It is common knowledge that the Bolsonaro government scrapped the Brazilian audiovisual sector. However, we shall never forget how: the tragedy foretold – or maybe planned? – of the Cinemateca in São Paulo; the extinction of the Ministry of Culture, turning into a Secretariat subordinated to the Ministry of Tourism; the stagnation of ANCINE and, therefore, of the Audiovisual Sectorial Fund; the non-publication of the annual Screen Quota decree as of 2019; among many other disservices to culture, art and cinema.
An important highlight of the political situation: even before Bolsonaro was elected, we cannot forget the coup that overthrew Dilma, raising Temer to the presidency. A coup that, in itself, is already a violent and conservative attack on democracy and the Brazilian people.
What is interesting here is how Brazilian cinema has dealt with this devastating scenario. In particular, how national science fiction films have been projecting our future from this scenario. After all, one of the great characteristics of the sci-fi genre is to speculate about the future time based on an analysis of the present time. That's where I got the idea to create the concept “Aesthetics of Scrap”, a particular aesthetic of contemporary Brazilian cinema after the coup and in times of Bolsonarism. To illustrate the concept, I will use the films “onc3 there was Brasilia”, by Adirley Queirós, and “King Car”, by Renata Pinheiro.
Before we begin, let's make sure we're on the same page. I understand by scrap any waste that is unusable for its initial proposal, however, it is recyclable and can be used in other production systems. By “scrapping” I mean letting something go to ruin (due to lack of care, investment, etc.), or deliberately promoting the scrapping of (something).
So, let's go.
The Aesthetics of Scrap is the gravitational field of the narrative, and it manifests itself both in the spatial and temporal dimensions of the films. In the spatial dimension, it is seen in the scenic construction from the material use of scrap, especially in the use of aluminum, metal, cast iron, cardboard, plastics, and discarded electronics. Therefore, scrap is materially present in the composition of almost all shots and framings. It fills the sets, the costumes, and the sound, and is a key element in the plot, a fundamental signifier, a message conductor. In the temporal dimension, it unfolds from the idea of scrapping, that is, something that happens through a duration, its own temporality, the temporality of scrapping – the time of emptiness, of what does not happen, of inertia, repetition, and frustration. It becomes noticeable in the montage of the works, in the exhaustive extension of the shots – in “Era uma vez Brasilia” – and in the arch of the characters, leading from promise to disbelief – in “King Car”.
Thus, scrap plays a central role in these productions. It is up to the characters to work the scrap, give it another meaning, and make whatever is possible with it since the scrap is all we have got. The characters in “King Car” turned cars that would otherwise go to the scrap heap into something useful by recycling them, which is the case of the character that gives the film its name, built from scrap. However, after recycling, not everything is what it seems. Working with scrap can be extremely dangerous – even more so when we extrapolate and imagine the use of scrap and scrapping as a political project for building a country.
In “Once there was Brasilia” (2017), we follow the protagonist WA4, an intergalactic creature traveling to Brasilia with mysterious intentions. Their spaceship is all built from scrap metal, as are their weapons and clothing. Upon arriving, the scenario is typical of post-apocalyptic dystopias – a Brasilia reminiscent of Mad Max scenarios, devastated and deserted, where the few erected bodies wander among wreckage and garbage. A “futuristic” vision that uses scrap both as construction material for intergalactic travel vehicles and to scenographically represent the capital of Brazil. The shock of futurism being represented through scrap metal is immense, and it gives off an impression of being crude, rudimentary, obviously not by chance, nor does it seem involuntary to me. The director, I believe, intends to suggest, through the scenographic elements, that this is our destiny, our project for the country and the future, a project that is, at this moment (and since the coup) being put into practice. Brazil is the country of scrap and scrapping: it is present in cinema, culture, education, social welfare, democracy. Here, one of the many analogies that comes to mind is scrap as leftovers. It is with the remains of the orgies of those who govern us that we will dress, get to places, feed ourselves. The people only have the right to leftovers (see the tragedy of hunger evidenced by the families in queues waiting for the donation of bones to eat)[1].
In “King Car”, released on June 29 in national cinemas, we follow the story of “Uninho”, a boy who can talk to cars. The film focuses on a mechanical workshop, whose main function is to transform old cars – destined for the scrap heap – into “supercars” that talk to their passengers. The transformation of old cars into “supercars” is made from scrap recycling, carried out by the hands of a talented mechanic. In “King Car” everything changes when there is the enactment of an official decree that orders the immediate disposal of all cars that have exceeded a certain age. I won't go into the details of the story so as not to give away any spoilers, since you should go to the cinema and check out this insane fable about bad conscience, resentment, and the “rise” of fascism in Brazil in recent years. What interests me in this text is just to present the aesthetics of scrap – and this film is a great illustrative example.
In the film “Once there was Brasilia” very little happens, in a proposal of almost total inertia, representing exactly the impotence and torpor of the Brazilian population in the face of the coup – the film was made in 2017 –, however, in “King Car”, what happens, at first something that appears to be liberating and revolutionary, is quickly unmasked, presenting the complexities of thinking about subversive movements in a country marked by colonization and abysmal class cleavage. In “Once there was Brasilia”, the affections that prevail are those of inertia and impotence. In “King Car”, paraphrasing Paulo Freire, we have the oppressed wanting to become the oppressor – affections of betrayal, resentment, and frustration.
One of the great capabilities of cinema is its ability to create a particular universe for a given film, with its own working logic. Films like those set on other planets, with fantastic creatures, or in a devastated Brasilia, or with a boy who talks to cars - the possibilities for fiction are endless. However, it is not always possible to extrapolate from the universe created by the film to the universe in which the film is created. By making the transition from fiction to reality, we are giving new meanings to what was presented to us. Metaphors thus blossom into meanings and relevance.
Both films, through what I called Aesthetics of Scrap, manage to provide us with this extrapolation. Here lies, for me, not only one of the greatest qualities of them, but of cinema as such.
Era Uma Vez Brasília
Brazil - 2017 - 1h 40min
Written and directed by Adirley Queirós
Carro Rei (King Car)
Brazil - 2021 - 1h 39min
Directed by Renata Pinheiro
Written by Sergio Oliveira, Renata Pinheiro e Leo Pyrata
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