hand, foreigners pay upwards of $1,200 for a costume and a space in the parade, so . . . what's a fraction of a point here or there?

The standard-bearer and master of ceremonies couple — this elegant and graceful couple carries and protects the school's flag while dancing an intricate "minuet-samba." They might have the biggest responsibility of anyone in the school, because they mustn't under any circumstances let that flag touch the ground, or even dip below the standard-bearer's shoulders, for 80 long minutes. And that is one heavy flag (99 pounds/45 kilos!). But they make it look so easy, and they're lots of fun to watch.

Down she goes!

This year will no doubt see the usual dramas: a couple of floats will break down at the entrance to the runway and spoil the school's chances; at least one float will catch fire; several people will fall off their floats and one passista will fall off her mercilessly high heels; one or two schools will have the unfortunate fate of having to parade under a torrential downpour; and one celebrity parader, or destaque, will lose her tapa-sexo (you figure it out). Although the destaque herself will get lots of publicity, the school's directors will be furious. Total nudity is prohibited and she won't be invited back next year. And who knows but that there won't be one of those last-minute censorship controversies that will cause one or another school to parade with a float covered in black plastic (see photo below). So there you have it. I've got my follow-along judging card. Let the games begin!

In 2004, the samba school Grande Rio paraded with a censored float. Underneath the plastic? Various depictions of the Kama Sutra.

Beth Carvalho

Clara

Alcione

Beth

Of the many, many talented women singers in Brazil there are three who have been anointed the Queens of Samba: Clara Nunes, Alcione and Beth Carvalho. And as if being Queen isn't enough, one of those three has been elevated even higher. She's the Godmother of Samba, she's a personal favorite of mine, she's Beth Carvalho.

A lot of Brazilian female singers have soft, whispery voices that serve beautifully for singing Bossa Nova. That was the musical style Beth Carvalho began in some 47 years ago, but she lasted in it for less than a year. With her driving, forceful voice, it's samba she was born for. Over her long career, Beth worked with and recorded all the legendary sambistas, with a special emphasis on those from her beloved samba school, Mangueira — Nelson Sargento, Cartola, Nelson Cavaquinho. Beth also recorded plenty of sambas from the other big schools, including Portela, and constantly introduced new composers to the public.

When I first came to Brazil I, like most foreigners, adopted Mangueira as my samba school. It was the cool choice. But I've had a falling out with Mangueira, first because nowadays there's too much drug trafficking in the Mangueira community, and also because of what the school's directors did to Beth during the carnaval parade in 2007. For 36 years Beth had paraded with Mangueira down the runway, under her own steam. But she'd been having back problems and this time she planned to ride on the float of "baluartes," the school's Old Guard where, if you ask me, she most certainly belonged. But after Beth climbed up onto the float (with enormous difficulty) she was summarily removed and left behind, on the ground, in tears. The baluartes told her she could parade on the runway, as she always had. But this was tantamount to throwing Frank Sinatra off a Las Vegas stage and telling him to go sing in the men's room. I mean, this is just not done.

No one remembers or cares what Mangueira's 2007 theme was, or where they placed in the final standings. All that's remembered is that that was the year Beth Carvalho was roundly dissed. Not long after that dreadful behavior on the part of Mangueira, Beth had spinal surgery, stayed away from performing for two years while she recuperated, and — because no one can hold a grudge for long in Brazil — finally made peace with the Mangueira directorate and returned to parade with them last year, seated on a float. Word is she'll be with them again this year. Even though I'm still holding a bit of a grudge, if Beth can forgive them, so can I. After all, no one sings the school's rousing anthem, Hymn to Mangueira, like Beth Carvalho:

Carnavalescos

Mosteiro Zen Budista's silent carnaval  

It's carnaval! Get out your masks, your feathers, your boas! Get your tickets to the Sambadrome parades! Pick your favorite street carnaval group and join in! Well, that's one way to celebrate carnaval. But this end-of-summer holiday blowout can be celebrated in many different ways. While it does seem that most Brazilians jump right in with both feet moving to a samba beat, others merely tolerate the crowds and the noise as best they can, relying on ear plugs to get through the nights. Some people travel to a resort and spend their entire holiday week at the beach. A friend of ours uses this time to explore his zen side at the Mosteiro Zen Budista, a retreat in the mountains of Espírito Santo.

Carnaval at the Sambadrome

I myself once thought carnaval was one big, disorganized, loud mess, to be avoided at all costs. I had no idea what a samba school was or what it represented. But when it slowly dawned on me how much like a Broadway musical the carnaval show was I sat up and took notice. (I always did love my Broadway musicals.) Before long I began to see beyond the skimpy costumes and the deafening percussion to the intricate, backstage details. I began to understand the strict rules that regulate the competition. (Yes, this "spectacle" is actually an  aggressively-fought competition.) And as I learned more and more about Rio's carnaval in particular, one personality jumped out front and center, the crucially important carnavalesco. It takes many talented people to stage a Broadway musical: a writer, a producer, a director, a set designer, a costume designer, an art director and a lighting director. But the carnavalesco — with a healthy dash of help — is the samba school's art-set-costume-lighting producer and director all in one.

In the 1930s and 1940s the carnavalescos were usually amateur members of the samba schools they supported. They did the best they could and made up in enthusiasm what they lacked in professionalism. As for payment, they wouldn't accept one centavo. Nowadays? The highly-compensated and extremely professional carnavalesco can work as a hired gun for several samba schools in the course of his career. He's the one who comes up with the school's theme each year, researches it, develops how it is to be organized and presented, and who, along with a team of artists and designers, designs the characters, the costumes, and the accessories. The carnavalesco also works with engineers and architects to build the floats. On the night his school parades, the carnavalesco is responsible for getting all 4,000 or so participants costumed, assembled and down the runway without a hitch, and within the allotted 80 minutes.

Paulo Barros

I know I'm a Johnny-come-lately to carnaval, but my personal favorite carnavalesco is Paulo Barros, a former airline steward. He burst on the scene in 2004 and broke through years of sameness with his now-famous "DNA float," which used people instead of mechanical pieces to represent DNA particles. He went on to astonish the public the following year with jaw-dropping magic tricks no one could figure out, and the next year with heads that seemed to fall off shoulders, only to be replaced with a smile, over and over again. Paulo Barros doesn't always win, but he is always given a standing ovation by the public. And we can't wait to see what this most innovative carnavalesco has in store for this year's extravaganza. (Mind you, we'll be watching on television. I'm done with the Sambadrome.)

Here's a piece of Barros magic from 2010:



And some mystery from the following year: