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Central do Brasil (1998)
(aka Central Station)

A review by Damian Cannon.
Copyright © Movie Reviews UK 2000
It's just so refreshing to stumble across a film that's hardcore natural, common sense to its heart. A piece somehow separate from the conventions of mainline cinema, even when it's artificial in the way that only fiction can be. That's not to say though that there's anything inherently wrong with the typical Hollywood blockbuster; on the contrary they can form the centrepiece of a decent night's entertainment. It's just that when you look past the flashy pyrotechnics, to places never considered by the filmmakers, those spaces are vacant. The pictures don't mean anything beyond a self-justification of their own existence. Central Station is, in its predictable but very realistic fashion, an antidote to the vacuum.

The story depends almost entirely upon the performances of two people, one young and one old, one male and one female. The former, Vinícius de Oliveira, is a real find. Plucked from airport obscurity by director Walter Salles, where Oliveira shone shoes, he plays the part of Josué with an untutored simplicity. Much like Oliveira himself, Josué is a waif, a piece of flotsam tossed here and there by the impersonal currents of Rio de Janeiro. Once upon a time Josué had a mother to care, and look out, for him, but in a frozen moment she died. Somewhere, in a distant place far off to the south, Josué has a father whom he's never known, never met. This man, Josué's last known kin, might as well be in outer space for all of the assistance that he can give Josué.

The only person that Josué can depend on, not that either of them know it, is Dora (Fernanda Montenegro). The partner in crime for Central Station, Dora has lost patience with humanity, she's disconnected and contemptuous. Perched on a stool in Rio's main station, hence the title, Dora scribbles communications dictated by an illiterate population. She only toils at this task to make ends meet, having retired from teaching, and frankly Dora couldn't care less whether her actions make or break lives. At home, if a flat empty of love, devoid of affection, can be called home, Dora cackles with friend Irene (Marília Pêra) at the expense of poor unfortunates. That's how little her existence touches on the finer things, the fireworks and private smiles, that lift the spirits of those very same customers.

So how do these two meet? Through circumstance and rude chance, courtesy of a script that understands the actions and reactions of folk under stress. Contained within the lines and scenes is this knowledge, implicit at any particular instant, explicit when taken as the sum of all that has occurred. For Central Station, it's the journey, whether physical or emotional, that counts; at the end you've learnt a tiny bit more about who you are, irrespective of individual incidents. As the tale unfolds it becomes transparently clear that one doesn't learn through introspective analysis, persistent understanding comes through doing and experiences shared. So while Josué and Dora provide this lesson's context, with notable excellence, they aren't essential to the message itself; any citizen of Rio could do as well.

That said, the relationship that they create, from a believable predicament, is one that you can really care for and about. It's a joy watching Dora rediscover life itself, not in an unsatisfying cataclysm, but through incremental steps on a path never to be completed. Montenegro's complete control of her character is exemplar. Yet for all of her experience, young Oliveira matches Montenegro. He has a freshness, a way of talking directly that is pure adolescence; Oliveira is sophisticated enough to lie yet the questions that he poses are blunt, without artifice. Throughout Central Station, as the pair traverse a landscape winningly photographed by Walter Carvalho, such observations cause Dora real trouble. In the hands of Salles, the result is a film that almost restores your faith in humanity.

Speaking of faith, a part of Central Station that may resonate more strongly with the domestic Brazilian audience is its treatment of religion. The beliefs that permeate the culture and people also seep from Salles' picture like a constant rain. Everywhere the camera looks there are symbols, declarations of penance, salesmen taking advantage of the devout, aspects of prayer, hope, desire, anything to escape the ghetto. Without realising it Dora and Josué become caught up in a pilgrim's trail, a complex parallel to their own odyssey. In contrast to the massed hordes, they are emotive without becoming emotional. There's a great deal more to Central Station than meets the eye, yet as the film transcends Hollywood superficiality it remains ridiculously easy to approach and appreciate.

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