The short film Nitrato has been revisited a lot in recent years, in film festivals and now on Cinelimite. Besides its aesthetic freshness, the subject of the film, exploring the many challenges facing the Cinemateca Brasileira in 1974, feels extremely contemporary as the archive is now going through another immense crisis. Although much has changed between then and now, we still have to defend the obvious: it is important for an entity such as the Cinemateca Brasileira to exist so that we can ensure the preservation of our audiovisual heritage.
Multifaceted, Nitrato expresses the ambiguities and contradictions of the Cinemateca Brasileira. The film deals with the richness of its collection, the recognition of international entities, and explores what its relationship to the general public was like. Nitrato also portrays the neglect with which the institution is treated, as seen in how precarious its building infrastructure is, how politicians neglected to communicate with the institution’s staff, and the aftermath of another fire in the building.
Just as during the time of Nitrato, the Cinemateca Brasileira still plays an important part in providing access to Brazilian and world cinema, with excellent programs in its exhibition rooms and film festivals held in its headquarters. The diffusion of films has always been one of the aspects that attracts film students, researchers, and the general public to the institution. In fact, when Alain Fresnot made the film, he was a film student at the School of Communication and Arts at São Paulo University

Natália de Castro: Can you describe the relationship between the ECA (Escola de Comunicações e Artes) students and the Cinemateca Brasileira in 1974? How did you become interested in the institution?
Alain Fresnot: The Cinemateca made different films available to our film school. The presence of Paulo Emilio in both institutions made our contact with the Cinemateca and our interest in its collections easier. As a film student, I wanted to specialize in editing and I was very interested in Soviet cinema; Eisenstein, of course, and those films came from the Cinemateca. Lastly, my friendship with Paulo Emílio’s stepson, Gofredo da Silva Telles Neto, made it possible for me to visit his home and consequently to grow closer to the Cinemateca Brasileira.

NDC: The film was shot on 35mm. What were the conditions it was made in? What about the crew and equipment?
AF: I don’t have a strong memory of making the film, far from it, but I remember that teaming up with the young cinematographer Pedro Farkas was an essential move, because he had access to all of the equipment of his father’s production company. His father was entrepreneur, producer and photographer Thomaz Farkas. Obviously, the film was made possible by the willing collaboration of the crew, as we didn’t have any financial support. However, in post-production I received support from Aluísio Leite, a producer from Rio who had ties to the Cinemateca do MAM. I vaguely remember that his help during post-production was what made it possible for us to complete the film.
NDC: Does the way you perceive and make films reflect your ties to the Cinemateca Brasileira and audiovisual preservation? In what ways has your experiences with the institution shaped your career?
AF: If not for the possibility of watching the classics at the Cinemateca, my formation would certainly have been weaker and that would reflect in my work. Having said that, my ties to the Cinemateca were less important than the possibility of hanging out with Professor Paulo Emilio, whose leadership and militancy in favor of Brazilian cinema have marked my career, as well as those of many colleagues of mine.
NDC: Film technology has changed a lot since Nitrato was made, especially in terms of production, distribution, exhibition and access. Do you think that has had any impact on how the film community relates to audiovisual archives and film heritage? What are your thoughts on the relationship between current filmmakers to the Cinemateca Brasileira?
AF: The banalization of images via the proliferation of technology has desacralized audiovisual media. I’m not positive about the relationship between new filmmakers and the Cinemateca. But I believe that even though they must be interested in it, since it’s so easy now to find films on various platforms, the Cinemateca has lost some of its central importance.
NDC: In the 1970s, you were a volunteer at the Cinemateca Brasileira, supervised by Lucila Bernardet, a key figure in the history of that institution and audiovisual preservation as a whole who hasn’t been as notorious lately as she deserves. What are your impressions of her and of that time?
AF: I can’t evaluate how important Lucila Bernardet was to the Cinemateca. Back then, she seemed to me as the on-call volunteer, at a time after the institution had already been implemented and grown, but was decadent and “abandoned” by its founders. She’d play soccer with us, the young ones. After I got in I brought some other classmates to help there. It’s also important to mention Mr. Aluísio, who talks in the film about one of the fires as he peels cane. He worked at the city hall, he was from the Northeast, and he had been sent to work at the central building of the Cinemateca. He’d named every rat and every drip spot in there. He knew exactly what size a can or pan had to be in order to contain the rainwater.

NDC: Back then you also had a small mimeographed magazine called Cinemateca. What was it about?
AF: When I began working at the Cinemateca Brasileira, I was passionate about helping the institution. I didn’t possess the technical skills to do anything significant to help in preserving the archive, so I made an effort to distribute the available film copies whose originals didn’t have conservation problems to film clubs and student events. Then came the idea to create the magazine, Cinemateca. I probably have some copies of this magazine somewhere in my personal archives. If I’m not mistaken, the magazine was about Brazilian cinema, about contemporary subjects, deep analyses, and the hardships faced by the Cinemateca. As I recall it had a complicated, militant writing style. It would be interesting to take a new look at it today.
NDC: Watching Nitrato now, we have conflicting feelings: we see that a lot has changed, but the current situation of the Cinemateca Brasileira makes us think that preservation in Brazil has structural problems which always come back to haunt us. What would you say is the solution to the current crisis at the Cinemateca? How can we make sure public preservation institutions are no longer subjected to changes in government but instead operate under an effective state policy?
AF: Sadly, what Paulo Emilio said regarding the Brazilian elite’s misunderstanding of cultural issues is still true to this day. Things improved, but management contracts and social organizations are deformities of administrations who don’t think public servants are able to do their work properly. There’s a mystification of “creative economy” which makes public spending on structuring activities be devalued and seen as an expense instead of an investment. I hope technological advancements make preservation cheaper, but the situation is so serious that there’s barely any equipment left in the country to digitize the films in our archive.
NDC: Do you think members of the film community today and society as a whole understand the importance of the Cinemateca?
AF: I believe that the voracity of images which come from private and public television help professionals of the audiovisual sector easily understand the need for archive preservation and consequently for the Cinemateca.
NDC: Paulo Emílio Sales Gomes ends up taking a lead role in your film, along the Cinemateca Brasileira itself. Why do you think he is still such an important figure?
AF: Because the central issue formulated so clearly by him and his generation still hasn’t been resolved. That is, to make Brazilian cinema go from an intruder in its own market to the protagonist of its territory.
NDC: Nitrato seems like a metaphor for the history of Brazilian cinema, as we only have access to fragments, from which we try to put together the whole picture. Audiovisual preservation institutions exist to make such gaps shorter, and their work is essential even to make it possible for us to watch a film like Nitrato 46 years after it was made. Regarding your other films, where are their originals and exhibition copies stored?
AF: It’s true, I was surprised when I watched it 30 years after making it. It deals with materials with such freedom which allows for a discourse that is simultaneously precise and full of suggestion. My other films are in the Cinemateca, which worries me constantly.
NDC: Filmmaking in contemporary Brazil is challenging. How have you found your own success?
AF: Filmmaking in Brazil has always been challenging. I’ve made seven feature films in a career spanning fifty years. During that same time, in France or the United States, I’d have made 15 or 20 feature films. I’m currently working on a comedy film. I’m writing a screenplay, doing research for another one, and I have a documentary waiting to be launched. I want to conclude, without meaning to compare myself, by quoting Paulo Emilio once again. Referring to Glauber Rocha, he said: “Glauber’s limit is Brazil.” Wasting talents is a feature of underdevelopment.




