What a bold gambit: retell the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, set it in Brazil at Carnival, and infuse it with the rhythms of one of South America’s most vibrant cultures. And what a payoff.
First, to recap the Myth of Orpheus and Eurydice (Thanks to Edgar and Ingri Parin D’Aulaire’s Myths of the Greeks and Romans. If you don’t own a copy of this book, there’s something wrong with you.): Orpheus, the great musician, loves Eurydice so deeply that when she dies, he goes all the way to Hades to bring her back. The Lord of the Underworld permits her to follow Orpheus to the land of the living, on one condition: if he turns back to look at her, she’ll be lost forever. Can he resist the temptation and gut out the journey to the surface, knowing that Lord Hades is a master of the doublecross? Go buy a copy of the book and find out for yourself.
Black Orpheus spends much of its running time setting up the love between Orpheus, a trolley conductor, and Eurydice, a country girl come to Rio to escape a menacing gentlemen she lost in the backcountry. The couple make an average looking pair, but I challenge any man to look upon Eurydice deep in sleep, her contented face haloed with tousled hair, and not see the great love of his life at the moment he knew he loved her. Orpheus does.
But the man from the country finds them, finds them both. He moves like a dancer and wears a death’s head mask and we’re not sure if he’s entirely corporeal. But we do know that Eurydice’s time draws nigh, Carnival or no, and Orpheus’s quest will soon begin. When it does, the film detours into a quasi-nightmare world, one of ferrymen and Cerberus and Eurydice, poor Eurydice, begging Orpheus not to look behind him. It’s captivating and disturbing and unforgettable, and it works on every single level. Black Orpheus will intrigue you and it will haunt you. It will make you want to purchase a copy and press it into the hands of your friends.
See it soon.
