It’s All That: Black Orpheus (1959)
As Halloween falls upon the last day of Black History Month, Megan considers the cultural significance of Marcel Camus’ Black Orpheus…
Being Black never ends. Black History Month, on the other hand, does. And here in Britain, it ends on Halloween! So why not cap this year’s Black History Month with a cinematic classic?
Cue Black Orpheus. Directed by white French director Marcel Camus, the 1959 Academy Award winner for Best Foreign Language Film (along with several other accolades) is set in Rio de Janeiro during Carnival and is made up of an entirely Black cast, the cast being Afro-Brazilians themselves (save for Marpessa Dawn; the Eurydice actress was African American). The film is entirely in Brazilian Portuguese, but there are dubbed and subbed versions across the internet for non-Brazilian-Portuguese speakers such as myself (I watched this film with subtitles on Kanopy). It’s based on Vinicius de Moraes’ 1956 play Orfeu da Conceiçao which itself is based upon the Greek myth Orpheus and Eurydice. Black Orpheus follows tram conductor Orfeu’s brief but true love affair with a naïve out-of-towner named Eurydice, who is herself running from the physical embodiment of Death who seeks to have her for his own.
What can I say? The film begins with Black men dancing samba, as seemingly the entire city dances with them in preparation for the Carnival taking place the next day. The opening sequence is, in my opinion, one of the greatest in a film I have seen, bursting with music, colour and unbridled joy. That is what really gets me about this film: seeing Black people happy! The community that the film follows lives in a favela (English translation: slum) called Morro da Babilônia, a hill from where you can see the statue of Christ the Redeemer, the coast of Rio de Janeiro, and the sun rising in the morning. That kind of view, coupled with the joy they have? It appears that they are on top of the world!
From this point on is where the problems with Black Orpheus kick in. The film appears to exoticize being Black and being poor. Orfeu and his community of happy dancers live in a favela called Babylon. Literally. This draws negative connotations about the kind of life lived there. Serafina, Eurydice’s cousin, insists she cannot buy bread because she spent all her money on her Carnival costume (is she Carrie Bradshaw’s mother? Literal “I have $40,000 worth of shoes and no place to live?” vibes. Perhaps the costume “fed her more” [cue eye roll].), and when she asks the Portuguese grocer for a tab, she literally calls herself “sassy and broke” (yes, this is an actual line). Former U.S. President, Barack Obama is notably not a fan of the film, writing in his autobiography Dreams from My Father:
I suddenly realised that the depiction of the childlike blacks I was now seeing on the screen, the reverse image of Conrad's dark savages, was what my mother had carried with her to Hawaii all those years before, a reflection of the simple fantasies that had been forbidden to a white, middle-class girl from Kansas, the promise of another life: warm, sensual, exotic, different.
Peter Bradshaw writes in The Guardian after reading this, that ‘for me this passage exposed, more dramatically than anything has in a very long while, the fact that critical perceptions are governed by class, by background and by race.’ And that is true. How I, a Black British-African woman who spent her teen years wishing she were someone who could dance at Notting Hill carnival but was too reserved to do anything about it, view this film, will differ from how an Afro-Brazilian person views it, which undoubtedly also differs from how Obama, with his biracial background, views this film, and ultimately how you, the reader, with your own unique background and race, will too. Films are open to interpretation, and they start conversations, and hopefully these conversations lead to an increase in empathy in all of us for each other.
I will say, however, that Black Orpheus appears to know that its depiction is a fantasy (It’s based on a Greek myth after all). The lyrics to the last song in the film are “The happiness of the poor is like the great illusion of carnival.” I suppose my question to you then is: if the movie itself tells you it is a fantasy, is it bad to delve into that escapism for 107 minutes? After the trauma that was 2020, can this film serve as an escape into a dream where Black people are genuinely happy and without a care in the world? Or are we participating in orientalism here? Considering the film was made by a white crew, is the joy depicted even ours? I would say that while your background does to an extent dictate how you will view this film (and any film for that matter), you also have a choice to make - can you enjoy Black Orpheus despite the politics revolving around it?
I, for one, have made the choice to enjoy it. Without meaning to fall into the trap of further exoticizing the plight of Afro-Brazilians, there are so many little things in this film which make me happy! Such as when Chico throws water on Serafina, and her straightened hair starts to revert to its natural curls! It is so carefree, and that means a lot to me. Or how about when Orfeu says to another Black man “you’re gonna look like a king!” and the man replies, “I am a king!” That’s Black boy joy I’m talking about! What of those dancing on the boat as it docks in Rio? It only hit me upon my fourth or fifth viewing of the film how contrasting these emotions were to how kidnapped Africans would have felt as they arrived in Brazil against their wishes, to be slaves.
When our history is so outrageously dark, the strength to celebrate our lives and how far we have come is even more pertinent. Is that not why the Notting Hill Carnival in London exists? To celebrate our lives in the faces of those who wish we did not?
The music in Black Orpheus is incredibly important, not only from a lyricism standpoint but also from a socio-historic and political standpoint. The film’s soundtrack is stunning, filled with samba and bossa nova styles. Samba was banned in Brazil not too long before this film was made, because it originated within the Afro-Brazilian community and was associated with slavery, but now, it is one of the most noticeable genres of music and dance to come out of Brazil.
When Donald Glover’s Guava Island came out in 2019, I immediately thought it was inspired by Black Orpheus, as well as by the novel Taduno’s Song (which I highly recommend reading) by Odafe Atogun,whose main character, Taduno, is based on real-life music legend Fela Kuti. The lyrics sung in Black Orpheus include “I’ve had enough of sadness/ I will make you happy/ I want to live in peace,” and honestly, who wants otherwise? This appears to be the driving force behind the Carnival fever: to leave one’s woes behind for one incredible day.
Black Orpheus has many issues. The Bechdel Test takes a real hit, with the women rarely speaking to one another about anything besides a man. The film has reportedly greatly influenced the exoticism of Brazil and Brazilians by the world in the decades that have passed, and has made Brazil synonymous with the vibrancy of Carnival (have you seen the reports coming out of Brazil concerning COVID? Not so synonymous with Carnival now, is it? The situation literally evokes a line from the film: “Once you’re here, Carnival is over.”)
What I could call the main theme of the film is seeing without sight. Living, moving, and trusting blindly in the name of love. Is it possible? Is it sometimes necessary? And is that what we must do to stomach this film?
The main reason I am suggesting this film for your Halloween viewing is because the hunting of Eurydice has nothing to do with her being Black. In our Western world, where racism abounds, is that reality not refreshing? Living in the African diaspora means we are minorities and each day, we leave our homes aware that we are Black. The characters in the film are very aware that they are Black, and perhaps where that has placed them in their society, with Orfeu referring to himself as being “poorer than the poorest of Black men.” The film ventures into a Macumba ritual, which is a regional form of Candomblé, an Afro-Brazilian religion that has elements of Roman Catholicism and traditional African religions such as the Yoruba religion.
Black identities are intact in Black Orpheus. However, it is not the main plot of the film (despite the first word in the title being “Black”). Being a minority race in Brazil has not been overtly pointed out - which one may say adds to the problems of this film, yet I love this small enclosure that has been manufactured, this “Black space.” It makes the film and casting almost seem ethnically neutral. As the entire cast is Black and any non-white actors are rare and background players, the film depicts being Black as normal, which it is.
Racism is not the only issue in our lives, even though it rears its ugly head every now and again in subtle and overt ways. We have lives outside of racism, and that is depicted here. This makes me give it two thumbs up.
There is so much to say about this film, but I do not wish to give you any spoilers! So do let us know if you decide to watch Black Orpheus; for those who have already seen it-what did you think?