In a city known for its hedonism, it is the biggest party of all. Celebrated in music and immortalised in film, Rio de Janeiro’s carnival draws hundreds of thousands of revellers from all over the world.
During four days (this year it’s next weekend), the fusion of pre-Lenten excess and African beats brings Rio to a standstill as people of all ages and social standing take to the streets. It gives participants an excuse to sidestep social convention. To the city’s poorest, it offers temporary relief from daily deprivation.
The season begins well in advance of the focal events. Samba schools start preparations as early as November. The first masked balls occur in mid-January. Street bands, or blocos, limber up. Supporters can attend their favourite samba school’s rehearsals.
Loyalty to a samba school is taken as seriously in Rio as loyalty to a soccer team. Being a foreigner with relatives in Brazil, the choice was made for me: I have supported Mangueira, Rio’s second oldest surviving samba school (established 1928), since a family friend took me to a rehearsal seven years ago. First impressions are not easily forgotten: I recall the trepidation on arriving at Mangueira’s grounds (most samba schools are in, or just outside, the city’s notorious favelas), the ear-blistering rattle of drums, the cacophonous theme-song played on an endless loop, the long-limbed women dancing in defiance of anatomical laws.
Rio’s carnival originated in the mid-19th century, when hotels put on European-style masked balls. They were exclusive affairs for the gilded elite. It was not long before more popular revelries, open to all, were organised on the streets. Samba schools, with their ever-growing rhythm sections, became prominent in the 1930s when they congregated in Rio’s city centre.
As it expanded, the spectacle’s nature changed. It became professionalised and competitive. In 1961, for the first time, spectators had to watch the parade from special stands. In 1983 a bespoke venue was built near Rio’s central train station, designed by architect Oscar Niemeyer and popularly known as the Sambódromo. It is an ugly piece of modern architecture: concrete stands lining a half-mile runway that leads to an “Apotheosis Arch”. It seats up to 60,000 people. It is the modern temple of samba.
An irony of Rio’s carnival is that a ritual originated through the popularisation of elitist festivities is now ensconced in its own shrine, accessible only to those prepared to pay (ticket prices range from $15 to over $600). Meanwhile, it has been left to Rio’s middle class enthusiasts to revive the “authentic” spirit through the myriad blocos that liven up the streets – for free – during carnival weekend.
If not exactly spontaneous, blocos remain a less orchestrated form of debauchery. Drum bands on open-topped vehicles lead throbbing crowds to the beat of marchinhas, or little marches. Each neighbourhood has its own, and they vary in size and character. The traditional Cordão do Bola Preta (Black Dot Gang) takes over the old downtown. With tongue in cheek, Suvaco de Cristo (Christ’s Armpit) parades through Rio’s Botanical Garden district. Banda de Ipanema, a favourite with the gay crowd, gathers tens of thousands of (scantily) dressed-up partygoers on the famous beach. There is no such thing as simply dipping into street carnival mayhem: if you are not prepared to let it wash over you, in a torrid wave of percussion, sweat and spilt beer, you are better off staying away.
Even to traditionalists who mourn the passing of old-style pageantry, Sunday and Monday nights, when the 14 top samba schools compete for first prize (and to avoid relegation), are still the carnival’s highlight. The Sambódromo may be unsightly, but to see it packed to capacity as thousands of dancers in gaudy costumes glide by is truly breathtaking.
Unless you are in a VIP box, expect the sort of facilities you might find at a second-rate football stadium. Seats in the stands are unnumbered. Proceedings kick-off around 9pm but, since it takes a single school up to 80 minutes to pass through, they end at six or seven in the morning. Only the hardiest fans stay the course.
All schools (the largest have as many as 5,000 parading members) are divided into wings. The vanguard wing leads the way, followed by the female flag-bearer and the mestre sala, or master of ceremonies. Then come swirling women in traditional Bahian outfits. The rhythm section is led by the Queen of the Drums (usually a film or television pin-up). Finally there are the passistas, the most accomplished male dancers. In between each of these fixed wings are the enormous, eye-catching floats and other multitudinous sections meant to illustrate the school’s theme.
To the uninitiated (I count myself among them), most samba schools look and sound the same at first: the flurry of feathers, the theatrical floats, the statuesque semi-naked beauties, the sequinned excess of it all. Yet the more you watch, the more discerning you become. There is a precise pattern to the mayhem. Forty judges award marks on 10 aspects of the performance, including overall impression, costumes, harmony and musical theme. The smallest details count.
Even better than watching is taking part. Samba schools sell a limited number of places in the parade. It is an income-generating ploy that allows outsiders to join the fun with relatively little preparation (or samba skills). After sitting on the benches most of Sunday night, by Monday I was prepared to join Mangueira on the Sambódromo’s runway.
The school’s chosen topic was the São Francisco River, which irrigates one of Brazil’s most fertile agricultural valleys. I took my place among hundreds of allegorical grape-pickers. My outfit included a long-sleeved, frilly-cuffed polyester shirt and matching baggy trousers in pink and green (Mangueira’s colours), feathery shoulder-pads, white leather shoes and an oversized straw hat with a golden trim.
I have never worn such an absurd outfit. Despite my sartorial efforts, Mangueira did not win. Still, to be cheered on by 60,000 people is a feeling well worth the disappointment – and the ridicule. This year, Mangueira’s theme is the wealth of the Portuguese language. Who knows what I might end up dressed as?
Rio de Janeiro Carnival 2007, February 17-20. For more information and tickets for the Sambódromo, see www.rio-carnival.net or www.carnivalservice.com