In an old, dilapidated mansion in downtown São Paulo, an old Shakespearean actor exiled from the stage lives with his ghosts. In his bed, surrounded by red curtains taken from an abandoned theater, he dreams of the plague and fire spreading throughout the country. A strange community forms around the old actor.
The wanderings of the Terceiro Mundo, a homeless man who plunges into a dreamlike drift through the streets of the capital of São Paulo.
A young architect embarks on an ambitious real state development project in Brasília, convinced that he could actually help transform people’s lives and build a new form of society. But his utopia begins to fall apart when his dreams get in the way of corporate corruption and personal interests.
Dispossessed in an essay about the daily bread. In a country like Brasil, of such abyssal social inequality as there is here, it's urgent for me in cinema to talk about the class to which I belong, the class-who-lives-on-labor. And, alongside that, about the labor relations, the survival, the unemployment, the increasingly impoverished life, the small popular uprisings and the confrontations with the non natural order of things. In "Bread and People", we deal with ruins. And in the struggle of the old against the new, we face mainly the ruin of an idea of progress, and the debris of a critical anti capitalist art today. We've deepened our investigation of an epic, historical and dialectical cinema, using the materials of inspiration themselves.
André, a teenager, lives in an industrial town in Brazil near an old aluminum factory. One day, a factory worker, Cristiano, suffers an accident. Asked to go to Cristiano’s house to pick up clothes and documents, André stumbles on a notebook, and it’s here that Araby begins — or, rather, transforms. As André reads from the journal entries, we are plunged into Cristiano’s life, into stories of his wanderings, adventures, and loves.
Four city workers in their daily important relationships. A worker in the field of the Landless Rural Workers Movement. Poetry plucked like weed from the soil of our time.