The shoot breaks for two days. There are
laws stipulating they must take a day off every six days, so they
cannot shoot today (Thursday). On Saturday, they will shift from
night to daylight shooting. The law says they must take a day off
between switching from night to day schedules, so they cannot shoot
Friday. What am I going to do the next two days? Stare at
the walls? I can do that in Missouri. I need to find a way
to take advantage of my time.
That is difficult when you slumber the day away. It must have
been 7 a.m. before I finally fell asleep. I woke up around 4
p.m. I take a shower, do some exercises, walk to Bella Paulista
and drink some coconut milk, walk back to the hotel and stare at the
walls. My iPod keeps me company.
Dennison Ramalho calls around 7 p.m. and tells me we are going to
dinner at 11 p.m. Why so late? Because his wife is a
costume designer for a theatrical stage production and this is the
show’s final night, so he has to be with her and her theater
friends much of the evening. He thinks some of the theater people
will join us for dinner, but he and I will sit to the side and discuss
“more pleasant matters,” like horror movies.
Earlier in the week, Dennison told me he grew up watching Hammer films
on Brazilian television. His favorite Hammer is The Devil
Rides Out. I tell him mine is Curse of the
Werewolf. He loves Dennis Wheatley, and finds it amusing
that the British novelist equated Socialism with Satanism. I am
not sure about Dennison’s religious beliefs. He is
fascinated with the occult, as am I. But he is a very decent
person, bordering on square, as am I.
One of his favorite directors is Mario Bava. Here again, we have
common ground. His favorite Bava film is Rabid
Dogs, one of the few Bava films I have not seen. My
favorite is Planet of the Vampires. We agree that a
true connoisseur must not, under any circumstances, reveal that his
favorite Bava is Black Sunday.
Dennison loves the Something Weird video company. He urges me to
buy the Something Weird DVD of Satanis, a documentary
about Anton LeVey’s Church of Satan. It is one of the films
that inspired his award-winning short subject, Love for Mother
Only. He has great respect for Mike Vraney, who runs
Something Weird.
He talks fondly of two films that seem to come from another
dimension: Incubus with William Shatner, and Begotten by director E. Elias Merhige. I’ve
seen Incubus, but not Begotten.
All of the above is from our conversations in the studio lunchroom. Now for tonight’s dinner.
I step out of the elevator and see Dennison watching the TV in the
hotel lobby. He swings around and greets me. He is wearing
a Cannibal Holocaust T-shirt. I tell him I like Cannibal Holocaust, even though I’m a
vegetarian. This impresses him so much that he repeats it to his
wife when we reach the car outside.
His wife is statuesque and elegant. At first glance, it might
seem strange that she is married to this scrappy horror fan in his Cannibal Holocaust shirt. But once they start
interacting, it is clear they are made for each other. They make
a cute couple.
Dennison gives me a gift. It is a Ze do Caixao T-shirt by fashion
designer Alexandre Herchcovitch, who is designing the costumes for Encarnacao. I have been searching two years for one
of these shirts, ever since I read about Herchcovitch basing his 2004
collection on Ze do Caixao and saw photos of his runway show on a
fashion Web site. Herchcovitch is one of the rising stars of the
fashion world. He also happens to be a Coffin Joe fan.
Getting him to design the costumes for Encarnacao is
quite a coup. Anyway, I finally have one of these Ze
shirts. It is used, but in good shape. That’s fine.
It was a limited edition and is now impossible to find. I have
been searching on ebay and have not seen one in two years.
Dennison says I can pick out a skull from the set as a souvenir, if I
want. I tell him I would rather have a set of resin
fingernails. He tells me he will talk to the makeup effects
director, Andre, who will be having dinner with us. But instead of
asking him over dinner, he will wait for the right moment to approach
him on the set. I surmise that giving away a set of nails is kind
of sensitive, like Paramount giving away a set of Spock’s
ears. But Dennison thinks he can work it out.
We pick up Andre and go to an Italian pizzeria. This is no
ordinary pizza joint. It is a stylish Italian restaurant known
for its unique pizzas. We order a bottle of Chilean red wine and
two pizzas. One is covered with some kind of tangy relish, topped
with globs of garlic cream. The other is topped with sliced
zucchini and squares of a different kind of garlic cream. These
yellow squares are more like butter, whereas the white globs on the
other pizza are more like sour cream. Both the pizzas are
delicious. Being a light eater, it’s been a long time since
I’ve eaten real, hearty pizza.
(Thankfully, the theater people do not accompany us. It is just Dennison, his wife, Andre and me.)

Dennison tells me stories about Mojica. About 10 years ago,
Dennison began “bugging” Mojica at his office, trying to
pick his brain about filmmaking. The two formed a relationship
and Dennison became his protégé. I knew that Mojica
had not directed a feature film in 20 years, so I asked if Mojica kept
an office and fulltime staff. Dennison said, yes, he’s
always kept his office building open and operating. If he
wasn’t making movies, why did he need an office? Because
Mojica makes his living through a trio of “quasi-artistic
pursuits.” He runs an acting workshop out of the
building. His acting workshop
is usually full. I tell him I’ve seen footage from the
acting workshop on the Brazilian six-disc Coffin Joe DVD set.
Dennison is impressed that I own this set, which is now
out-of-print.
Mojica also contracts with the government to train detectives.
Coffin Joe teaching a detective school? Yes, he trains them to
act for undercover work. Now that is interesting.
His third enterprise is a talent agency, mostly for models who have
been rejected by the bigger agencies. (I think it is Cro who
later explains to me that the agency is more like what we would call a
union in the U.S. You cannot get work in film, TV or modeling in
Brazil without a certificate saying you have agency
representation. If there is a problem with pay or working
conditions, the agency works to straighten it out. I tell him
that, yes, this is what a union would do in the U.S.
Mojica’s agency is called the Ze do Caixao agency. When
they are hired, his clients present a document stating they belong to
Ze do Caixao. Would you dare mistreat an employee represented by
a union run by Ze do Caixao?)
Dennison tells me about Mojica’s penchant for spinning
“phantasmagorical tales.” He means tall tales.
Mojica is quite the raconteur. Dennison said you can tell whether
a story is true or false by the number of times Mojica tells it.
For instance, he told one or two interviewers that there is a tribe in
southern Brazil that worships Ze do Caixao. They have the
character’s image tattooed on their breasts and buttocks.
Of course this is not true, Dennison says. You can tell that it
is false because Mojica has only told the story once or twice.
I ask him if it is true that Mojica, as a child, saw a man “rise
from the dead.” Mojica tells a story about a man in his
hometown who apparently died, then rose from his coffin during the
funeral. The man had been in a cataleptic state. Afterward,
his wife left him and the townspeople shunned him. They thought
he must be in league with the devil.
Dennison says he believes this story is true, because Mojica has told
it many times. Mojica put the experience in his film, Finis Hominis.
Then Dennison tells me that I have become one of Mojica’s
stories! Mojica has told reporters that there is a young man in
America who dresses up like him. “But you are one of his
true stories,” Dennison says.
Speaking of reporters, I can thank newspapers for bringing me to
Mojica’s attention. At least one paper, maybe two, printed
photos of me to illustrate interviews with Mojica. They probably
Googled “Ze do Caixao,” found my page and assumed the
photos were Mojica. My site is in English, so a
Portuguese-speaking journalist or editor would not have realized the
mistake. Mojica saw these photos in print and wondered where they
came from. He didn’t remember taking them. Dennison
found my site and explained to Mojica that the photos were not of him,
but an American fan. Mojica was astounded. He honestly
thought he was looking at photos of himself.
Dennison says the cultural elite look down on Mojica, but the public
loves him because he is something rare in Brazil – a populist
filmmaker. Most Brazilian cinema is intellectual or
political. Mojica’s films are entertaining. Dennison
calls Mojica Brazil’s only “pop culture filmmaker.”
(Interestingly, Cro takes a different angle on his father’s
work. Cro says one of the special things about Mojica’s
place in Brazilian culture is that appreciation for his films
transcends social/economic class boundaries. The rich and poor,
educated and illiterate, all enjoy his films. Also, one of the
things that makes Mojica’s films stand out is that they are not
merely entertainment. Mojica insists that every film must explore
a philosophical idea.)
For a long time, Mojica’s films were unavailable in Brazil.
Dennison saw many of them on bootleg videotapes during the 1980s and
early 90s. When they began gaining notoriety in the United States
and Europe, Mojica’s reputation began to grow in his own
country. His current standing is evidenced by the fact that the
Brazilian government is financing Encarnacao do
Demonio. The government finances short subjects, like
Dennison’s own Love for Mother Only, and "respectable" feature films, but not horror movies. “Mojica is the only
filmmaker who has received government financing (to make a horror feature) because he is the only one who has
the credibility to do so,” Dennison says.
But Dennison is frustrated that Mojica’s fame does not seem to
have spread to Hollywood. A few months ago, he spent several
weeks in Los Angeles and had 32 meetings with Hollywood
executives. (Dennison has been receiving offers to direct feature
films, like the proposed remake of Hell House.) He found only two
people familiar with Coffin Joe – a Universal Studios vice
president and director Guillermo Del Toro.
I told him Hollywood is always the last to catch on to something
cool. The studio execs live in a bubble. They have tunnel
vision. Innovation has to come from the outside, then Hollywood
jumps on the bandwagon. Usually a day late and a dollar
short. Dennison agrees. But since they are looking for
Hollywood distribution for “Encarnacao,” this realization
was unsettling. He returned from Hollywood somewhat disillusioned.
One of the best things to come from his trip was a budding friendship
with Del Toro. The director invited Dennison to accompany him to
Comic Con in San Diego. The convention was an eye-opening
experience. I tell him I never used to go to fantasy conventions,
but now I go to two or three a year. He shakes his head in
amazement. Two or three a year! He said he wished he could
attend even one a year. (If any of his movie deals pan out,
I’m sure that will no longer be a problem!)
When Dennison asked why I made my Coffin Joe costume, I tell him I just
did it for fun. He says that is one of the things about American
culture that he envies. You can have fun and be imaginative, no
matter how old you are. He saw that firsthand at Comic Con.
In Brazilian culture, you are expected to grow up fast, get a job, make
money, raise a family. As an adult, you are supposed to let go of
the joys of your youth. I tell him it is very similar in Egypt,
where my mother’s side of the family live. People grow up
fast. There is not a lot of mirth. The idea of dressing up
like movie characters and going to conventions is totally alien.
Andre says it is not as bleak as Dennison makes it out to
be. There is room for fantasy in Brazil. There are
opportunities to dress up and have fun. There is a culture of
Brazilian fandom. The fact that he and Dennison are working on
this horror film is proof.
“But you know as well as I that there is a part of society that looks down on people like us,” Dennison tells him.
Our conversation turns to the hunt for memorabilia. Dennison says
one of his proudest positions is an Exorcismo Negro movie
poster, signed by the artist who designed it. Exorcismo
Negro (aka The Bloody Exorcism of Coffin Joe) is
considered one of Mojica’s weakest films, Dennison says, but he
actually likes it. In fact, he likes it a lot. It was one
of his inspirations for Love for Mother Only.
I tell him I am jealous that he has that poster. I have been
searching and searching for Coffin Joe movie posters, but to no
avail. Where do I go to find something like that? He says
you can’t find them. Mojica’s movie posters are
impossible to find. Even Mojica does not have examples of many of
them. Dennison lucked into the Exorcismo Negro
poster, which was discovered in bad condition in the bottom of a box of
junk. He had it professionally restored. He has hunted for
more Mojica posters, but has come up short. There is a bar that
has a poster for Delirios de um Amoral (Hallucinations of
a Deranged Mind) hanging on its wall. He offered the bar owner
R$200, but was turned down. There is also a night club that has
another Mojica poster hanging in it. I think it is This
Night I Will Possess Your Corpse. I think Dennison also
tried to buy that one, but was turned down. He is unaware of any
shop or dealer that would be able to procure vintage Ze do Caixao movie
posters.
“So, even in Brazil, you cannot find Coffin Joe posters,” I tell him.
Dennison and his wife become very interested in my statement.
They want me to explain the meaning of the word
“even.” It is obvious that this is something they
have discussed before, something they have been wondering about for a
long time.
I cannot come up with a definition, so I use an example.
“Even if Dennison reached across the table and punched me, I
would still think he was a good guy,” I say.
Ah! They look at each other excitedly. The mystery is
solved. Dennison repeats the sentence, “EVEN in Brazil, you
cannot find the posters.” Now he understands how to use the
word “even.”
I see that his wife is not wearing a wedding ring. Neither is
Dennison. His wife raises her hands. “No,” she
says, grinning. “No ring!”
Dennison explains that they are not really married. They have
lived together two years. In Brazil, when you live together, you
say you are married.
Being a health food nut, I never eat dessert. Tonight, I make an exception. Dennison insists.
We share a platter of fancy flavored ice cream (probably gelato).
The scoops are arranged in circular fashion surrounding a center bowl
filled with a strange, red, gelatinous substance.
“Try it. You will not believe what it is,” Dennison says.
I try the red goo. It tastes delicious, like pumpkin pie spice. I cannot guess what it is.
His wife says, “It’s tomato jelly!”
Now I can taste the tomato. What an unusual flavor. I ask
if this is a Brazilian dish. Dennison says no, this is a
specialty of this restaurant. You cannot find it anywhere else.
The gelato flavors are almost as unusual – rose, honey,
chamomile, mint, peppermint, exotic spices. There is also the usual
chocolate and vanilla. We take turns eating spoonfuls until the
platter is finished.
On the way back to the hotel, Dennison drives me down Paulista Avenue
so I can see where all the stores, museums and restaurants are.
Paulista Avenue is one of the biggest commercial streets in Sao
Paulo. Since I have nothing else to do Friday, he urges me to
walk along the avenue and see the sights. He recommends I try a
vegetarian restaurant called Gopala Prasada, which is within walking
distance from the hotel.
Dennison drops me off at the Heritage hotel. I thank him and his
wife for an enjoyable evening. I do feel like I have made
friends, not acquaintances. Maybe Dennison and I can hit a
convention someday. |