Who is this film for?
No More! was not written to please the soap opera-addicted Brazilian, of faith protected by ten percent guilt and a lie in their pocket. Or the righteous men and women, masters at pointing fingers, like hunting dogs with thick drool when they smell a lost rabbit in the brush. No More! is about them. About those who speak in meaningless tongues at church, so they can stone the whore, the madman and the mirror without guilt. About the constant lukewarm hatred swimming cautiously beneath slogans and moral judgments. The rich. The poor. The somebody and the one who will never be more than a worn-out flip-flop. And who is this film for? For those who despise the Old Testament, but look at the New with the curiosity and sadness of someone who finds a majestic and never-before-seen animal, dead and abandoned, on a road in a nameless town.
An obsession in thirty-one minutes.
It was over a year on something that shouldn't have taken more than a month. It was a diet that started with just one egg a day, and ended in severe binge eating, bulimic crises, nails as fragile as brown paper, and standing dreams about raw liver with Worcestershire sauce. I became homeless, living with my cats in a camping tent with torn screen, in a half-demolished construction on a half-occupied lot surrounded by sugarcane fields, almost incessant winds, random rains invading my improvised bed, and a sense of freedom I had never experienced before. Masochism? Not exactly. It was a brutal shortcut, used by a non-actor, to get close to a complex character beyond his interpretive talent. Was the physical and emotional sacrifice worth it? For the most part, yes. And this for me, an atheist, to understand a Jesus banished by humanity and in conflict with an omnipresent, sadistic father worshipped by wolves.
