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Gagosian Quarterly

Spring 2022 Issue

Game Changer

Glauber Rocha

Carlos Valladares celebrates the visionary Brazilian director.

Glauber Rocha on the set of Cabezas Cortadas (1970), 1970. Photo: Profilmes/Album/Alamy Stock Photo

Glauber Rocha on the set of Cabezas Cortadas (1970), 1970. Photo: Profilmes/Album/Alamy Stock Photo

Carlos Valladares

Carlos Valladares is a writer, critic, programmer, journalist, and video essayist from South Central Los Angeles, California. He studied film at Stanford University and began his PhD in History of Art and Film & Media Studies at Yale University in fall 2019. He has written for the San Francisco ChronicleFilm Comment, and the Criterion Collection. Photo: Jerry Schatzberg

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“Enough of criticizing cinema,” said Glauber Rocha in 1970. “We need to transform it.” Refusing to swallow the Enlightenment brand of reality that had been foisted on him and on Brazil, Rocha embraced his status as a Third World auteur—not an individualist loner working to hone a signature style but a dreamer of a people, of a world in a permanent state of maelstrom and trance.1 Combining Dada, surrealism, anarchy, mystical Trotskyism, candomblé, and the anthropophagic tropicalism of the modernist poet Oswald de Andrade, Rocha flummoxes, perverts, howls with freedom and despair. His major films—Barravento (The Turning Wind, 1962), Deus e o Diabo na Terra do Sol (Black God, White Devil, 1964),2 Terra em Transe (Entranced Earth, 1967), O Dragão da Maldade contra o Santo Guerreiro (Antonio Das Mortes, 1969),3 and A Idade da Terra (The Age of the Earth, 1980)—spark rebellion in the viewer, a desire to embrace the life of flux, fury, love, and unreason. The question for Rocha becomes not “What is reason?” but “Which unreason will win the war?”

In 1969, Rocha premiered Antonio Das Mortes at the Cannes Film Festival and won the best-director award. Only a few months earlier, Brazil’s military regime had suspended its citizens’ personal liberties and begun a brutal censorship of anything it deemed subversive. These conditions pushed Rocha into a decade of international exile; when he returned to Brazil during the “opening” of the country after 1977, he used his newfound optimism to create the glorious A Idade da Terra. Impelled by the murder of Pier Paolo Pasolini in 1975, he set out to respond to the Italian director’s masterpiece, The Gospel according to Matthew (1964), whose interpretation of Christ he praised as “the voice of the new morality: the morality of the conscious man in the developing world.”4 A Idade loosely follows the efforts of four Third World Christs (Indigenous, Black, guerrilla, and military) to stop a vulgar US industrialist from advancing into Brasília, the outsized modern capital of Brazil. Like all of Rocha’s great works, it is a total film of the future: opaque, lyrical, unstable, outrageous.

Rocha was one of the most brilliant critics in the history of film, as combative and insightful as Jean-Luc Godard, Jean-Marie Straub, Dziga Vertov, and Sergei Eisenstein. He may even have more to teach us than those four, since his frame of reference included not only Europe and the United States but also Latin America and the Third World. If critics and producers mocked him out of confusion and fear, he commanded the respect of his fellow directors. After the disastrously received premiere of A Idade da Terra at the 1980 Venice Film Festival, one of the film’s only serious defenders was Michelangelo Antonioni, who wrote to Rocha, “Each scene is a lesson showing how modern cinema has to be done.”5

As a proponent of Brazil’s Cinema Novo, Rocha was determined to reflect Brazil back to itself in all its contradictions and all its capacity for crazy dreaming. “Therein lies the tragic originality of cinema novo in relation to world cinema: our originality is our hunger,” Rocha wrote, “and our greatest misery is that this hunger, while it’s felt, is not understood.”6 Since Rocha felt that Brazilians could not eat, he nourished them with his films while blocking the country’s enemies from sating their appetite for a culture that they could never understand or recolonize. He also confronted them with their own capacity for violence and brutality. And he gave the oppressed a new visual language with which to strike back, from serpentine long takes to shards of aggressive montage, all revealing how a reality that at first glance seemed coherent was illogical, intolerable, incomplete.

Rocha’s work is defined by rupture. A blast to the complacent psyche, it confronts you with your own political inadequacy, your inability to hide behind a stance of neutrality. Manny Farber once wrote of Godard, “No other filmmaker has so consistently made me feel like a stupid ass.”7 I feel the same with Glauber Rocha. Beneath his audiovisual foaming-of-the-mouth seethes a passion that leads him to rhapsodies in praise of dreams, love, a commitment to life’s mess. Anyone serious about cinema will surely toast Rocha as they return to his films and writings over the course of their lives.

1Horacio González writes that what Rocha meant by trance (transe) was “a state of convulsed wakefulness that assaulted the creative consciousness and provided its true impulse, guaranteeing that the work it produced would be independent of the spasms that originated it.” González, “Glauber Rocha’s Thinking: The Proximity of Memory,” in Glauber Rocha. Del hambre al sueño: obra, política y pensamiento/From Hunger to Dream: Work, Politics and Thought, exh. cat. (Buenos Aires: Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires, 2004), p. 386.

2A literal translation of Deus e o Diabo na Terra do Sol would be “God and the devil in the land of the sun.” The film was released in the United States as Black God, White Devil.

3A literal translation of O Dragão da Maldade contra o Santo Guerreiro would be “The dragon of wickedness against the holy warrior.” In most countries the film was released as Antonio Das Mortes.

4Glauber Rocha, “The Morality of a New Christ,” in Glauber Rocha, On Cinema, ed. Ismail Xavier, trans. Stephanie Dennison and Charlotte Smith (New York: I. B. Tauris, 2019), p. 176.

5Michelangelo Antonioni, in Eduardo F. Costantini Jr., “Homage to a Thought in Trance,” in Glauber Rocha: From Hunger to Dream, p. 281.

6Glauber Rocha, “An Aesthetics of Hunger,” 1965, in Rocha, On Cinema, p. 43.

7Manny Farber, “Jean-Luc Godard,” in Farber on Film: The Complete Film Writings of Manny Farber (New York: Library of America, 2009), p. 633.

Portrait of filmmaker Kenneth Anger

Game Changer
Kenneth Anger

William Breeze pays homage to his friend the filmmaker and author Kenneth Anger, reflecting on his revolutionary work in color, Magick, and spirituality.

Headshot of Dorothy Miller

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Dorothy Miller

Scholar Wendy Jeffers is working on a comprehensive biography of Dorothy Miller, the groundbreaking curator who joined the Museum of Modern Art in its early years, building, over the course of decades, an innovative and remarkable program promoting contemporary American artists. Here, Jeffers recounts some key moments from this extraordinary life.

Ashley Bickerton

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Ashley Bickerton

Michael Slenske pays tribute to the life and work of artist Ashley Bickerton.

Virginia Dwan in her New York gallery during the exhibition Language III, May 24–June 18, 1969

Game Changer
Virginia Dwan

Charles Stuckey reflects on the unparalleled life and career of the gallerist, patron, and curator Virginia Dwan, enumerating key moments from a lifetime dedicated to artists and their visions.

Image of Constance Lewallen and John Baldessari in his studio, Los Angeles, 1977

Game Changer
Constance Lewallen

Michael Auping pays tribute to the late bicoastal curator, admiring her contributions to the proliferation of Conceptual art.

Black and white image of Annie Flanders entering Area nightclub, New York, 1986.

Game Changer
Annie Flanders

Aria Darcella pays homage to the founder of Details magazine, enumerating the many ways in which Flanders changed discourses around fashion, nightlife, and photography.

Lee “Scratch” Perry, c. 1980

Game Changer
Lee “Scratch” Perry

Connor Garel celebrates the outsized impact of this legendary musician on the world of music and beyond.

Anna Halprin in The Prophetess, 1955.

Game Changer
Anna Halprin

Jacquelynn Baas celebrates the choreographer, dancer, and teacher, tracing the profound influence she had on the worlds of dance and art.

Thomas McEvilley, Ulay (hiding behind a slab of wood), Eric Orr, and James Lee Byars, c. 1995 © Ulay, courtesy ULAY Foundation/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Game Changer
Thomas McEvilley

David Frankel celebrates the art-historical contributions made by the scholar, poet, and critic Thomas McEvilley.

Black-and-white photograph of Marie-Laure de Noailles in 1936 by Man Ray.

Game Changer
Vicomtesse Marie-Laure de Noailles

Ariella Wolens explores the patron’s role in fostering the legendary art world of early twentieth-century France.

Dr. David Driskell, 2002, head resting on hand in a blue shirt with art in the background.

Game Changer
Dr. David Driskell

Taylor Aldridge reflects on the enduring legacy of the artist, educator, curator, and scholar.

Mercedes Matter with students at the New York Studio School. Photo: Herbert Matter, courtesy the Department of Special Collections, Stanford University Libraries

Game Changer
Mercedes Matter

Lauren Mahony and Michael Tcheyan pay homage to the founder of the New York Studio School.