Dale Browne
Professors Jim Gilmore & Orin Gelderloos
Film and the Environment ENST 390B/JASS 390A
November 19, 2017
Waste Land is a documentary directed by Lucy Walker, co-directed by Karen Harley and João Jardim. The film followed a three-year art and social change project conceived by Brazilian mixed-media artist and photographer Vik Muniz, by then based in Brooklyn for many years. In the world’s largest garbage dump located outside of Rio de Janeiro, catadores, or garbage pickers, wade through heaps of refuse. They collect recyclable materials for sale to wholesalers, earning about $20 a day. “Established in 1970 as a sanitary waste facility, the landfill became home to an anarchic community of scavengers during the economic crises of the 70’s and 80’s…They established a squatter community…surrounding the landfill, which is now home to over 13,000 people who are entirely dependent on an economy that revolves around the trade of recyclable materials” (Jardim). Muniz collaborated with the pickers by taking their portraits, recreating them with recyclable materials, and photographing the results, with the proceeds at auction to benefit the catadores.
Waste Land works to take the stigma of “otherness” that society has for the catadores, and turn it on its head by making obvious the divide between their world and ours, at the same time showing us how similar we all are. By introducing the pickers as individuals with dignity, the tarnish of “outsider” is washed away. According to Brereton, “outsiders can be defined as those groups who do not fit dominant models of society and are therefore seen as polluting” (Brereton 16). Ironically, although it is the catadores who are filthy and grime-sodden, it is the affluent of Rio de Janeiro who contribute the most pollution, and the pickers who provide a great ecological service.
Because the film is in the “making-of” style, we see the project in layers as we investigate the lives of both the catadores and of Muniz as he developed his art around them. This “making-of” style sometimes blurs the lines of subject, artist, and filmmaker, especially in recurring scenes of reflexivity by Muniz and his team as they discussed the effects of their work in interviews with Walker. Some of the team is concerned that after having been removed from the landfill to work on the art project, the pickers do not want to return. They worry, with unconscious condescension, that the catadores are “fragile”, while Muniz is steadfast that the purpose of the project is intended to change their lives. Walker later writes, “I don’t believe in objectivity. I observe the observer’s paradox every moment I’m filming. Your presence is changing everything; there’s no mistaking it. And you have a responsibility” (Walker).
The modes of documentary, as defined by Nichols, that are most commonly used in Waste Land are the Observational and Participatory modes (Nichols 34). Although we never hear Walker speak, much of the documentary made use of interviews with the catadores and with Muniz, while the rest of the film observed the interactions between the two tiers of subjects. Walker used contrasts to tell her story which, while subtle, are clear. The film’s content and techniques of cinematography provide juxtaposition for the viewer, for example through the soundtrack, scored by electronic music giant Moby, which was used to create different moods throughout the film, and transition between scenes. One in which the unhappy catadora Isis sorts through another dump truck load of trash is accompanied by ear-piercing, wailing tones. A while later, major chords drone soothingly, and dreamy fish-eye shots at sunset transition into darkness while pickers sort through the heaps by firelight.
One of the first scenes in the film is of the spectacle of Carnaval, the Brazilian festival marking the beginning of Lent. This celebration is one of excess and opulence, and Walker captured the essence of the energetic music, dancing, and brightly-colored costumes. By filming these scenes at ground level, and from inside the activity, the audience is easily caught up in the high spirits of the event. Quickly though, our joy is dampened as parading beauties shed their feathered headdresses and sequined suits at the end of the parade line. The incredible creations are quickly snatched up by street-sweepers and thrown into the back of a garbage truck, or left in piles on the side of the road. The image is startling and foreshadows many contrasts to come.
Before we reach Jardim Gramacho (an irony, meaning “Gramacho Garden”), Walker shows extremes of life in Rio de Janeiro. A fly-over of one of the largest favelas, or slums, which is nestled between lush green hills, is followed by scenes of beach-goers at posh Ipanema beach. A man swims in the clear, blue waters of the South Atlantic, and suddenly we are driving through a dusty neighborhood, absolutely covered with trash. As Walker explains in a 2015 statement for Independent Lens, “Seeing the extremes of poverty and wealth so ostentatiously displayed through the car window … the contrasts of mountains and oceans, black and white, garbage and art, art stars and catadores…the contrasts couldn’t be more starkly drawn than in Rio de Janeiro”. Later we visit the home of Suelem, where six or more people live in a three-room plywood shack, and everyone shares a mattress on the floor. An episode of the cartoon Richie Rich plays in the background.
One of the most important issues in Waste Land is that of classism. In the film Muniz explains that, “the most poisonous thing about Brazilian culture and society is classism…and it’s horrible, how people really believe. And I’m talking about educated people. They really believe they are better than other people.” This comes just moments after a scene in which he and his wife are discussing the dangers of the potential project at the Jardim Gramacho dump. They question the safety of working around the catadores who Muniz describes as, “probably the roughest people you can think of. You know, they’re all drug addicts…it’s like, the end of the line…This is where everything that’s not good goes. Including the people.” The conflict between his casual attitude of the catadores and his more thoughtful analysis of Brazilian culture is telling of just how deep the root of classism grows.
This extreme social disparity drives the film and is the issue Walker would like us to consider. Jardim Gramacho is the perfect setting. By showing us a landscape that most people will never see but which we are all a part of, Walker hopes to connect us to a world and a society which we would prefer to ignore. Tina Kendall, Senior Lecturer and Course Leader for Film Studies at Anglia Ruskin University explains this relationship: “Waste occupies a strategic position…because it is the kind of matter we frequently take to be at the antipodes of human life: dead, inert, disgusting and without value, meaning or agency of any kind. New materialist theory seeks to challenge or complicate these understandings of waste, which cast it as the purely symbolic ‘Other’ of human agency, endeavouring to show how waste is also lively matter, which shares in some of the creative activity we tend to assume is a distinctive marker of human life.” Through his artwork, Muniz literally brings waste “to life” by using it as the medium of portraiture. Likewise, Walker shows us that the trash does have value, as the recyclable materials provide a living for the catadores. Most importantly, we are shown that the pickers themselves, who Muniz explains, “are, in Brazilian society, not different than garbage itself” are complex and proud individuals.
Another contrast is that between closeness and proximity. “Typically on film, art and artists are surveyed from a distance with narrated career overviews favoured over detailed explorations of process, but the latter approach appealed more to Walker” (Stevens). The concepts of closeness and proximity are at the heart of this film. Walker uses flyovers of the landfill and sweeping views of Jardim Gramacho to capture the vastness of the place, but her focus is really on the pickers themselves. By collaborating with Muniz, whose specialty is the portrait, the marginalized catadores are transformed from ‘other’ into ‘us’. Walker explains the significance of closeness; “Vik, as an artist, plays between these levels of proximity and distance, between showing the viewer the material and showing them the idea, revealing the relationship between the paint strokes and the scene depicted by the paint…You can view things close in or further away. Likewise, you can fear people from afar or you can go interact with them” (Walker). This approach allowed more of a human element to shine through and as we see the portraits develop out of trash, so do the personalities of the pickers and our identification with them.
Fundamentally they are no different from us, and Walker breaks the ice by sharing their sense of humor in one of the first interactions we have with them. After the first few shocking scenes of the enormity of the trash, our introduction to the catadores is not one of misery, but of levity. As Muniz is photographing, he begins to laugh and turns to the camera, “Did you hear that one? That guy said, ‘They’re filming for Animal Planet!’”
Against a white backdrop, essentially isolating the pickers from their work, Muniz’ camera focuses on the individual. Walker takes this opportunity to let the catadores introduce themselves. Valter dos Santos is the vice-president of ACAMJG, the Association of Pickers of Jardim Gramacho. Without even a primary school education, he is intelligent and articulate. He is proud of his profession and of the positive environmental impact of their work. On the other hand, Isis, a gregarious and brightly-dressed catadora sees no future in picking, but what we identify most with is her story about a recent break-up. Her face fills the frame and she wipes away tears while explaining that she is in love, but the relationship is over. What is more human than the feelings of love and loss? These individuals, who “Vik says that when he is flying over Gramacho…look like ‘just little ants, doing what they do every day’” (Walker) are humanized when shown closely. We begin to care about them and see them in a new light. They have dignity, intelligence, and flaws just as anyone else.
Soon we meet Tião, the president and founder of ACAMJG. We first see him protesting at the Mayor’s office, advocating for recognition of the rights of the 3,000 catadores. This is one of the first examples of the human agency we find they have created for themselves out of the “useless” trash. Later, Walker presented a striking contrast as Tião discussed love for literature, while chatting with Muniz’ crew on the litter-strewn landfill. In a later interview Walker described the scene, "Tião was comparing Machiavelli to his own life--the fortified hills of sixteenth-century Italy to the warring drug lords of Rio," says Walker. "Which was such an apropos comparison--the most astute I've heard" (Schilling). The juxtaposition of the landscape with an intellectual conversation, and the intelligence of a man who is considered by Brazilian society as inferior, is surprising and moving. His description of finding a good copy of Machiavelli’s “The Prince” in the dump and having to dry it out behind his refrigerator reflects the division between the two worlds he exists within; one where knowledge is disposable, and another in which it is unrecognized.
By taking seemingly disparate elements and showing the world in contrasts, we become aware of the dualistic nature of Jardim Gramacho. Even the trash itself is stratified by economic status; as Tião and other pickers sort through a pile of smaller trash bags he remarks, “Poor is the trash of the poor”. By showing the extreme disparities and by breaking down the prejudices that strengthen them, Walker employed an eco-feminist perspective. The environmental horror of extreme waste is a result of capitalistic values of overconsumption, and the same values create a system of hierarchy where some groups are more valued than others. By showing that these catadores do have value, and are not inferior to society’s elite, Walker promotes one of the tenets of Merchant’s ecofeminist model, “Inclusion of women, minorities, and non-human nature in the code of ethical accountability.” (Brereton 23) This extends also into what has been termed, “second wave eco-criticism”, where “instead of justice for nature…the new environmental critics find themselves calling for justice for people and nature” (Brereton 141). In the case of Jardim Gramacho, we are forced to consider the somewhat surprising positive role of trash for Third World employment against the traditional backdrop of the negative environmental impact.
Perhaps the most important contrast the film provides is in the lives of the film’s subjects throughout the duration of the project. Besides the hundreds of thousands of dollars generated by sales of Muniz’ photography, many changes occurred in the lives of everyone involved, from the catadores to Muniz, and for the community as well. Through working outside Jardim Gramacho on the art pieces, the catadora Magna began to see herself “as a person” instead of “a mule”. This self-esteem helped her separate from an emotionally abusive husband by giving her “the will to change.” The picker Zumbi used his earnings to build a library and computer lab for the community and he now dreams of traveling to Africa. “Yeah, it's not a one-way street, and life is getting complicated and the story reflects that.” Walker explains in an interview for Talk of the Nation, “that when Vik set out, yeah, to change people's lives, of course, as all good stories go, his own life gets changed” (Conan). In the end, by working in his native Brazil, Muniz is inspired to move back permanently, eventually divorcing from his wife. Seeing the two sides of Rio, the affluent and the pobre, made him decide to simplify from his large Brooklyn apartment and realize, “I spent half my life wanting everything and having nothing. Now I have everything, and I don’t want anything.”
“Despite the poignant 'closure' of Muniz hanging his works in the catadores' homes as if repatriating their images, the where-are-they-now credits describe varying fortunes among the catadores post-Muniz” (Rapold). Some of the catadores decided to stay at Jardim Gramacho, while others left for good. Irma, Gramacho’s resident cook, left to start a restaurant, but returned as she missed the community. Regardless of where they call home, or how they earn a living, each was changed inside. Irma reflects, “Sometimes we see ourselves as so small, but people out there see us as so big, so beautiful.”
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In 2012, just two years after the release of Waste Land, the landfill at Jardim Gramacho was closed. The reasons are complicated, and reflect a move towards more ecologically progressive waste facilities. They also reflect the Brazilian government’s attempt at improving public image as the closing was scheduled before two major international events; the 2016 Rio Summer Olympics and the 2014 FIFA World Cup. There will certainly be a positive environmental impact to shutting down the landfill, which was antiquated and installed without concern for the surrounding ecology, particularly nearby Guanabara Bay. According to an article from CNN at the time of the closure, “the daily trash will now go to…the most advanced treatment plant in Latin America. It's designed to curb production of greenhouse gases and pollution of the Guanabara Bay marshes…the sludge from the decomposing trash will be treated and turned into recycled water, and escaping methane will be harvested.”
At the same time, if we use a “second-wave” perspective, we must also consider the effects on the catadores. Although they built an informal economy around Gramacho, and were essentially squatters, we must consider that they are a product of the Brazilian economy and one in which it is acceptable for “lower class citizens” to wade through refuse just to scratch out a humble living. How can we make changes to improve our ecological impact while considering the ethics of those choices on marginalized populations?
While Muniz’ mission to provide financial assistance to the pickers was admirable, and did change the lives of a few, perhaps the most important impact of Waste Land was to give the people a voice and to change public perspective. In the same CNN article, a familiar name appears; once a poor morador da favela, Tião now speaks to the world. “The president of the Jardim Gramacho Cooperative of Collectors, Sebastian Carlos dos Santos notes that there are about 1 million catadores all across Brazil. ‘This is a promising market that needs to be a humanized form of work,’ he said.” He and ACAMJG were able to negotiate a severance package with the city of Rio de Janeiro for over $11 million dollars to be paid for by the proceeds earned with the collection of methane from the site. With government funds, training and education was made available to transition catadores to the new facilities or into other careers (Landfill’s).
We can assume that not everyone in the favelas of Jardim Gramacho was fortunate enough to make a better life once the landfill was closed. Although better facilities, more recycling, and social change towards more environmentally sustainable habits are a net positive, we cannot forget that unintended consequences sometimes have a face. Waste Land helped those voices speak.
Works Cited
Brereton, Pat. Environmental Ethics and Film. Routledge, 2016.
Conan, Neal. “Recyclers Turn Rio ‘Waste Land’ into Hight Art.” Talk of the Nation; Washington, D.C. NPR, 21 Feb. 2011. ProQuest, 0- search.proquest.com.wizard.umd.umich.edu/docview/852995000?accountid=14578.
“Jardim Gramacho.” Waste Land Movie, 19 Oct. 2012. www.wastelandmovie.com/jardim- gramacho.html. Accessed 21 Nov. 2017.
Kendall, Tina. “Cinematic affect and the ethics of waste.” New Cinemas; Journal of Contemporary Film, 2012, vol. 10, no. 1. pp. 45–61. Web. doi: 10.1386/ncin.10.1.45_1.
“Landfill’s closure changing lives in Rio.” CNN. Cable News Network, Turner Broadcasting System, Inc., 05 Jun. 2012. www.cnn.com/2012/06/05/world/americas/brazil-landfill- closure/index.html. Accessed 27 Nov. 2017.
Nichols, Bill. Introduction to Documentary. Indiana University Press, 2001.
Rapold, Nicholas. Review of Waste Land, directed by Lucy Walker, Karen Harley and João Jardim. Sight and Sound; London. British Film Institute, March 2011. vol. 21, no. 3, pp.77. ProQuest, 0- search.proquest.com.wizard.umd.umich.edu/docview/859347013?accountid=14578.
Schilling, Mary Kaye. “Pickup Artists: Celebrating Brazil's Unwanted: Vik Muniz and Lucy Walker conceived a project around the question ‘Can art change people?’”. New York; New York. New York Media, 01 Nov. 2010. ProQuest, 0- search.proquest.com.wizard.umd.umich.edu/docview/759743276?accountid=14578.
Stevens, Isabel. “In the Garden of Trash”. Sight and Sound; London. British Film Institute, Mar. 2011, vol. 21, no. 3, pp 9. ProQuest, 0- search.proquest.com.wizard.umd.umich.edu/docview/859347789?accountid=14578.
Walker, Lucy. “Director’s Statement: Lucy Walker”. Independent Lens, Independent Television Service (ITVS), PBS, 11 Aug. 2015. Web. www.pbs.org/independentlens/content/waste- land_statement-html/ Accessed 21, Nov. 2017.
Waste Land. Directed by Lucy Walker, Karen Harley and João Jardim. Arthouse, 2010.
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