Brazil - Criterion Collection

Rating:
Summary: A dire parable and a must-see for all Americans
Review: In Corporate America, screenshots of Brazil are great ways to make jokes about work. So I got the impression that Brazil was some sort of Corporate nightmare. Having seen the movie, I realize now that my original perceptions were only the tip of the iceberg.

The plot begins with a TV show of a kindly white-haired gentlemen talking about ducts and the loss of freedom of its citizens, government intervention, the quest for terrorists (the term "terrorist" is used often throughout the film) and the cost of all this information paranoia in the quest for a few individuals. The intro alone makes the film very relevant to America audiences and establishes that European countries have had to deal with the threat of terrorism long before tragedy struck the U.S.

The plot follows Sam Lowry (Jonathan Pryce), a programmer who actually knows how to program in a bureaucracy at the Ministry of Information (MOI), a monolithic governmental entity that has long since outlived its usefulness. Here, hundreds of clerks dodge in and out like cockroaches amongst papers and filing cabinets without actually doing any work; they immediately stop what they're doing whenever the boss goes back into his office. Here, teeming flocks of men in suits follow decision-makers in concrete hallways. Here, a wall divides a room to make for two offices, only the desk straddles the middle. And computers? Nobody really knows how to use them.

Sam eventually becomes entangled with the meta-plot: the search for a terrorist named Harry Tuttle (Robert DeNiro). The problem, however, is that the teletype machine entering Tuttle's name on the wanted list gets a bug-literally, a bug falls into the machine-and causes it to mistype "t" as "b". Thus, Harry Buttle (Brian Miller) is apprehended instead. Why is the MOI looking for Tuttle? Well, because he fixes ductwork without filling out any papers.

In the Brazil universe, ductwork is everywhere. Like the innards of some gigantic beast, they sprawl here and there, in every part of every person's home. They are plugged up in walls, tucked away in floors, and hang intestine-like from ceilings. They regulate everything from temperature to mail and getting them fixed is nigh impossible, given the amount of paperwork involved. However, the grappling-hook firing Tuttle achieves just that when Sam's cramped apartment needs emergency ductwork.

Throughout this drab existence is Sam's dream-life, as he flies with mechanical wings (Icarus?) towards a floating nymph-like woman wrapped in gauze. Unfortunately for Lowry, she has a nymph-like counterpart named Jill Layton (Kim Greist), who also happens to be the upstairs neighbor of the equally unfortunate Mr. Buttle.

Because terrorists are charged for their own interrogation by the Department of Information Retrieval (the DOIR, who specialize in torture), Buttle's death means Mrs. Buttle (Sheila Reid) is owed a refund. The catastrophic consequences of such an error convulse the entire MOI, but Sam sensibly decides to just deliver the refund check in person. Sam meets Jill when attempting to fix the typographical error.

It all goes downhill from there. Sam becomes fixated on Jill, such that he is willing to be promoted by his rich mother (Katherine Helmond, my fellow alumni from Dowling College) to the DOIR. Sam's behavior becomes increasingly erratic until it gets him in real trouble. The movie ends with a suitably frightening twist.

There is a lot to absorb from Brazil. A science fiction classic, it has the familiar hallmarks of a sprawling corporation gone mad (Robocop), the pervasive government in a quest to destroy threats to authority (1984, Equilibrium), and the horrors of urban sprawl (Judge Dredd). This jaded cynicism about society is rife throughout the movie, from the wicked children who set cars on fire to the awful "yes/no" gift that everyone gets everyone else for Christmas. Indeed, the whole movie takes place in one long Christmas; the holiday never seems to end, but at the same time only manages to make life in Brazil that much more pathetic. Even at a time when we expect the world to be a better place, Brazil merely covers it with tinsel.

The director (Terry Gilliam) has an amusing sense of humor, no doubt inherited from his Monty Python days. At first, the movie seems to be a light-hearted jab at our own foibles, as we watch Sam stumble his way through life. But to his credit, Gilliam never shies away from his message. When terrorists attack a high-class restaurant, the waiters merely move a screen in front of the carnage so as to not offend the wealthier guests. And yet people moan in pain, blood spatters the floor, and hands reach out for help.

When Sam is faced with the awful circumstances of Mr. Buttle's death, he backpedals with a barrage of excuses of how it's not his fault. Once he sees Jill, he forgets that he just delivered a reimbursement check to a grieving family over a clerical error and the audience forgets too. As he dashes into the street, he loses sight of Jill, only to be given her name by a little girl. He asks her what she's doing in the street.

"Waiting for my daddy to come home," she whispers.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll be along soon," says Sam, only to pause in shock as he realizes he was speaking to Buttle's daughter.

Brazil is like that. I found myself in mid-laugh at one moment, only to cover my mouth in shame at the next awful event. Sam's old friend Jack Lint (Michael Palin), a veteran of the DOIR, conducts torture in another room mere feet away from where his daughter plays with her dolls. A big-haired receptionist comically records all of the tortured confessions. Is it funny? Macabre? Vile?

Brazil serves best as a dire parable about the dangers of giving up too much freedom in the hunt for terrorism, a lesson our British friends have learned well. For that reason alone, any American interested in politics or science fiction should see this film.