New Kick in Brazil

Facing each other in the circle are two Brazilians, Purple Shirt No. 5 and Breaker-of-Iron, both rhythmically undulating while a berimbau quavers. Suddenly, Purple Shirt drops on his hands and kicks one foot out in the bencao, aiming at Breaker's ribs. Breaker fades into a negativa, slumping smoothly backward onto one hand and one foot as the blow whistles harmlessly past, then lashes out in the hammer, his foot aimed at Purple Shirt's groin. What does Purple Shirt do? Why, he cartwheels away, smiling, and then both resume the ginga as the tambourines jingle, gourds rattle, and the one-stringed berimbau twangs along.

At about this point, any non-Brazilian begins to wonder what in the world is going on. The answer: capoeira (pronounced cap-oh-wcry-rah), a combination of folk dancing and self-defense that has become a national craze. Along the beaches, in parks and at festivals all over Brazil, enthusiasts leap, fade, swing and sing in the country's first truly national folk manifestation. Capoeira pervades nearly every aspect of Brazilian life, from pop songs and poetry to sport and even formal receptions for state visitors. It resembles a super-athletic ballet, its deadly blows precisely calculated to miss by inches, and its movements matching the raga-like thrum of the berimbau.

Contagious. Originated about three centuries ago by escaped slaves hiding in the scrublands around the coastal city of Salvador, it was designed as a form of self-defense; the slaves used it with devastating effect against owners and police trying to recapture them. When capoeira was outlawed by alarmed authorities, Brazilians set it to music and turned it into a kind of ritual dance; that way, if they were seen practicing capoeira, they could say that they were merely dancing. It was finally legalized in 1937, and in the past few years has gained broad popularity--as a folk art rather than as a self-defense tactic. "It has everything," says an enthusiast. "It is a beautiful dance, the music is contagious, it is spectacular exercise, it is airtight self-defense, and it is poetry."

Capoeira reverses usual dancing and fighting patterns; a capoeirista spends much of the time on his hands while his legs slash through the air in roundhouse kicks (pontapes) or straight jabs (pisadas). Tripping is a favorite tactic; so is the flying dropkick (voo de morsego) that norteamericano wrestlers love. Cartwheels are often used. One of the deadliest blows is the cabecada, a flying head butt to the solar plexus that, if properly delivered, can be fatal.

Leader of capoeira's transformation into respectability is Manoel Does Reis Machado, now 71, who is called Mestre (Master) Bimba by his devotees. A renowned Salvador rowdy as a youth, Bimba took up capoeira seriously in his late teens and after several prison terms opened an academy to propagate it. In the mid-'30s, after he whipped three rivals on the same afternoon, his reputation began to spread.

Today Bimba runs the most popular academy in Salvador. Most of his students are enrolled at local high schools and universities. There are also doctors, engineers and lawyers among his clients and two former state governors among his alumni. The average student attends classes for six to eight months, progressing up the proficiency hierarchy from blue neckerchief on to red, yellow and white. All students are given a capoeira name by the master: Fer-de-Lance and Strong-as-a-Rock are two examples.

National Sport. Salvador, where it all started, has 36 capoeira centers, Rio and Sao Paulo have around 30 each, and there are several in state capitals like Recife and Belo Horizonte. "It's a national sport already," says Folklore Authority Waldeloir Rego. "Everyone knows the steps."

To Frank Hatch, an American dancer now studying capoeira in Salvador, the growth of the folk art is only natural. "Brazilians are very proud of their mental quickness," he says. "They like to live by their wits; capoeira is not a sport of brute force but rather of outwitting the other fellow." Agrees Bimba: "Capoeira is something truly Brazilian--it's our own blend."

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