Araby is a humble film from Brazil that leaves a stark impression. In an extended prologue, André (Murilo Caliari), a teenage boy, takes care of his younger brother while their parents are traveling, and sometimes he comes along with his aunt Marcia (Glaucia Vandeveld) during her work as a nurse. They both live in an industrial town near an old aluminum factory. When Cristiano (Aristides de Sousa)—one of the factory workers—suffers an accident, Marcia asks his nephew to pick up some personal items inside Cristiano’s apartment. There, André finds a notebook where Cristiano chronicles his life.
Cristiano’s life story is the recount of an ordinary man who travels many miles across the country to make an honest life far from crime. In the past, he stole a car and ended up in prison. After being freed, he thinks the best way to make amends is to hard work and keep traveling until he found an opportunity to settle down. Though Cristiano is not even sure he has a story worthy of being told, his words stand for a purpose: he also expresses his love for Ana (Renata Cabral) and describes the paths that have led him to her.
Araby feels like a collection of fragmented remembrances, where memories are random and disjointed. In part, this is because Cristiano doesn’t mean to share his story. His writing seems self-confessional and insecure, but it allows him to better understanding his feelings. Some of his thoughts express a bitter resignation in the yearning for a lost love and a wasted life. One of the most insightful reflections in Cristiano’s notes asserts: “Everyone has a story to tell. Even the quiet ones.”
With the subtle cinematography of Leonard Feliciano, co-directors João Dumans and Affonso Uchoa offer a different perspective on the social problems that have inspired a large portion of Latin American cinema. Crucial situations are represented with extreme distance (life in prison, confrontation with a boss, a hit-and-run accident) or just mentioned in passing (a miscarriage). In contrast, the film is pleased to focus on instances of intimacy and friendship where people come together to sing a song, tell a joke, or read a letter.
Araby has a humanistic vision not concentrated in a bombastic depiction of crime and poverty, but instead it reflects a tender domesticity, where small incidents rise above major events, and concentrates on the poetry of everyday life. Because of this, the film provides an addition to a tradition of Brazilian cinema, trusting in the power of art to create a place for anonymous people and their trials and tribulations.
By the time Andre reads Cristiano’s story, the man is in a coma. This knowledge casts a shadow throughout. What Cristiano doesn’t suspect is that his story might be an enlightening guide to inspire a young boy to seek a life with better opportunities. Like the best journeys, Araby becomes transformative for its quiet epiphanies.
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