I still haven’t made up my mind about the social value of Rio’s flashy Carnival parades. At least this year I did, fortunately, manage to have a good time at them.
I’ve been critical of how Rio’s most famous festival has been transformed from street a celebration for all comers to a sponsorship-driven media-hyped marathon catering to jet-setting tourists and well-heeled Brazilians. I’m not alone in thinking this; it’s one of the most frequent comments I hear about the parades at the famous Sambadromo. The massive floats with tricked-out special effects, the legions of marchers with ornate costumes that range from eye-catching to kitschy, the massive production value and financial muscle that underlies the whole thing – it’s not a natural fit for me.
The difference this year was that I stood and watched it from inches away. And it really is pretty amazing.
The sheer size and scale of the Sambadrome was immediately overwhelming to me. Designed by Brazilian architect Oscar Niemeyer who was responsible for many of the buildings in the capital of Brasilia, the facility is 700 meters of street turned into a parade venue with bleachers on either side. Upon its opening in 1984, it became the new venue for parades that were for decades held along the giant Avenida President Vargas in downtown Rio, marking the first step in Carnival’s evolution from a public event for everyone to today’s commercial affair.
Around midnight I jumped out of a taxi in the relatively desolate evirons around the Sambadrome, often referred to as Marques de Sapucai which is the name of the street where the parades are actually held. It took me a good 15 minutes to navigate the “backstage” areas, ducking between support staff, security types and tourists outfitted in garish costumes. Once I got in I found myself standing on the street level with a crowd of journalists, fans and assorted rubberneckers authorized to watch the spectacle from up close.
The Portela school started its parade with bang, and before I knew it I was inches away from a squad of marchers dressed in blue from head to toe with fish costumes that protruded a foot in front of them. The drums pounded, the crowd cheered, the music blared. I felt like a country kid in the big city for the first time, repressing an inner desire to say something like “Aw shucks, ma, ain’t this neat?” The crowd along the edge of the parade swelled for the following act, reigning champion Unidos da Tijuca, which had movie-themed parade replete with floats decked out in full Carnival regalia. A huge Avatar-themed float a practically life-sized pterodactyl at the top, another with dozens of Harry Potter-themed characters sitting around a huge dinner table that tilted back and forth at 45 degree angles, and yet another with Indiana Jones swinging from a rope to dodge a falling boulder.
Many of the paraders are tourists who pay top dollar to join the act. But seeing it up close helped reminded me that this was not all of them – kids, teens, grandmas and grandpas filled out the vast majority of the costumes used by the samba schools, which are located in poor neighborhoods of Rio that take great pride in their link to the festivals. Corny and overdone as the parades can be, they are still the pride and joy and millions of poor Brazilians who look forward to the event all year, and spend hours sweating through sweltering Rio summers to make the costumes and deck out the floats.
There is something undeniably commoditized about it. The songs by the 12 competing schools – 3-minute sambas sung over and over again for two straight hours – are nearly indistinguishable from one another. This in part because all are set to the fastest possible tempo push through the maximum number of marchers in the allotted time – a change some critics call yet another spillover effect of the Sambadrome. I often find the lyrics a milquetoast hodge-podge of ideas centered loosely arranged around the theme of the parade (though I openly profess my ignorance of the music), in contrast to the lyrical genius of Brazilian singers like Chico Buarque that can seamlessly weave love, longing and political protest into a single tune.
And a corporate logo is just about always in sight. This year a large screen at the start of the parade flashed ads for cell phone operator TIM, bank Bradesco and shampoo maker Pantene. The latter is probably not a coincidence, since one of the parades this year was centered around different the concept of hair – often a relevant issue in mix-raced society – with floats based on Rapunzel fairy tale and Medusa’s snake hair.
It’s easy to get turned off by this stuff. Many cariocas have, turning instead to increasingly popular street parties known as “blocos” that include a combination costumed revelers singing, traditional Carnival songs, marching through streets and, of course, drinking copiously.
But the Sambadrome’s pull is undeniably strong for millions, most notably those that will never have a chance to get as close as I did. They line up on bridge overpasses and climb into trees to stare between the bleachers for trace glimpses of action, anything to see it up close and live. They even crowd around the back parking lot where the floats and costumed paraders line up before the start of the show. No complaining, no socialist outrage about the VIP access for foreigners with deep pockets, no lamenting the old days when anyone could watch. Just a crowd of folks straining to catch a glimpse between the cracks.
Being another of the well-heeled foreigners with free reign to wander the festival reminded that this festival I had to admit, whether or not I’m crazy about every aspect of it, has its charm.
No comments:
Post a Comment