Twenty-four years. It’s been nearly a quarter-century since the world first saw the sun-drenched, blood-soaked streets of Rio de Janeiro through the lens of City of God Fernando Meirelles, and honestly? Nothing has matched it since. If you haven’t seen it lately, you might remember the chickens. That opening scene where a runaway hen darting through the dust becomes a metaphor for survival is still one of the most frantic, kinetic pieces of filmmaking in history.
It changed things.
Before this movie dropped in 2002 (and hit the global stage in 2003/2004), international audiences usually saw Brazil through a very specific, often romanticized lens. Meirelles and co-director Kátia Lund shattered that. They didn't just show the favelas; they made the dirt and the adrenaline feel like they were under your fingernails. But the real magic isn't just the violence or the "cool" editing. It’s the fact that the movie managed to be a massive commercial hit while using a cast of mostly non-professional actors who actually lived in the slums.
The Chaos Behind the Camera
Making City of God Fernando Meirelles wasn't exactly a standard Hollywood production. Meirelles has often spoken about how he didn't even realize how dangerous the project was until they were deep into it. They couldn't actually film in the real Cidade de Deus because it was too volatile at the time. Instead, they moved to a neighboring, slightly "safer" favela.
You've gotta realize the stakes here.
The production set up a makeshift acting school. They didn't want polished actors from Rio’s wealthy south zone trying to "act" poor. They wanted the real rhythm of the streets. Over 200 kids from the favelas participated in workshops for months. This wasn't just about teaching them lines; it was about capturing their natural slang, their walk, and that specific brand of hardened charisma.
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Take Leandro Firmino, who played Li'l Zé (Zé Pequeno). He wasn't an actor. He went to the auditions just to keep a friend company. But when he got in front of the camera, he channeled something so terrifyingly authentic that he became one of cinema's most iconic villains. When he screams "Dadinho is my foot, my name is Li'l Zé now!" it’s not just a script. It’s a transformation.
Why the Visual Style Still Holds Up
The editing is basically a character itself. Daniel Rezende, the editor, worked with Meirelles to create a flickering, high-speed pace that mirrors the short life expectancy of the characters. It's jittery. It's loud.
City of God uses three distinct visual palettes to track the timeline:
- The 1960s are golden, warm, and nostalgic. It feels like a dream of a simpler time, even if the "Tender Trio" are still outlaws.
- The 1970s shift to a psychedelic, saturated look.
- The 1980s become gray, metallic, and cold. The soul of the neighborhood has been replaced by the business of cocaine.
Meirelles used 16mm and 35mm film to get that grainy, documentary-style texture. He leaned into the "shaky cam" long before it became a tired trope in every Bourne sequel. Here, it serves a purpose. It makes you feel trapped in the crossfire. You aren't just watching Rocket (Buscapé) try to take a photo; you're ducking behind the wall with him.
The Ethics of the Gaze
Some critics at the time, particularly in Brazil, accused Meirelles of "cosmeticizing" poverty. They called it "the aesthetics of hunger" turned into a music video. It’s a valid conversation. Does making a massacre look stylish diminish the tragedy of the actual lives lost in Rio’s drug wars?
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Meirelles has wrestled with this himself. He's a middle-class guy from São Paulo. He was an outsider looking in. But he also argues that by making the film so vibrant and watchable, he forced the world to look at a reality they had ignored for decades. The film isn't a lecture. It’s a scream.
Honestly, the legacy of the film is complicated. If you look at the documentary City of God - 10 Years Later, you see the reality of the actors. For many, the film was a peak, but not a permanent ticket out of the favela. This highlights a painful irony: a movie that made millions and won four Oscar nominations didn't necessarily change the systemic poverty of the people who made it "real."
The Rocket Factor: Survival Through Art
Rocket is our anchor. He's the kid who wants to be a photographer. In a world where the only two paths are usually "be a soldier" or "be a victim," he finds a third way. He observes.
Meirelles uses Rocket to show that the camera is a weapon of a different kind. It’s a tool for survival. When Rocket takes those photos of Li'l Zé's gang, he’s terrified, but that lens provides a layer of protection. It’s a meta-commentary on the film itself. The act of documenting these stories is what keeps the memory of these kids alive after they've been buried in unmarked graves.
Breaking Down the Real Impact
When we talk about the influence of City of God Fernando Meirelles, we aren't just talking about movies. We're talking about a shift in Brazilian soft power.
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- It opened the door for "Slam Cinema" globally.
- It paved the way for series like City of Men.
- It influenced the cinematography of everything from Slumdog Millionaire to Top Boy.
The film’s structure—branching narratives that loop back on themselves—feels like how we browse the internet now. It’s non-linear. It’s hyper-connected. You follow a character for five minutes, they die, and the camera pivots to the guy who killed them. It’s a brutal cycle that never ends.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
People often think the end of the film is a "victory" because Li'l Zé gets what's coming to him. But look closer. The "Runts" (the younger kids) are the ones who take him out. They are smaller, meaner, and have even less to lose.
The cycle hasn't been broken; it’s just been refreshed with younger blood.
The movie doesn't offer a happy ending. It offers a snapshot of a machine that grinds up children and spits out ghosts. Rocket gets his job at the newspaper, sure, but he walks away through a neighborhood that is still burning.
How to Appreciate the Film Today
If you're revisiting this masterpiece or watching it for the first time, don't just watch it for the action.
- Watch the background. Look at the extras. Almost everyone you see on screen was a local resident. Their reactions to the gunfire and the police raids aren't always "acting"—they are muscle memory.
- Listen to the soundtrack. The mix of Brazilian samba and funk is essential to the pacing. It’s the heartbeat of the city.
- Research the "City of God" today. The real neighborhood still exists. While it has evolved, the themes of neglect and police violence Meirelles highlighted are still headlines in Rio today.
To truly understand the impact, look into the work of the Nós do Morro theater group. Many of the actors came from this project in the Vidigal favela. Supporting organizations like these is the most direct way to honor the legacy of the film, ensuring that the talent within these communities has a platform that lasts longer than a single film's production cycle.
The film remains a towering achievement in world cinema because it refuses to blink. It is messy, beautiful, and devastating—all at the same time.