Movie Review: Manda Bala (Send a Bullet)

"A film that cannot be shown in Brazil"

by Chad Jones

Filmmaker Jason Kohn describes Manda Bala (Portuguese for "Send a Bullet") as "a non-fiction Robocop," depicting the broken and violent world that is modern-day Brazil.

A fair comparison. The film, which garnered the 2007 documentary Grand Jury Prize at the Sundance Film Festival, relies on non-linear rising action, powerful imagery and characters (read: actual people) so rich they almost do seem grafted out of a gritty cop drama.

Kohn sets his lens on São Paulo, home to 20 million Brazilians and the largest city in the country, which is today plagued by a vicious cycle of poverty, political corruption and large-scale kidnapping. The film's real success is not the facts it tosses at the viewer, but the mix of residents, officials and criminals it parades before the screen.

Citizen interviewees such as "Patricia," who was held hostage for sixteen days, and "Mr. M.," a young entrepreneur, casually discuss the prevalence of downtown kidnappings and shooting through their personal experience. The former had her ear sliced off and mailed to her father on Father's Day, while the latter—who touts the benefits of bulletproofing your car and injecting yourself with tracking devices—recites a laundry list of recent kidnappings: "My bank manager. My parters at work. My neighbor, my brother in law. . ."

Kohn also follows Jamil, an anti-kidnapping detective, and peers within Brazil's anti-kidnapping division, the Divisio Anti-Sequestro. As Jamil notes, the lone department has only 80 detectives, while there are, once again, roughly 20 million people in the country. He shrugs his arms at the bewildering figure, and the camera captures his look of utter futility as he snorts and looks away. Meanwhile, Dr. Avelar, a plastic surgeon, claims his job is his destiny prior to slicing into the ribcage of an induced patient and carving the cartilage therefound into a new, artificial ear. The surgery is shown unedited.

The highest points of Manda Bala occur when a hooded figure named Magrinho—a drug trafficker, bank robber and professional kidnapper—sits before the camera, (sort of) explaining himself. “All human beings have a good side and a bad side," he says. "I know my bad side.” When asked if he ever contemplates his crimes, if he ever "[thinks] about what [he does]," Magrinho responds "no," without blinking. “You either steal with a gun or a pen. Politicians steal with a pen."

Kohn notes that most of Northern Brazil, especially near the Amazon, is miserably poor. Magrinho, who lives in a NE slum with his wife and ten children, uses the money to provide for his fellow residents, serving as an unofficial politician of sorts.

The other climax comes soon after, when politician Jader Barbahlo—a man who has held every elected office (Congressman, Governor, etc.) in Brazil except President—enters a crisp office to sit before Kohn's lens. Throughout the film, Jader is referenced for his massive money laundering and extortion schemes, for spearheading organizations in north Brazil that didn't exist in order to pocket the funds. Jader, filthy rich, mirrors the plain-filthy Magrinho, and Kohn bonds both in their criminality. Their only difference in character comes when Jader, unlike the common thief, refuses to even acknowledge his crimes, specifically his involvement in a corrupt frog farm.

Manda Bala is slow and subtle and full of detail. Kohn eschews the more direct step-by-step, color-by-numbers format for interloped perspectives as well as interesting tangents. Intermittently between interviews, there is slow-motion footage of frogs floating in piles, hoping around in vats, being skinned and packaged in boxes. Hazy footage shot by kidnappers shows a blind-folded girl in custody, while later, an armored car is assembled step by step before our eyes.

Corruption from top to bottom. A world consuming itself, with its people consuming each other. Despite this dismal and disgusting subject matter Manda Bala is riveting and artistic, a truly enjoyable and refreshingly keen documentary filled with insight and permeated with a dark cynical humor.

“Tell me a place on Earth where politicians are not sons of bitches," asks Detective Jamil aloud to no one in particular. He snorts again.