The year is 2002. The world is a different place, pre-smartphone era, pre-social media saturation. People are still reeling from the turn of the millennium, grappling with new norms and the persistent echoes of the past. You’re young, you’re Black, and you’re living in the vibrant but dangerous neighbourhoods of Rio de Janeiro. Welcome to Cidade de Deus or C.D.D. This is a place where dreams and nightmares coexist. A place where kids play football in the streets one moment and dodge bullets the next. Now, imagine capturing all that intensity, that raw emotion, in a single film. This is City of God. It emerges from Brazil and forces the world to sit up and pay attention. Like Brazil’s very own version of The Wire it is a gritty, unfiltered lens into the lives of Afro-Brazilian youth.
The world watches as this film shatters the picturesque image of Brazil that many had internalised. It serves a raw and unfiltered look at a community living on the knife-edge of society, yet teeming with dreams, ambitions, and an indomitable will to survive. It poses questions that are unsettling but necessary. What leads a child to pick up a gun? How do dreams wither in the face of systemic oppression? And most importantly, who gets to tell these stories?
The film doesn’t offer easy answers. Instead, it thrusts these complexities into the global spotlight, forcing conversations that extend beyond the borders of Brazil and resonate across continents. It becomes an essential reference point for discussions on representation, urban struggle, and the black experience in a country that often celebrates its racial diversity, yet grapples with pervasive inequality.
To say I stan City of God would be an understatement.
Welcome to Stan the Culture. The podcast where we don’t just love Black culture—we stan it. I’m your host, Imara, self-proclaimed cultural anthropologist. When we say we stan something on this show, we’re talking about the kind of love that goes deeper than action-packed scenes or cinematic thrills. We’re talking about art that moves the spirit, that speaks to the soul. And that’s exactly what City of God does.
Even at two decades old this film remains a vital commentary on the cyclical nature of poverty and violence. It’s a cinematic testament that challenges our preconceptions and forces us to confront uncomfortable truths. But it’s more than a tale of despair. It’s a story that manages to capture the relentless spirit of its characters, their dreams, and their struggles all framed within a community that is often misrepresented or misunderstood. City of God shattered my own assumptions and broadened my understanding of global black culture. With its subject matter, you might be wondering if it is an authentic representation of Afro-Brazilian lives, or if it perpetuates harmful stereotypes? It’s a question that has been debated extensively, and today, we aim to delve into this paradox. Can art, even when it’s rooted in harsh realities, transcend the limitations of stereotype? Can it offer us a lens through which we can view, understand, and perhaps even alter our perceptions of a community that has been marginalised both within Brazil and in global discourse?
In today’s episode, we are going deeper, beyond surface level appreciation, to truly understand and celebrate what makes City of God a cornerstone of black culture. We are getting to the bottom of why we stan City of God, and why, if you don’t already, you should too.
Brazilian crime film City of God was directed by Fernando Meirelles and Kátia Lund, and is based on the novel of the same name by Paulo Lins, which is a fictionalised account of the real-life events that took place in the C.D.D. favela, in Rio de Janeiro, from the 1960s to the 1980s. If you haven’t seen it, here’s the lowdown. The film is a coming-of-age story that follows the lives of several characters who grow up in the favela. Rocket, played by Alexandre Rodrigues, dreams of becoming a photographer. Zé Pequeno or Lil Zé, played by Leandro Firmino, is a ruthless gang leader. And Bené, played by Phellipe Haagensen, is a talented footballer who is torn between his love of the game and the allure of gang life. Told through the eyes of Rocket, the film explores the intricate web of crime, poverty, and violence that ensnares the community.
Since dropping, the film has gotten mad love for its storytelling, cinematography, and its raw depiction of the social and economic conditions that favela residents face. However, there’s an added layer of complexity when the film is analysed through the lens of Black culture. After all, Brazil is a nation with a deeply ingrained racial history the descendants of enslaved Africans have continued to face systemic inequalities.
Understanding City of God and what it means to the culture is about delving into the nuances of Afro-Brazilian culture, historical marginalisation, and the systemic issues that disproportionately affect Black Brazilians. The favelas themselves are a product of this complex racial history, and have become synonymous with poverty, violence, and neglect from the state. But they are also vibrant centres of culture, music, and religious practices that trace back to African roots, a duality that the film captures to varying degrees.
By looking at City of God within this framework, we can explore how the film reflects, critiques, and sometimes perpetuates the various issues relating to race and Black culture in Brazil. This allows for a richer interpretation and invites us to question how race intersects with themes of poverty, crime, and systemic injustice, not just in the context of Brazil but in a global conversation about Black lives and experiences.
Brazil has a complex and deeply ingrained racial history, one that is impossible to separate from the socio-economic conditions portrayed in City of God. The fact is Brazil was late to the emancipation party only abolishing slavery in 1888, and this left a mark on its social fabric. The favelas, where City of God pops off, were initially formed by newly freed slaves and later by migrants who couldn’t catch a break in the mainstream economy. These communities were left to fend for themselves, with no legal rights to the lands they occupied, and limited access to education, healthcare, and basic amenities.
It’s crucial to understand that favelas are not just physical spaces, they are social constructs born out of racial and economic marginalisation. Afro-Brazilians, who make up a large chunk of favela residents, have been systematically disadvantaged, tracing back to the days of slavery, and the deeply flawed processes of abolition and integration. The film, although not overtly political, cannot escape these realities. Its characters are shaped by a legacy of disenfranchisement that has been perpetuated across generations.
Afro-Brazilian culture also finds its roots in this complex matrix of historical events. The favelas have become cultural hubs where Afro-Brazilian music like samba and funk, religions such as Candomblé, and various other cultural practices have flourished. These elements of culture are not just forms of entertainment; they are modes of resistance, communal identity, and survival. City of God captures these cultural aspects to some extent, but the focus is more on the existential struggles the characters face, which are consequences of systemic racial and social issues. It’s more about the everyday grind and struggle they face, thanks to the system keeping them in chains, metaphorically speaking.
Brazil’s military dictatorship from 1964 to 1985 exacerbated the marginalisation of favela communities. The regime went hard on favela communities, calling it social cleansing, which often meant the removal or even killing of favela residents. Afro-Brazilians bore the brunt of these actions, further entrenching systemic inequalities. While it’s not explicitly stated, the film’s setting is influenced by the socio-political atmosphere that followed this period where crime, often a result of limited opportunities and systemic neglect, became a prevalent issue.
When looking at it, it’s important that we don’t just look at it as a crime saga but to frame it within in this larger historical context. The characters are not merely individuals, they are products of a racially stratified society, where opportunities are scarce, and survival is a daily battle. Understanding this can enrich our interpretation of the film, making it not just a story about crime and poverty, but a lens into the lived experiences of Afro-Brazilians, in a society still grappling with its legacy of racial discrimination and inequality.
When it comes to its cinematography, City of God is magic. It employs a range of cinematic techniques to deliver a compelling, multi-layered narrative. But don’t mistake the visual techniques used to be just for show they do some pretty heavy lifting. They serve as crucial tools in immersing the audience into the visceral reality of life in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro. The handheld cameras they use? Those are not just a stylistic choice. They create a raw and unfiltered look – making it feel like you are right there in the favelas. This technique not only adds urgency to the fast-paced action sequences but also lends an almost documentary style authenticity to the narrative. It blurs the line between fiction and reality, making the audience confront the harsh truths being depicted on screen.
The film’s editing employs a non-linear storytelling method. Scenes are intercut with flashbacks and flash-forwards, reflecting the chaotic and unpredictable nature of life in the slums. This also serves to heighten tension, as the audience is made privy to future events, creating an impending sense of doom. The editing is snappy and concise, which maintains the pacing and ensures that the audience is constantly engaged.
Colour and sound design also play a significant role. The film makers use a vivid colour palette that contrasts sharply with the grim subject matter. The vibrant hues of the Brazilian landscape and culture are juxtaposed against the dark undertones of violence and poverty. This creates a visual dissonance that mirrors the complex social issues being explored. Ambient sounds, like the distant chatter of people, gunshots, or even the natural soundscape, pull you deeper into the world of the film. Each element works in harmony to create a vivid and unforgettable portrait of life in one of Brazil’s most notorious slums. It is a masterclass in how to use cinematic techniques to make a narrative hit different.
The film expertly weaves Afro-Brazilian culture into its fabric. Elements like music and dialect serve to give the characters depth and set the stage for a more authentic representation of Black identity. The music is a pulsating, almost living entity that breathes life into the story. From samba to Brazilian funk, these musical genres born out of Afro-Brazilian communities, become a form of social commentary. The music tells its own story, the songs narrating the struggles, hopes, and daily lives of the community offering an auditory landscape that complements the visual storytelling. The music serves not only as entertainment but also as an act of cultural resistance, a way to reclaim identity in a society that often marginalises favela residents.
Language and dialect in the film also offer nuanced insights into the community’s culture. Afro-Brazilian Portuguese dialects, imbued with words and phrases rooted in African languages, serve as markers of identity. The way characters speak, their slang, and colloquial expressions, add a layer of authenticity. Language becomes an unspoken bond that ties the community together, a collective identity setting them apart from mainstream Brazilian society, which often looks down upon favela residents. This incorporation of cultural elements is both a homage and a form of resistance to the marginalisation that these communities face.
Taking a break from City of God, we jump into Rare Finds the segment that’s dedicated to the deep cuts, the ones that you only know if you’re in the know. With its stunning beaches, vibrant culture, and rich history, we are going to the twin-island nation of Antigua and Barbuda in the heart of the Caribbean. And we are focusing the spotlight on King Short Shirt and Joanne C Hillhouse.
Sir McLean Emmanuel, commonly known as King Short Shirt, is an icon in the world of calypso music a genre that has its roots in the African and Caribbean experience. The man is a legend in Antigua and Barbuda but hasn’t quite received the global recognition he deserves. We’re talking about a guy who’s been dropping hits since the ’60s, and he’s still going strong. King Short Shirt’s music is a cultural archive. He tackles social issues, from politics to racial equality, all wrapped up in infectious rhythms that make you wanna dance. His contributions to the genre and to the cultural fabric of Antigua and Barbuda are immeasurable. Songs like Tourist Leggo, and Nobody Go Run Me, resonate not only for their musical composition but also for their potent social commentary.
Joanne C Hillhouse is an author who’s been slaying the literary game with her storytelling. Her work is imbued with the colours, textures, and rhythms of her homeland, and dives deep into Caribbean culture, from the complexities of family life, to the nuances of island politics. Her stories are richly woven with threads of history, fantasy, and raw human emotion. She’s the author of several books including the critically acclaimed Musical Youth a story that explores the lives of Caribbean youth through love, music, and the pursuit of dreams. What’s even more dope about Hillhouse is her commitment to nurturing local talent. She’s an advocate for Caribbean literature, spearheading initiatives aimed at fostering literary talent in the region.
What makes Hillhouse and King Short Shirt, such rare finds is not just how esteemed they are in their fields, but that they are cultural ambassadors. Their impact on Antiguan and Barbudan culture—as well as on the wider Black diaspora—is profound. The music of King Short Shirt and the literature of Joanne C Hillhouse offer nuanced insights into the lives, aspirations, and challenges of people from this Caribbean nation. They take the essence of their culture and share it with the world, each in their unique way.
The characters in City of God serve as complex representations of life within the favelas. Rocket, the film’s protagonist, embodies moral ambiguity as he straddles two worlds. As a budding photographer, he navigates between the worlds of crime and aspiration, capturing the violence around him even as he dreams of escape. This duality makes him an accessible lens through which audiences can view the complexities of favela life. This contrasts with Lil Zé, the antagonist. He’s a chilling product of his harsh environment. Ruthless and devoid of empathy, his character exemplifies how an ecosystem of poverty and violence can shape individuals. But he isn’t a villain, he is a cautionary tale.
The thematic framework of the film is equally layered. The cycle of violence is a predominant theme, encapsulated in the rise and fall of characters like Lil Zé, and the perpetual conflicts that ensnare the community. It is not just some abstract idea either, it’s the air these characters breathe. This cycle is depicted as almost inescapable, a by-product of systemic inequalities that the characters are born into. The whole system is rigged against them from the jump making social inequality another potent theme. The film does not shy away from showing how economic disparity, and lack of opportunity, contribute to the crime and violence that plague the favela. The unattainable allure of a better life outside the slums is constantly there fuelling both dreams and resentments.
Lack of innocence is thrown in the mix too. Many of the film’s characters start as children with dreams and potentials, but the harsh realities of their environment quickly force them into adulthood, often in disturbing ways. This transformation is not just a coming-of-age but a loss-of-innocence that reflects the tragedy of their circumstances. City of God uses its characters to delve deep into the intricate web of social and personal issues that define life in the favelas. Through them, it wants you to feel and understand the multiple layers of favela life.
We cannot talk about the film’s characters without talking about its representation of Black identity. The film features a predominantly Black and mixed-race cast, and because of this, it risks perpetuating stereotypes by primarily portraying Afro-Brazilians in a setting associated with poverty and crime. This makes it crucial that we delve deeper into the complexities and nuances of these portrayals.
First, the film gives us characters with depth not shying away from presenting them as multi-dimensional beings. They struggle with the same ethical and existential questions that anyone in their situation would face. They’re not defined solely by their environment but have hopes, and moral dilemmas that make them relatable. Take Rocket, our budding photographer. The guy’s got dreams and predicaments, he’s more than a product of his neighbourhood. This goes beyond the one-dimensional caricatures often seen in media representing Black individuals as complex figures with agency, albeit constrained by systemic issues.
On the other hand, the film falls short in breaking away from certain stereotypes, particularly the linking of Blackness with criminality. While it offers a raw look at the violent realities of favela life, it raises the question about whether it does enough to contextualise this violence within Brazil’s broader socio-economic and racial landscape? We cannot give the film a full pass here because while it offers a somewhat voyeuristic view into the lives of its characters, it does so without sufficiently addressing the systemic forces at play, risking the perpetuation of harmful stereotypes about Black identity and criminality.
The socioeconomic struggles depicted in City of God are not just narrative devices but a painful reflection of the grim realities that many Black Brazilians face. The favelas, often dismissed as hubs of criminality and poverty, are more accurately the result of systemic neglect and economic disadvantage. The film does an excellent job of showing how this systemic mess shapes the lives and choices of the characters, setting them up for this never-ending loop of violence and poverty.
Rocket exemplifies this struggle his dreams of becoming a photographer are consistently thwarted by the economic barriers he faces, from the cost of a camera to the lack of professional opportunities in his community. The film portrays this not as a personal failure but as a systemic issue highlighting how economic hardship is often preordained by one’s circumstances of birth.
The film shows that this cycle is self-perpetuating. Children grow up witnessing violence and crime as the norm often seeing it as the only viable path. This is best exemplified by the character of Lil Dice, who evolves into the ruthless Lil Zé. His transformation is more than personal descent into villainy, it’s a societal failure. The guy’s a by-product of an environment that’s been hostile from day one.
Adding to this complexity is the whole drug game and gangs that run things in the favelas. Far from being just criminal enterprises, these gangs often provide the social services and financial support that the government fails to offer. This creates a moral ambiguity where the lines between right and wrong are blurred, not out of malice, but out of necessity. The film explores this without judgment, it peels back the layers, letting us see how hard times create complicated moral mazes.
But we have to keep it real here, while City of God sheds light on these socioeconomic issues, it’s telling this story from the outside looking in. The film makers themselves are not from favelas, and there’s a level of voyeurism that can’t be entirely dismissed. While it opens up important conversations about economic disparity and systemic injustice, we must question whether it also perpetuates a form of poverty porn, offering audiences a glimpse into a world of hardship without sufficiently delving into the systemic causes behind it. We have to ask who gets to tell these stories, and for whom are they being told?
In essence, City of God serves as a mini-model of the bigger issues of racial inequality and systemic poverty that Brazil grapples with. It’s a compelling but complex lens through which to examine these pervasive problems. But it leaves us with more questions than it answers.
City of God has garnered widespread acclaim for its storytelling, direction, and raw portrayal of life in Rio de Janeiro’s favelas. It does a lot, but it is also missing some beats. Especially when it is examined through the nuanced lens of Black culture and representation. While it succeeds in presenting its characters as complex individuals shaped by an equally complex set of circumstances, it also walks a fine line by focusing heavily on the more sensational aspects of favela life. There’s the potential for perpetuating harmful stereotypes, especially the association of Blackness with criminality and poverty. While it aims to offer a gritty and unfiltered look at life in the favelas, I wonder if it does enough to contextualize this within Brazil’s broader socio-economic and racial landscape.
Additionally, the film’s portrayal of women is lacking. While it includes many pivotal female roles, they are secondary and their portrayals are largely defined by their relationships with men. It would fail the Bechdel Test. Given that Afro-Brazilian women face a unique set of challenges that intersect both race and gender, the film’s lack of nuanced female characters is a missed opportunity to explore these complexities. The women in City of God are often victims or romantic interests, and are rarely afforded the agency or complexity that their male counterparts receive.
So while the film might be showing the problems, it does little to challenge or critique the system that’s causing them. It’s like taking a picture but not focusing the lens you get a snapshot but miss the details. Whether it’s the perpetuation of stereotypes, the underrepresentation of female characters, or the ethical implications of its storytelling these controversies invite us to engage with the film critically. Without that deeper dive, we might just watch and forget, not really getting what’s going on. These critiques force us to get critical, asking not just what we’re seeing but how and why we’re seeing it adding layers of complexity to an already compelling narrative.
Now we step into the segment we call Behind the Hype. This is where we shine a spotlight on the often overlooked but incredibly vital elements that fed into the culture we’re stanning. Today we’re putting the residents of the real Cidade de Deus front and centre for the monumental role they played in the movie City of God.
These are the folks who wake up every day in a world much like the one depicted in the film and keep on keeping on. They’re the community leaders, the mothers, the teachers, and the everyday people making a difference. They might not make the headlines, but their resilience and spirit are the true heartbeat of C.D.D.
Many residents in C.D.D. are employed in a variety of low-wage jobs, from domestic work to construction. A growing number of individuals are leveraging their skills to create small businesses within the community. From food stands to repair shops, these entrepreneurs are integral to the local economy. Like many impoverished areas, C.D.D. has a high unemployment rate. Those who can’t find work often face a life of hardship, and are sometimes driven to illicit activities to make ends meet.
A significant percentage of the population is under the age of 18. These young people face unique challenges, including limited access to quality education and the temptation of joining gangs. However, many find ways to express themselves through art, music, and sports. The bulk of residents are adults juggling the responsibilities of work and family. Many are engaged in community activities and play a vital role in the social fabric of the favela. Older residents often serve as the community’s memory, having witnessed the transformation of C.D.D. over the decades. They are respected but also face challenges, including inadequate healthcare and social services.
Given Brazil’s history, a significant number of residents have African roots. Afro-Brazilian culture is evident in the community’s music, food, and religious practices, including Candomblé and Umbanda. Though less prominent, indigenous culture also plays a role in the community’s identity. Over the years, people from various parts of Brazil and other countries have moved to C.D.D., each bringing their own cultural influences. The favela has been plagued by violence, often due to conflicts between rival drug gangs and clashes with police. However, this is not the defining feature of the community. Many residents are actively engaged in initiatives to reduce crime and improve living conditions. Despite the hardships, a sense of community prevails. Residents often come together to improve their environment, whether it’s through community gardens, local councils, or neighbourhood watches.
The residents of C.D.D are a diverse and dynamic group, shaped by a range of economic, social, and cultural factors. While they face significant challenges, they also display a remarkable sense of resilience and community spirit, which are essential for navigating the complexities of life in one of Rio’s most infamous favelas. While the residents may not make the headlines, their stories are ones that truly deserve to be told. These are the people who inspire us to look beyond the stereotypes, beyond the headlines, and see the human beings striving for a better life.
After all that talk about City of God, it’s time to crank up the Flex Meter! This is where we rate the cultural impact of our episode’s subject, dishing out Flexes from 1 to 5, based on its influence, legacy, and straight-up awesomeness. So how many flexes does City of God deserve? When it comes down to it, City of God gets a solid 4 out of 5 Flexes. And why does it earn such a fit rating? The simple answer is that it’s a cinematic daredevil.
This film has got the storytelling chops and cinematic flair. From its nonlinear narrative to its complex characters, it keeps you glued to your seat. It didn’t just shake up Brazil; it shook the world. With 4 Oscar nominations under its belt, its global impact is undeniable. It has the boldness to tackle tough issues, opening up a conversation about Black Brazilian culture on an international stage. But I had to dock a point for the film’s controversy around its portrayal of Black Brazilians. While it got people talking, it also perpetuated some stereotypes that can be harmful. A conversation starter for sure, but there’s room for nuanced improvement. So there it is, a 4-flex rating for City of God.
And that’s it for why we stan City of God. Now we come to our listener’s lens segment. We have made our case and now it’s time for you to make yours. Did you vibe with City of God like I did? Do you think it does more to expose or exploit the lives it portrays? We want to hear your perspectives, stories, or questions about the movie or any of the topics we’ve discussed today.
Also, if you have your own Rare Find from the world of Black culture perhaps an individual who has been quietly influential or an under-appreciated piece of art let us know. Your insights could very well feature in a future episode. You can reach us through social media, our website, or by email. You might just hear your thoughts featured in a future episode
And that’s a wrap on this episode of Stan the Culture. Before you dip, make sure you’re subscribed so you don’t miss out on any of our upcoming episodes. We’ve got more heat coming your way, so tune in for our next episode on Desmond’s where we’ll be stanning the classic black British sitcom.
If you enjoyed our discussion, consider leaving us a review, hitting that like button, and sharing this with anyone you think needs to up their culture game. Check out our website for the Flex Leader-board and show notes.
Thank you for listening. And remember, we don’t just love The Culture, we stan it!