Same City, New Perspective

Countless stories can be told about a single place. In 2002, director Fernando Meirelles’ City of God introduced us to the lawless favelas of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The same director has a production credit in City of Men, though it’s not exactly a sequel—City of Men is the film version of a cult television series about two boys growing up in this labyrinthine, treacherous world.

The film is about fathers and sons—men father sons easily, but the choice to behave like a father means something quite different. Two boys, Luis Acerola and Wallace Laranjinha, both on the verge of manhood, have relied on and raised each other without the support of their own fathers. They are about to turn 18, but the boys are still preciously naïve—though Acerola himself is the reluctant father of a toddler. The framework of the story suggests sentimentalism, but the film never takes that tone, although it certainly tells its story more sensitively than did City of God. The narrative never seems as conventional as it is, due mostly to its location in the favela, which lends a grave reality to the story.

Throughout the film, the favela lurks and interferes in the lives of these individuals who are struggling to cohere as families in a world where territory is constantly changing hands in a full-fledged war between drug gangs. The stylish cinematography that City of God employed in filming chases and fights is relegated to relatively few sequences—this story isn’t told through the eyes of a spectator, as the earlier film was. Though the camera doesn’t move as energetically as it did in City of God, the tremendous vitality of the first film can still be found in City of Men. It appears in body language and voices, in the quick-witted dialogue, and in the organic quality of the sights shown in the film.

As with City of God, the newer film makes use of the pre-existent favela. The characters speak and move with a natural spontaneous rhythm, as most of the actors actually live where their characters live, although they do not play themselves. Even characters appearing briefly exhibit distinctive mannerisms and gestures, creating a realistic tableau of details in every corner. Though the film is fictional, it is also ethnographical.

The favela is inherently so exciting that one never tires of witnessing it on film. But though the favela may be vibrant and dynamic as a setting, it is also tragic and cruel to its inhabitants. The film doesn’t celebrate its setting. Rather, it finds a story to tell. The story is no fable and there is no activist’s message behind it, but there is nothing shameful in the filmmakers telling—or us relishing—a good story about a hellish place.