São Paulo, in a dystopian future not so very far from the present. A virus is circulating, one that mainly attacks the brain and the ability to remember. A state that has forgotten a past marked by colonialism and dictatorship desperately awaits some indeterminate “Golden Phase.” Three young queer people drift through a city bled dry by the pandemic and rampant capitalism, remembering each another’s late lovers, sharing their experiences with HIV, getting makeup tips for masked faces and ultimately coming together with others forgotten by society for an antique revue in the salon of a singer named Mirta.
Dispossessed in an essay about the daily bread. In a country like Brasil, of such abyssal social inequality as there is here, it's urgent for me in cinema to talk about the class to which I belong, the class-who-lives-on-labor. And, alongside that, about the labor relations, the survival, the unemployment, the increasingly impoverished life, the small popular uprisings and the confrontations with the non natural order of things. In "Bread and People", we deal with ruins. And in the struggle of the old against the new, we face mainly the ruin of an idea of progress, and the debris of a critical anti capitalist art today. We've deepened our investigation of an epic, historical and dialectical cinema, using the materials of inspiration themselves.
