Fábio Barreto’s eighth feature film was chosen as Brazil’s submission for the 2011 Best Foreign Language Film Oscar, and it isn’t difficult to see why. Originally premiering at the 2009 Brasilia Film Festival, Lula is a biopic – using as its source Denise Paraná’s biographical book of the same name – about the then-current, internationally popular president of Brazil, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. Eschewing too in-depth a glance at da Silva’s political leanings, Barreto’s film is first and foremost a sentimental, often cloying inspirational drama of a man who rose up from poverty to lead a nation. While everything on the screen is likely based on fact, this portrayal of his life evokes the trite characterizations and sympathetic sucker punches typically reserved for only the most schmaltzy Hollywood dramas, and ignores any elements that might paint a negative image of the leader. It isn’t quite propaganda, but it is a bit surprising that the film wasn’t funded by Lula himself.
The film’s first part begins with Lula’s father, Aristides, (Milhem Cortaz) leaving his mother, Lindu, (Glória Pires) for a woman he’s gotten pregnant. Lindu gives birth to Lula, and we flash through the early years of his life until the entire family – now eight children strong – moves down to south Brazil to live with Aristides. Clearly nonplussed to see his wife and children, Aristides takes a look at one of the infants, fresh off the boat, before griping about the fact that they didn’t bring his dog, Lobo. The bulk of the remainder of Lula’s early years consists of details relating to how bad a father Aristides is – he’s always stumbling around piss-drunk ranting about how Lindu shouldn’t waste her time sending any of the kids to school – and how poor and unfortunate they all are (a rain storm floods their house with about 5 feet of water).
Add in the conclusion of Lula’s first marriage (his wife dies while trying to give birth), his rebound with Marisa (who became unfortunately widowed at almost the same time as he did), and his meteoric rise to hero status amongst his striking co-workers, and things start to feel almost meticulously calculated for the obvious payoff. It’s impossible to blame history’s actual circumstances for such a gooey arc, but no directorial point-of-view distinguishes this as Barreto’s vision; it could have been made by anybody. It’s merely a marketable history, as it happened, set to images for the sake of conveying its tired and simplistic theme of perseverance. Acting credits are all reaching-to-fine, while technical specs competently service the film, with Gustavo Hadba’s photography and Leticia Giffoni’s editing providing conservative compositions and pacing, respectively. Antonio Pinto and Jaques Morelenbaum’s driving score is occasionally triumphant, if overbearing.
