Transfers can be a hectic time in the lives of missionaries. While serving in the city of Jequie transfer time came around and my companion, some other elders in our district and I were informed that an elder would be arriving at the bus station late at night. We were instructed to go to the bus station and wait for his arrival.
We got there prepared for what we assumed would be at the most a few hours of waiting. Now if you have never been in a Brazilian bus station (rodoviario) than you are really missing out. Oh wait, just kidding. Imagine a dark and lonely place which at night is full of drunks, vagrants, and those individuals who have become trapped in the tedium of everyday life, slowly plying their pointless time until they die, caught up in the senseless existential hum of being. Then maybe you will have somewhat of an idea of where we were.
Let’s just say Franz Kafka would have found material for about ten novels in such a locale.
Let’s just say Franz Kafka would have found material for about ten novels in such a locale.
Before I get to the main topic of this post I must digress in order to help the reader better appreciate the vibe of that station by explaining the delightful little drunken man who kept harassing us throughout the night. At the beginning of our epic night he seemed like just your average little man, sitting at the bar (they sell alcohol EVERYWHERE in Bahia) having himself a beer. Well, that beer became another, and another, and another, until our little friend was rather noticeably inebriated. Not content to keep his drunkenness to himself he made varied attempts to engage us in conversation. What was great about these attempts was that the little man seemed to be under the impression that we were german, and his speech consisted of enthusiastically repeating what to his mind were german sounds, consisting mostly in the repetition of ‘sprachy, sprachy, sprachy’. After a little of this he realized that we spoke Portuguese and the conversation turned to him showing us pictures of his family. All well and good except for the fact that every time he walked away he would seemingly forget the previous conversation and would soon return with a hearty ‘sprachy, sprachy, sprachy’ and the cycle would begin anew.
So there we were, trying to be comfortable on hard bus station chairs, getting accosted by our little drunk friend every now and then, and watching the hours drag by. Ever so naughtily my attention was caught by the television from time to time. When we arrived night at the museum was playing, “Well,” I thought to myself “at least this is better than that novella crap they usually watch”. As time went by they went through some other Brazilian programming until finally around 2 a.m. (or perhaps even later) I was surprised to see them actually running a Brazilian movie. Not just any movie, but the Brazilian cinematic classic Pixote.
Why is this significant? And why did I choose this instance for the title of this post? Because it illustrated perfectly what I see as one of the gravest issues in contemporary Brazilian culture. Some have become so inundated with low quality, mass produced, American pop culture that they have no more notion of their own cultures authentic roots. Now before you write this post off as just another elitist jab at American cultural imperialism just hear me out.
Those novellas I was talking about, you know where they came from? They were inspired by American soap operas. Anyone even slightly acquainted with Brazilian life knows that many people spend literally their entire day in front of that inane, ersatz trash. And as for movies, I was so surprised to see a Brazilian movie because in Brazil today they are almost nonexistent. When the majority of Brazilians watch movies they are poorly dubbed American films, purchased in cheap pirated form from the ubiquitous road side salesmen.
And Pixote? It is a gritty and realistic story of the streets of Sao Paulo, critically acclaimed and considered by some to be a forerunner to the contemporary classic Cidade de Deus. Nothing could be more telling than that it was relegated to a time slot when it would watched by very few people. Instead of a socially realistic and artistically interesting piece of film, the majority of viewers are given for most of the day entertainment which requires less thought than banging your head against a door.
While the state of Brazilian apathy towards Brazilian films is bleak, it is at least a little better than the state of Brazilian apathy towards Brazilian literature. As I have touched upon in a previous post the majority of Brazilians I ran in to couldn’t even name their great authors, let alone had they read them. But are average American really that different? Not as far as I can see. My point is not to make any sweeping criticisms of Brazilian or American society, but to mention the mind numbing effects of cheap mass produced culture in all its manifestations.
To a certain extent it is hard to blame the masses for turning from aesthetically and intellectually legitimate forms of art to the mindless kitsch churned out by the corporations. If I can be so bold as to define a common characteristic of humanity, it seems evident that people naturally want to take the path of least resistance. And when you’ve been working all day who wants to make the extra effort of having to think about their entertainment? On one level the numbing miasma of popular culture offers an escape from the vicissitudes of everyday life. Yet sadly in running from these vicissitudes people leave themselves vulnerable to be controlled and manipulated. The great Bahian poet Telmo Padilha said that he who has read and understood Shakespeare can never be taken advantage of. Obviously this is a bit of a romantic exaggeration, yet the principle rings true. Those who are not exposed to higher thought will not be able to think critically enough to appreciate to what extent their opinions are shaped and controlled by media and entertainment bureaucrats. It is my humble opinion that a big part of the reason that the nation of Brazil is so politically corrupt is because the people are cut off from their natural cultural greatness, and therefore unable to appreciate and change their plight.
I appreciate fully that these are potentially inflammatory opinions and that I have not gone into an extensive defense of my positions. In other words all of this is bound to strike some as merely high falutin ranting. And perhaps it is. What it really comes down to is that I have a deep respect for authentic Brazilian art and thought, and think it a shame that many get so caught up in cheap entertainment that they don’t appreciate the good things that real artistic expression can bring.
We spent all night in that god-forsaken bus station. And as it turned out our leader from the mission office had given us the wrong date of arrival. The missionary wasn’t scheduled to arrive until the NEXT day and we had wasted a night on bad information………………………….. I guess we didn’t understand Shakespeare well enough.
