MARCH 28, 2008 - VOL. 1, ISSUE 8

The concept of City of Men was initially realized as a long-running Brazilian television series. It followed the lives of Acerola and Laranjinha ("Ace" and "Wallace" in the English translation) as they grew up, running for four seasons from 2002 to 2005. Apparently, these characters have years of plot, convoluted relationships, and evolution behind them upon which the film is supported. I say "apparently" because I never saw this series; I only discovered it after I saw the film (I never saw City of God, either, the spiritual predecessor to both). The movie gave me no clues that it was the culmination of some deeper material, except for the wonderfully detailed and seamlessly integrated flashbacks of the protagonists' early adolescence. But most importantly, the film is never confusing, and does not rely on any knowledge a viewer may have about the TV show.

Movies following TV shows have a balance to strike, between treating the story as a continuation—an organic offshoot—of the lore of the series; and allowing the movie to constitute a largely independent arc that riffs on the series' themes. The pitfall of the former is creating something that feels like a "two hour episode," or something utterly incomprehensible without a flawless knowledge of the material, as in the case of Twin Peaks, while the latter risks abandoning the virtues of the original series at the expense of bringing the uninitiated up to speed. And, inescapably with either extreme, the average Joe Blow viewer will probably be left with the faint suspicion that he missed out on some crucial kind of background.

When Mr. Blow, your reviewer, planted it to watch this film with no prior experience or knowledge other than a general awareness that the story took place in Brazilian favelas, there was never the awkward discomfort of being a stranger at another family's Thanksgiving. Instead, City of Men draws on its source material as an invaluable asset to creating a beautifully succinct arc. The backgrounds of the protagonists, ostensibly drawn from the series, are meaningful and compelling, but their presentation is neither assuming nor neglectful. We are gently, if a little expeditiously, made aware of the boys' lack of fathers, their loose relationships with local drug lords, and their deep, powerfully old friendship. You feel as if these two had lives prior to the film—and they did, on television, but the film knows what to leave behind, what not to explain. Old grudges, weaknesses, and dreams only boil over at the proper moment, when they're most relevant, and then quietly return to the subsurface to simmer.

City of Men is the title, but the Rio de Janeiro of the film is mostly devoid of the creatures. Dead End Hill, the favela ruled over by Laranjinha's cousin Madrugadão ("Midnight" in English, apparently), is an enclave built upon itself. It has no structure or clear history to guide its residents as they build their homes and lives up and out. Everyone is self-made: Madrugadão keeps his casual hold over the hill with a cadre of ragged soldiers in a loose military hierarchy. They patrol the stairways and hardscrabble corners in sandals and t-shirts, with huge rifles slung over their shoulders. A sense of home-turf pride motivates the troop in all it does, but it is a confused, self-fulfilling kind of rationale. Being the alpha of the shantytown is equated with adulthood, responsibility, and power, and the position is coveted by Madrugadão's lieutenant. His coup is what brings the impetus for the rest of the story.

The lieutenant's rough attempt at assassinating Madrugadão, and the ensuing chaos, merely fester in the periphery of Acerola and Laranjinha, but reflect their own insecurities and desires. Laranjinha has never known his father, and finds himself adrift with no plans for the future. Acerola, at eighteen, is a father to a toddler, but still dwells in adolescent immaturity. Both search for manhood, but look in the wrong places. Laranjinha finds his father as a recently released murderer, yet he still tags after him in the blind hope that he’ll receive some life advice. The man only succeeds in driving a wedge between the two lifelong friends before he is carted off to prison again. Acerola, meanwhile, inadvertently becomes embroiled in the plot on Madrugadão's fiefdom and finds his own life in danger. He goes to his old friend for help, but Laranjinha lets misguided loyalty to his father get the better of him.

While full of false examples of male role models, the film contains no genuine article. It forces Acerola and Laranjinha to grow into the resulting vacuum—to find their own morality. Through the course of the story, Laranjinha routinely blows off taking care of his son. The neglected boy gets into some heart-wrenchingly dangerous situations, but the situation never seems to hit the teen dad in the face. He takes a gentler path to understanding responsibility. The disconnect mirrors the relationship between the plot and subplot here: they pass like ships in the night, catching glimpses of each others' lights, until they have a near-collision where the sailors have a brief opportunity to stare into each others' tense faces. It’s the joy of the movie, that the tension and conflict that suppurate beneath the surface only breach briefly, tantalizingly.

The climax of the story finds Dead End Hill caught in a bloody and clumsy firefight over Madrugadão's turf, with Acerola as a new recruit in the ousted drug lord’s militia. I was, at first, slightly disappointed that a film with issues of masculinity at its core felt the need to include a violent battle scene, almost out of man-movie duty, but the sequence so marvelously resolved itself into a larger reflection of the characters' quest for the meaning of manhood that I was too charmed to care. The two friends escape the favela, walking into the sunset; Laranjinha with his son and Acerola with a new understanding of his identity.