Black God, White Devil
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Synopsis
Myth, mysticism, and revolution collide in a blistering existential western from Glauber Rocha, the father of Brazil’s socially committed Cinema Novo movement. After killing his swindling boss, ranch hand Manoel (Geraldo Del Rey) goes on the run with his wife, Rosa (Yoná Magalhães). In the stark hinterlands, they join forces with armed bandits and pledge allegiance to a self-styled holy man who preaches revolt against rich landowners while perpetrating unspeakable acts of violence against the innocent. Suffused with antiauthoritarian fervor and the intensity of life in the desert, this landmark work of radical cinema is a scorched-earth allegory about mindless fanaticism and the allure of dead-end ideologies.
Picture 9/10
The Criterion Collection's Blu-ray release of Glauber Rocha's seminal Black God, White Devil presents the film in its original 1.37:1 aspect ratio on the first dual-layer disc of a two-disc set. This edition features a 1080p/24hz encode sourced from a new 4K restoration derived from the 35mm negative.
While some minor print damage and occasional frame issues persist—marked by slight shifts and the rare missing frame—the overall restoration is spectacular, a dramatic improvement over the damaged clips I've seen over the years (my first viewing was through Mawu's UK edition). The black levels are deep, and the grayscale is beautifully rendered, blending seamlessly in darker shadows and brighter skies to reveal an extraordinary amount of detail, even in the highlights. This enhances a terrific sense of depth, particularly in the expansive landscape shots.
Detail levels are excellent throughout most of the film, despite the camera going out of focus on occasion (which is briefly explained in the optional commentary). Impressively, the encode holds up wonderfully to Mawu’s, and I’d say they’re about on par. Grain is rendered cleanly without any distracting artifacts, including in those expansive shots of the sky, and the presentation maintains the film-like aesthetic I like to see. It really looks great.
Audio 6/10
The lossless PCM single-channel monaural soundtrack is constrained somewhat by the original source materials. Fortunately, significant damage isn’t a concern, and there appears to be no heavy filtering applied. However, there is a noticeable edginess to the voices and some of the music, and I suspect that much of the dialogue may have been dubbed in post-production.
Extras 9/10
Criterion has assembled a robust two-disc special edition for the film, successfully porting over nearly everything from Mawu’s edition outside of a video essay exclusive to that release. This includes two feature-length documentaries found on the second disc, along with the trailer: the 97-minute Glauber the Movie, Labyrinth of Brazil; and the 92-minute Cinema Novo. I’ve watched both documentaries a few times now, and while they serve their purpose in the context of this release by introducing newcomers (myself included) to the subject matter, they are clearly designed for audiences already somewhat familiar with the topics, with Glauber in particular appearing to have been made for Brazilian television. This is, of course, natural and perfectly fine, but as supplements to the feature film, they can be a bit frustrating if you’re not already acquainted with the material.
Glauber the Movie provides a general overview of the filmmaker’s life through interviews and archival footage, but it never seems to delve deeper than a surface level, especially regarding his political views. Rocha’s early films tackled social issues such as poverty and inequality with an anti-establishment stance, even critiquing the Brazilian government after the 1964 military coup. His politics, however, took a drastic turn later in life—so much so that he was accused of siding with the military. His actions grew more erratic, culminating in wild accusations of a worldwide conspiracy against his film The Age of the Earth after it lost to Louis Malle’s Atlantic City at the Venice Film Festival. While many viewed his comments as “nuts” (including his claims of CIA involvement), they were still rooted in the anti-establishment beliefs he had held throughout his life, stemming from his sense that the international film establishment was unreceptive to his unconventional and radical style. Unfortunately, the documentary seems to skirt around these complexities, reducing everything to “he was a complicated guy.”
Of course, some of my frustrations may stem from the fact that the documentary isn’t targeted at a Westerner like me and assumes a certain level of prior knowledge. That’s fair, especially given that Rocha was a complex figure, and a 97-minute documentary could hardly do him justice. However, it doesn’t help that a significant portion of the runtime is dedicated to footage from Rocha’s funeral and wake, which sacrifices time that could have been spent exploring the man’s intricacies, forcing the documentary into a speed-run of an overview of his later work and life.
On the other hand, Cinema Novo feels more tailored for a Western audience and works better in that context, though it also presumes some pre-existing knowledge. Directed by Rocha’s son, Eryk, the documentary explores this era of Brazilian cinema through archival interviews with notable directors (including Nelson Pereira dos Santos, Carlos Diegues, Leon Hirzman, Joaquim Pedro de Andrade, Ruy Guerra, and Rocha himself) interspersed with clips from several films. The filmmakers discuss how the movement emerged from their collective desire to address the social inequalities in their country and challenge the status quo, each taking their own unique approach, often delving into folklore.
Where the documentary falls short, particularly as a supplement to this release, is in its examination of the films themselves. Instead, Eryk Rocha compiles long montages of key film clips in a dreamlike, poetic fashion, seemingly attempting to capture the spirit of the movement rather than explain it. As a homage, it works, but I wish Criterion had included an option for subtitles to identify the film clips, which would have been helpful for those interested in tracking them down—something Criterion has done in other releases, like The Velvet Underground.
(Interestingly, Criterion managed to acquire a high-definition presentation of the documentary, whereas Mawu’s version appears to be sourced from a standard-definition upscale with burned-in subtitles.)
Though these documentaries may fall short as supplements for Western audiences new to Cinema Novo and Glauber Rocha, the issue lies more in the scarcity of material available on these subjects. Criterion (and Mawu, for that matter) had to work with what they could get. To fill in any gaps left by the documentaries, Criterion includes a couple of additional features, such as an exclusive new interview with Richard Peña. Peña delves into the history of Cinema Novo, providing better context not only for the political climate in Brazil but also for the geographical regions typically represented (the sertão), areas further from the coastal regions where poverty was more rampant. He also compares how different directors approached their subjects, contrasting Rocha’s approach in Black God, White Devil with dos Santos’ in Barren Lives.
This was all excellent, as was his discussion around Rocha’s film specifically and why it has been so difficult to see over the years. Also noteworthy is Lino Meireles’ audio commentary, which is also found on the Mawu edition. Meireles, the producer of the film’s 4K restoration, spends a reasonable amount of time discussing the restoration process, past restorations of the film, and the history of film restoration in Brazil, all of which prove engaging. However, I found his comments on the film itself even more enjoyable. Although I’m not familiar with his work or background, I appreciated his layman’s approach to the film. He recounts his first viewing of it and his initial bewilderment, admitting that some of his confusion stemmed from his unfamiliarity with the subject matter, combined with the film’s rough editing, camera work, and sound design (for example, there are moments where it’s difficult to tell who is speaking). But through repeat viewings and his work on the restoration, he has become more familiar with the film and is now able to clarify certain aspects for first-time viewers while also providing context around situations and characters within the film, particularly the jagunço Antonio das Mortes and the two figures of resistance, Sebastião and Corisco, who are more or less composites of historical figures. He also effectively conveys the film’s importance within the context of Brazilian cinema. It’s not an easy film, and it may take a couple of viewings for some, but I thought this track, along with Peña’s interview, was incredibly helpful.
And there’s more. One topic frequently discussed in the material on the disc is the cangaceiros, the sertão bandits led by Corisco, who play a prominent role in the film. On this topic, Criterion has unearthed the 1964 documentary Memória do cangaço. The 29-minute short delves into the history of these bandits and even features footage of Lampião, one of the key influences for the character of Corisco. It also includes an interview with a jagunço who hunted down the bandits and offers a stark look at the economic conditions that fueled their rise. An interview with a worker who mentions he’s lucky to be paid draws parallels to Manuel’s plight in the film.
This is an impressive find on Criterion’s part and effectively wraps up the video features. An essay by Fábio Andrade then provides a short but excellent examination of the film, Rocha, and Cinema Novo.
Despite the frustrations I had with a couple of the individual supplements, Criterion manages to fill in any gaps left by them and has put together one of their most satisfying editions in a long while. It’s easily one of my favorite releases from them so far this year.
Closing
One of my favorite releases this year, Criterion’s two-disc special edition delivers a terrific high-definition presentation of the film, along with a solid collection of supplemental materials that effectively contextualize the film for Western audiences.
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