Annual Vibrations

Carnaval, as everyone knows, is the time when Brazil plunges into the world's biggest binge, a wild four-day pageant driven by the intoxicating beat of the samba. There are no politics to carnaval, and no Brazilian government--however tough-minded--would dare deny its people their great annual excursion into tun and fantasy (see box following page). Yet there is a slightly unreal air to Brazil this week, as carnaval dances toward its pre-Lent climax. Since the military crackdown last December, Brazilians have had to put up with a tough, moralistic, even prudish regime. While revelers are putting the final touches on their colorful fantasias, the stunning costumes that give carnaval its color, the dour government of President Arthur da Costa e Silva continues its purges and its arrests. Scores of Brazilians are in jail, and some will sit out carnaval in virtual exile, on the lonely island of Ilha Grande, 70 miles off the coast.

Stand-by Alert. On the surface, it hardly seems to matter. Along Avenida Rio Branco in Rio de Janeiro large stylized figures decorate the curbs, bird cages in their outstretched hands. Huge, brightly colored sunflowers float above the traffic amid a profusion of plastic hummingbirds, cardinals and canaries. "Mother's Heart," an outsized paddy wagon so named "because there is always room for one more," is on standby alert--although the cops will haul away only the rowdiest of cariocas.

There are really two festivals, one for the rich and another for the poor. For the poor, carnaval takes place in the streets, to the cheers of thousands of onlookers. The escolas de samba, neighborhood associations that practice intricate dances for months to put on the most stunning show, come into their own then, singing and prancing their way past the reviewing stands of judges, who choose the winner. A total of 43 escolas de samba are taking part this year, and the larger ones, like the Estacao Primeira de Mangueira--last year's champion, named after a stop on a suburban rail line--bring 7,000 participants into their act. While the poor flood into the limelight, the rich and the middle class either leave town or amuse themselves at exclusive balls. Individual tickets for the Municipal Theater Ball, the poshest of them all, run to $50, a box for eight to $3,750. The revelers arrive in psychedelic splendor, shed most of their clothes during the night, and emerge in the early morning, after hours of dancing, in bikinis, swimming trunks and sarongs.

For all Brazilians, it is an expensive affair. The poor spend a good deal of money on their fantasias and work diligently on them all year long, looking forward to the great day when they come down from their hills to take over the city's avenues. Says one favelado: "Those who never work begin to work for their costumes. Washerwomen take on twice their normal work load, and even thieves steal more. In the end, everybody works double." The rich too pay for their fun. Brazilian Couturier Evandro Castro Lima is working on ten dazzling fantasias for society women. He himself will strut this year as Harun al-Rashid, in a besequined and bejeweled costume that weighs 105 lbs. "We flee the present," he explains. "We want to feel the vibrations of great kings and queens." To get the right vibrations, his customers pay up to $2,500 for a fantasia. This year, however, the vibrations will not be quite the same: living up to its stern moralistic image, the government has banned the carnaval's Transvestite Ball, a gay affair that has always drawn homosexuals from all over the world.

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