Through a historical-affective reconstruction of the Boca do Lixo region, in São Paulo, the documentary aims to investigate what was the cultural, social and geographic impact that the cinema made there had for the city and for the country during the from the 1960s to the 1980s.
Betrayed wife of a powerful and corrupt Senator, turns him in, and his fraud schemes and lies are exposed. After one of his lovers commits suicide, he has his illegitimate son kidnapped and taken to a decadent seaside resort in the country's extreme southern coast. The Senator chooses another former lover to take care of his son, and the two of them become involved beyond that of a mother son relationship.
Médica (as Ligia Reichenbach)
There's the continent ruled by a repressive government and there's an island where political activists of the continent take refuge on running away from the continent's police. This island is their last stand – there they live in a way not possible in the continent – free love, no possessions, brotherhood… In the continent, a killer is sent to the island to kill the revolutionary leaders. The killer is a woman , Ana (Neide Ribeiro). She will go there as a journalist sent there to interview the leaders of the movement. On arriving to the island, she will find out that things were much different from what she expected. Will Ana be involved by the "island of forbidden pleasures." Will she fulfill her mission?
As filmmaker Jairo Ferreira shoots his life and friends in Super 8mm he also becomes the vampire of the Cinemateca Brasileira in São Paulo. In O VAMPIRO DA CINEMATECA Ferreira develops a poetic representation of his idea of “inventive cinema” without a plot in the classical sense. Ferreira mixes situations of everyday life in the streets of São Paulo with scenes from classics of film history, which he filmed from television or from a projection with his Super 8 camera. The author as a vampire sucks from various sources – not only in cinema, but also in poetry and music – and creates a portrait of his time.
