Carandiru

It starts to seem as if every fresh new fortnight brings further filmic evidence of horrific degradation among the (extremely sizeable) Brazilian underclass – Bus 174 has only just left our screens, while City of God will remain an ultra-vivid memory in the minds of all who witnessed it. In its own way, Carandiru is more impressive than either. Rather distressingly based on true events, it’s a look at life as it was lived in the overcrowded Sao Paulo prison of the same name, which housed over 7000 inmates (more than double the capacity) and where discipline had broken down so completely that the place was effectively administered according to dog-eat-dog laissez-faire principles, with rules a non-existent concept, and ‘justice’ communally enforced.
As you can imagine, the place was a modern Hades beyond imagination, with male rape, intravenous drug abuse, stabbings and AIDS very much the order of the day and night. Almost miraculously, Hector Babenco’s film acutely conveys (what’s left of) the humanity of Carandiru’s inhabitants with remarkable empathy and clarity. It unfolds through the eyes of its chief protagonist, the prison doctor (Luiz Carlos Vasconcelos) whose encounters with the prisoners allow their various stories to unfold in flashback. Most are too tragic to contemplate, though the film never remotely flinches from illustrating the frequent barbarity of its protagonists – indeed, much of the behaviour on view is extremely hard on the stomach lining.
This might sound, on the surface, like an admirable but unwatchably depressing proposition – but somehow, there’s an astonishing sense of warmth and uplift about Carandiru which, in view of the surroundings, nearly defies belief. It may be grim, it may be miserable – it’s set in a Brazilian prison, for fuck’s sake – but this is the sort of film that single-handedly re-affirms your faith in the immense power of cinema. A truly towering achievement.

146mins. Cert IFI members. Opens May 28