Aniki-Bóbó................Manoel de Oliveira

“Aniki-Bébé, Aniki-Bóbó,
passarinho tótó,
berimbau, cavaquinho,
Salomão, sacristão,
tu és polícia, tu és ladrão”

Everyone knows that ‘Aniki Bobo’ the children’s movie, directed by Manoel de Oliveira, in 1942, is one of his finest movies. However, it never received the recognition it deserved, in fact it was not even sent as an entry for the 1946 Cannes Film Festival, instead ‘Ala Arriba’ was sent. Sadly, ‘Ala Arriba’ did not win any awards. It was only much later that ‘Aniki Bobo’ was accepted and recognised as one of the most important Portuguese films.
Manoel de Oliveira shot the movie with children from his own hometown, Porto. ‘Aniki Bobo’ depicts Porto, as the ‘working capital’, here you see the banks of the rivers Porto and Gaia, with rabelo boats loading port wine from up-river, iron bridges built by Eiffel and his pupils. ‘Aniki Bobo’ as shot by Manoel de Oliveira depicts Porto as a sunny city of honest workers, kids playing happily and carelessly in the streets, old streets of stone and green...
In essence, this is a children’s film, but it is definitely much more than an average children’s film when you look at its depth and intensity. As Fernando Pessoa once said "No children's book should be written for children", you could apply it to films too. What sense is there in making a children's film devoid of any idea?
‘Aniki Bobo’ is a simple but absolutely breathtaking tale for children, but is it just that?
Surely you did not expect a mediocre film, when the director is Manoel de Oliveira…..
There is a dramatic intensity created around a very simple story, but at the same time, there is a deep reflection on the nature of human behaviour. The characters, although children, portray the usual human behaviour, they are innocent, many times vain, show envy, are filled with guilt and desire, are plagued by jealousy and so many times are generous as well.
Any film can be viewed and interpreted in so many ways, there exist so many points of view, however out of all the characters I find the character portrayal of Carlitos and Eduardo most fascinating.
Carlitos is always the ‘outsider’ of the group; he is ostracized at play and in school. Why he cries out in his heart is he never included in anything? He ponders every day, he is just like any of the others, he is just as poor as any of his group; his social status is very similar to that of Eduardo’s. How is it then that Eduardo has such a following, and he…..nobody even knows he exists. Of course Carlitos is terribly sad, human beings need company, its terrible when nobody talks to you, Carlitos is very confused and lonely. He sums up his life with the observation; ‘And they never even told me’. For that is the life of an overlooked person is, nobody tells them anything, nobody shares anything with them. Luckily for Carlitos, Terezinha does like him, a wee bit, but Terezinha likes Eduardo too. Who can resist Eduardo, the full of beans Eduardo, the braggart, the annoyingly funny Eduardo, the Eduardo who bunks school to fly a kite. No, Terezinha just cannot resist this Eduardo. Carlitos cannot afford to lose Terezinha, the only person who has shown any interest in him, of course there is Batatinhas, the very loyal Batatinhas, but come on guys a girl is a girl, no loyal friend can substitute a girl. No way. So he robs the doll for Terezinha. Although Terezinha loves the doll, she cannot resist Eduardo, fickle? Who can understand the vagaries of the human heart, who are we to judge where Terezinha’s loyalties should lie. There are fights all the time for her affection, shoves, pushes, hurtful words to Carlitos and in the midst of it all, Terezinha our young Helen of Troy. Then that fateful day when there is that terrible accident and Eduardo nearly loses his life. Everyone, just about everyone blames Carlitos, life turns hell for Carlitos, and even Batatinhas turns his back on him. Terezinha just flees. Carlitos is accused of revenge, is falsely accused of pushing Eduardo over the edge, blamed for Eduardo’s accident. Luckily for Carlitos the shopkeeper, who had been following the children in search of the thief who had stolen the doll from his shop, sees Eduardo slipping on the scree, losing his balance and falling just by the side of the railway track, when a train was passing by. Talk of luck. Eduardo is saved but is very ill. The shopkeeper saves Carlitos’ very battered reputation. Eduardo vain, cocky, is after all just a young boy who maybe, needs to be street smart, he is everything, that Carlitos is not. When you are poor you learn the ropes or you end up like Carlitos overlooked and ignored.
Strangely, the director Manoel de Oliveira is always referred to, at least these days, in connection with his age, rather than his work, but he should be remembered at least for ‘Aniki Bobo’ and ‘Douro Faina Fluvial’. His films are deceptively simple but show immense charm and depth.
They portray life like it is, shorn of all pretences…………..

”Ala Arriba” ..............Leitão de Barros.

Ala-Arriba! set in Póvoa de Varzim, a traditional Portuguese fishing village, is a documentary-fiction. Its aim, to show how this community of fishermen lived. Special attention was paid to the customs and the rituals. As it deals with ethnographic matters it falls under the genre of ethno-fiction. In order to give a realistic view of the traditions and social behaviour of the community, the actors were real fishermen portraying their own lives. Ala-Arriba intertwines documentary and drama, shifting from one to the other to highlight life in Póvoa de Varzim.
Contemporary to Robert Flaherty, Barros is with him one of the first filmmakers to explore docu-fiction and ethno-fiction as forms of dramatic narrative.
The plot, simple as it may seem, shows the social differences between the ordinary, poorer fisherman, the Sardineiro, João Moço (Domingos Gonçalves) and the richer, Lancheiro, Julia (Elsa Bela-Flor). The community stresses on good moral behaviour on the part of the women as well as men, strange as it may seem. All hell breaks loose when João Moço has a fling with a Gypsy, who had robbed his mother’s earrings. The person who really takes it to heart and is terribly ashamed of his son is Saramago, he throws João out of his house and João cannot work for any other fisherman. João, is truly on his own.
And then the tragedy happens, a terrible, storm creates havoc at sea, boats are lost and men are lost too. Although, João is banned from going to sea, he rushes into the storm and manages to save Julia’s father, but two people are lost in this storm, Chincha, João’s friend and Chibata, João’s rival.
What is really amazing about this film is the Cinematography. Shot in black and white the film would never ever had the same effect had it been shot in colour. The most powerful scene is the storm at sea, the wind churning the ocean and the boats fragile and defenseless in the face of the wrath of the mighty Ocean. The power of the vast Ocean is immense, the people mere pawns, fragile and defenseless running and shouting, the words pulled away by the wind. Another column of people rushes to the church, praying and supplicating the Blessed Virgin.
To me the most powerful yet impotent gesture was the priest holding a crucifix over the mighty Ocean to calm its anger.
The harsh black and white images will leave their imprint on our mind for a long time to come.

Ceboleiros......pays homage to Vasco da Gama

But take heart, not every thing was so bad. Here we were at the Ceboleiros….What a lovely name, reminds you that no dish is perfect without the humble Cebola, a dinner hosted by the wonderful University of Aveiro, for us from India. You know how it is, seated at a long table, those linear seating arrangements, facing the Professors.
It is as though the Oral Exams are just about to begin. What should you say? Should you laugh at all those Portuguese jokes, that frankly you have difficulty in understanding?
Best behaviour, that inner voice tells you, sober, silent and exceedingly polite that inner voice continues.
Just when I was adjusting myself to my best behaviour mode, I heard a deep, sonorous voice, like honey being poured on gravel. I swilled in my chair. Whose resonant voice was moving, coursing through my veins, whose deep voice was playing hide and seek in my brain? That voice brought goose flesh.
You have to be lucky in life and this was definitely not one of my days, Lady Luck was ignoring me, here I was sitting miles away from that rich baritone voice, cursing my luck and sitting close to the voice was our very own Herculano! Drinking in every word, but was Herculano listening to that heavenly voice, definitely not.
Just as I was berating Lady Luck, the entradas arrived; a ‘Salada mista’ which I ate distractedly but halfway through realised was very good. As I was straining to drink in every nuance of that voice the main course arrived, that’s when I forgot the voice completely.
The ‘Bacalhau com natas’, was sublime, cod pieces swam in a delicious mixture of cream, cheese, milk and all those other ingredients that turn it into a dream.
No, no, no more voice, heavenly though it was, I was focussed, savouring every bit of the food on my plate.
Just then, the ‘Arroz de Polvo’ arrived served by the most genial waiter, whose only wish was that we should delight in every bite we took, and delight we did. Did I ever imagine that Octopus, could taste so good, all I knew about Octopus was that it has eight tentacles. Did I taste garlic, hmmm, yes a hint, chilli and pepper too. This was good.
The black aproned, brought in Coelho Suado com Batatas and Borrego suado. Confused, totally confused what should I eat, rabbit or lamb. Said a little prayer, a deep prayer for the lamb that I was about to eat, a mouthful, bliss, yes, I could taste garlic and pimento, tomatoes, cravinho and vinagre. Utter bliss. You just don’t talk at such moments; you give in to your cravings of utter delight.
The people at Ceboleiros, know what they are cooking, the people at Ceboleiros know their Geography, they are very aware that without Vasco da Gama and his huge voyage braving all odds, there would be no pimento and no cravinho.
Ceboleiros pays homage to the great navigator.
Oh yes! People the voice was there, very much there, its sonority had not changed, its depth remained the same, only I was replete, satiated, I am fickle, good food lulls me and just when I thought that maybe, just maybe the voice had an infinitesimal effect on me, the Pudim arrived…………………..

Where are the spices?.............yelled Vasco da Gama

I rushed out of my room on tiptoe; nobody should reach the dining room before I did. The beautifully laid out table, its crisp white linen tablecloth, the fine Vista Alegre crockery, blue stemmed glasses for juice, Dina worked hard. It was a beautiful sight.
Much like dogs mark out their territory, we too had settled our places at the breakfast table. Sadly, I never once had a chance to drink from a Vista Alegre cup. But did I deserve a Vista Alegre cup……. You see as soon as Dina brought in those warm loaves of bread, I would take one, dig my thumbs in and tear it open, spread butter and then two slices of fine presunto.
The first day I thought
‘Should I go in for three slices?’ ‘Tomorrow the presunto, may just not be there’
But then I looked at all those elegant people, slicing their rolls never a crumb on their plates, gently spreading the butter or the preserve, all this with an air of calm composure.
Tearing the loaves apart, three slices of presunto, you must be a ravenous country bumpkin, which sadly I was.
Another croissant for me, liberally spread with butter and preserve, a glass of juice, a cup of coffee and I was done till lunch. I did have to take these precautions, eating well was absolutely necessary; you see I sat right next to Profa. Rosa Faneca, and if she did hear my stomach growling she in her kind voice would surely say.
‘Sonia pode ir a cafetaria e comer algo’
Dying of mortification was not me. So well fed (greed, I just love presunto) we waited till 1.00 pm for lunch.
At the Lunch break the Cafeteria, spilled students; everyone was there, the queues were long, the people were hungry and we waited our turn. And then your turn came, a soup, a cooked meal, and salad that you yourself put together, fruit and yogurt.
Could you ask for more? Not at all.
We loved the soup, it was thick, full of greens, a loaf of bread it was sufficient. The meal however was another thing.
In my mind there was always the question ‘Where is the gravy’? ‘Ok. No gravy, but three weeks of no gravy.’ Said a tiny voice of the Indian used to gravies at every meal. The voice silenced; a bite of the bacalhau, a bite of the huge slab of meat and a louder voice of the Indian, yelled in my ear.
“Tell me why did Vasco da Gama come to India?”
“Why did he brave the Cabo de Tormentas”
‘For the spices’, said the brave voice of Sonia.
‘Then’ yelled the voice of the perennial Indian in Sonia
‘Where are the spices in this slab of meat?’
‘Where’ continued the merciless Indian, ‘is the coriander or the tangy ginger, or that refreshing pinch of turmeric?’
Sonia, after bravely ignoring those Indian voices, continued cutting and spearing tiny pieces of meat in her mouth. Overeating, that’s what everyone felt they were doing, don’t blame them, they were thin, svelte, and how would they fit in designer jeans? But I wonder now, could it be the lack of spices, so most dropped out in favour of other places.
In a queue, I asked Dona Aurora, how I loved those names that reminded me of my childhood. Dona Rosa, Dona Orquidia, Dona Maria, Dona Lira. How elegant, how charming!
I asked Dona Aurora, could I have a smaller piece of meat. She looked at me kindly and said ‘Não!’
Whilst everyone from the group migrated to other Cafeterias. I stood firm, I would never leave Dona Aurora’s kind face. Pssst, I loved the soup it was so filling, so satisfying, but at the same time huge slabs of meat, large fillets of bacalhau were going waste.
So with a heavy heart I bade Dona Aurora and the lovely, healthy, filling plate of soup a fond farewell.
The fruit was quite another thing, the trees in our garden at ‘Cinco Bicas’ had the loveliest yellow plums. Everyone shouted.
‘Sonia don’t pick the fruit from the ground” They looked at me in disgust, Dina’s dogs used the yard to well you know……But I did pick the fruit, you see I have a weakness for fruit ripened on trees. ‘Wash it at least’ they chorused, that I could.
Huge red plums, dripping juice, down your chin, not very ladylike, but who cares. Pears, huge and juicy, secreted out of the Cafetaria. Tee, hee, hee. Felt like a schoolgirl.
An evening spent sitting on a bench in a square, with plump pigeons, looking at you inquiringly, a huge paper bag full of fat, juicy cherries, so red, so very red that they looked black, juice staining your fingers, looking at people passing by. Another wonderful evening……..

Conversa Acabada, a conversation between Fernando Pessoa and Mario de Sa Carneiro, a film directed by João Botelho

  ‘Conversa Acabada’ loosely translated as the title suggests is a conversation at an end, a conversation between the two greats of Portuguese contemporary writing, Fernando Pessoa and Mário de Sá-Carneiro.

But why call it ‘Conversa Acabada’? Is it because Sá-Carneiro commits suicide and Pessoa wastes away his life in drink?

Or is it because these two poets could never really accomplish their dreams?

                A conversation that is anything but ‘finished'-  Early twentieth century, a time of tremendous social and political upheaval in Portugal, everything so fluid, the political scenario very disorganized. Portugal is in the midst of an intense political as well as moral crisis. On one hand a very confused ‘Republica’ battling with the dregs of a Monarchy rotten to its core.

                Contemporary Portuguese Cinema has frequently explored these turbulent times. In this intense political scenario, the two greats, Fernando Pessoa and Mario de Sa-Carneiro, battle to grip the language, to lift it from the abyss it had fallen, seeking to re-invent the language of modern poetry.

 They embark on this adventure with grave repercussions to their own selves.

Fernando Pessoa fragments into a myriad of heteronyms, alter egos who wrote poetry in styles quite distinct from his own, just a prolongation of his personal despair.

Sa-Carneiro, the more tragic of the two departs to a voluntary exile in Paris, macerating his body with drugs and liquor, all the while writing a series of unsettling experimental novels, sinking into despair, destroying his very existence in his poems and novels.

Together, they founded the magazine, ‘Orfeu’ which openly defied the government censorship and the traditional standards of a deeply conservative society. Forced to stop its publication, the two retreat further into their own private realms of despair, alcoholism and death.  Orfeu, not only had these two great writers but also other stellar personalities such as Almada Negreiros, Santa-Rita Pintor, Ângelo de Lima. Orfeu resuscitated in the dormant consciences of the people a blazing fire, for something different, for something more contemporary.

From 1912 until 1916, the year of Sá-Carneiro’s death, the relationship between the two is considered to be one of the most powerful friendships in the literary world of Portuguese Literature. ‘Conversa Acabada’ seeks to grasp the story of their encounter, their letters, their friendship, their often silent encounters and their death.  

The film is not a biopic. It is a film that considers the written Word as much more powerful than the image, the poetry of two poets is what should take over and subjugate the image. In this sense, the film delves deeper into the relationship of the two poets.

                The death of Fernando Pessoa in extreme Loneliness of a hospital room.  The death of Sá-Carneiro in extreme loneliness in a hotel room in Paris;who comes first and who after is irrelevant.

                More than a biography, this film is a poem of two people, two lives written by Fernando Pessoa and Mario de Sá Carneiro. Who started it and who ends it is hardly important

Letter to Mário de Sá-Carneiro from Fernando Pessoa

Written on 14^th March 1916

I’m writing to you today out of sentimental necessity — I have an anguished, painful need to speak to you. It’s easy to see that I have nothing to tell you.

 Just this, I find myself today at the bottom of a bottomless depression. The absurdity of the sentence speaks for me.

I’m having one of those days in which I never had a future. There is only a present, fixed and surrounded by a wall of anguish. The other bank of the river, because it is the other bank, is never the bank we are standing on, that is the intimate reason for all my suffering. There are ships sailing to many ports, but not a single one goes where life is not painful, nor is there any port of call where it is possible to forget. All of this happened a long time ago, but my sadness began even before then.

On days of the soul like today, I feel, with all the awareness in my body, that I am a sad child abused by life. I was abandoned in a corner where I could hear other children playing. I feel in my hands the broken toy I was given out of malicious irony. Today, March 14, at 9:10 P.M., my life knows just how much all that is worth.

In the garden I can just make out through the silent windows of my cell, that someone has thrown all the swings over the branches they hang from; they’re tangled up, high and out of reach. The result is even the idea that I have in my imagination of myself running away cannot have swings to play with.

And that is, more or less, but without style, the state of my soul at this time. Like the woman who waits in “The Sailor,” my eyes burn from having thought about weeping. Life pains me bit by bit, in sips, through interstices. All this is printed in very small type in a book whose binding is already coming apart.

If I weren’t writing to you, I would have to swear to you that this letter is sincere and that the hysterically linked things in it spring spontaneously from what I feel. But you must sense that this tragedy which cannot be staged is of a rigorous reality — full of the here and now — and taking place in my soul just like the green on the leaves.

It was for that reason the Prince did not rule. This sentence is entirely absurd. But in this moment I feel it’s the absurd sentences that really make me want to cry.

If I don’t mail this letter today, it may be that when I reread it tomorrow, I’ll make a typescript of it, so I can insert sentences and expressions from it into The Book of Disquiet. But that would not deprive it of any of the sincerity with which I’m writing it, nor the dolorous inevitability with which I feel it.

This is the latest news. So is our being at war with Germany, but even before that, pain made me suffer. From the other side of Life, all this must seem like the caption for some caricature.

This is not exactly madness, but madness must bestow a relaxation on the person who suffers it, the astute pleasure of the soul’s bounces, not very different from these.

What color can feelings be?

Thousands of hugs from yours truly, always truly yours,

Fernando Pessoa

Letter from Sá-Carneiro to Pessoa

Meu querido Amigo,

A menos de um milagre na próxima segunda-feira, 3 (ou mesmo na véspera), o seu Mário de
Sá-Carneiro tomará uma forte dose de estricnina e desaparecerá deste mundo. É assim tal e
qual – mas custa-me tanto a escrever esta carta pelo ridículo que sempre encontrei nas «cartas
de despedida»... Não vale a pena lastimar-me, meu querido Fernando: afinal tenho o que quero:
o que tanto sempre quis – e eu, em verdade, já não fazia nada por aqui... Já dera o que tinha
a dar. Eu não me mato por coisa nenhuma: eu mato-me porque me coloquei pelas circunstâncias –
ou melhor: fui colocado por elas, numa áurea temeridade – numa situação para a qual, a
meus olhos, não há outra saída. Antes assim. É a única maneira de fazer o que devo fazer. Vivo
há quinze dias uma vida como sempre sonhei: tive tudo durante eles: realizada a parte
sexual, enfim, da minha obra – vivido o histerismo do seu ópio, as luas zebradas, os
mosqueiros roxos da sua Ilusão. Podia ser feliz mais tempo, tudo me corre, psicologicamente,
às mil maravilhas, mas não tenho dinheiro..

Conversa Acabada 

Director:  João Botelho

Biography

João Botelho, born in 1949 is the notable Portuguese filmmaker whose films seek to transform the physical into the metaphysical and to turn ideas and poetry into something tangible. His work has a creative approach that is almost more poetic than cinematographic.

Botelho develops the front projection techniques, creating a haunting, make-believe world which his characters seem to inhabit and from which they simultaneously stand apart.

Here we look at his debut feature film.

Main Actors:

Fernando Cabral Martins (Fernando Pessoa)

André Gomes (Mário de Sá-Carneiro).

If you know or remember some of Pessoa’s poetry, you would have realized immediately that when Pessoa approaches a chest of drawers, murmuring softly as he writes without pausing, that it was his heteronym Alberto Caeiro and not Fernando Pessoa writing his famous “O Guardador de Rebanhos”.  

Eu nunca guardei rebanhos,

Mas é como se os guardasse.

Minha alma é como um pastor,

Conhece o vento e o sol

E anda pela mão das Estações

A seguir e a olhar.

Together with Caeiro, you could whisper softly under your breath;

Vem sentar-te comigo Lídia, à beira do rio.

Sossegadamente fitemos o seu curso e aprendamos

Que a vida passa, e não estamos de mãos enlaçadas.

(Enlacemos as mãos.)

Sadly you must have wondered is Life but a dream

Or you could scream in delight, ‘Ode Triunfal’ with Alvaro Campos and type with him the final zzzzzzzzzz with gusto.

Eia! eia! eia!

Eia electricidade, nervos doentes da Matéria!

Eia telegrafia-sem-fios, simpatia metálica do Inconsciente!

Hup-lá, hup-lá, hup-lá-hô, hup-lá!

Hé-la! He-hô! H-o-o-o-o!

Z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z!

With a certain tone of sarcasm, you could recite Feminina together with Mario de Sa-Carneiro.

A beautiful woman in the background getting ready to move out of the room.

Eu queria ser mulher pra me poder estender

Ao lado dos meus amigos, nas banquettes dos cafés.

Eu queria ser mulher para poder estender

Pó de arroz pelo meu rosto, diante de todos, nos cafés.

The poems were all there for you to listen to, to savour, to recite, to feel them dripping into your very own soul, whilst you merged with the great writers themselves.

It was all there for you on a platter if you only chose to listen.

And the backdrop? What was it all about? The ever changing backdrop was mysterious. What did this fluid, changing background want to convey to us?

These were scenes from the lives of Pessoa and Sa-Carneiro.

The narrator of course, João Botelho, the Director himself.

The most interesting part of the film however is the great amizade- the friendship, between the two greats of Portuguese Literature, Fernando Pessoa and Mario de Sa-Carneiro.

Pssssst some inside dope, the spectacles worn by Fernando Cabral Martins (Pessoa) were those worn by the great Fernando Pessoa himself.

Somewhere in the background could be seen the magazine Blast, inspiration for the heteronyms.

In addition the technique of Syberberg was utilised; this consists in the frontal projection of images onto a screen so you can see photos by Jorge Molder, whose work is full of mystery that is enchanting, his subject is very often he himself, his face, his hands.

Paintings by Carlos Ferreiro and the magnificent scenography by Ana Jotta

When screened at Cannes, in 1981, a great part of the audience left the auditorium but a huge part of the audience applauded for around ten minutes.

What would have been your reaction?

http://thefloatinglibrary.com/2009/07/17/letter-to-mario-de-sa-carneiro/http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jo%C3%A3o_Botelho

http://www.bampfa.berkeley.edu/film/FN3899

Some inputs from

Richard Pena, the Film Centre

A Bela e o Paparazzo’ Director - Antonio-Pedro Vasconcelos

What more could you ask for on a wet afternoon, a cup of pipping hot coffee, a Medu Wada straight from the tawa, the company of good friends and a romantic comedy for you to laugh away the afternoon. Sr Dange is the perfect host!
‘A Bela e o Paparazzo’ is a romantic comedy, no deep undercurrents to be analysed await you, just relax, sip your scalding coffee, gingerly bite into the moist Medu Wada and you have a perfect afternoon.
The simple plot follows a much loved storyline, Mariana a soap opera artiste is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Things are falling apart, her ratings are plummeting, but everything reaches a breaking point for Mariana when ‘Gabriela Santos’ the most feared paparazzo follows each and every move she makes. Any small move on her part is captured by Gabriela, Mariana would like to pulp her, yank her hair out, and smash her face in, if only she could lay her hands on her.
But who is this illusive Gabriela? It’s just that Gabriela is not really Gabriela but João, on contract to follow Mariana as though his life depended on it. And it does, at least the payments do. Things come to a head when Mariana meets with an accident and João aka the much feared Gabriela rescues Mariana. From then on as expected, a love story begins and João as we can all imagine tries his best to hide his identity from Mariana but in the end love triumphs.
Attention seems to be focussed on the fact that being a paparazzo is not a respectable form of photojournalism, although being a paparazzo does require a great deal of guts, hard work and spirit. So a rehabilitated João turns to photography. In the same manner Mariana is discouraged from being a soap opera actress in favour of theatre.

Cast
Soraia Chaves
Marco D'Almeida
Pedro Laginha
Nuno Markl

CORRIGINDO VINTE VELHOS DITADOS

There is scope for improvement everywhere, some old proverbs are given a fresh look!

"É dando que se ... engravida".
"Quem ri por último... é retardado".
"Alegria de pobre... é impossível".
"Quem com ferro fere... não sabe como dói".
"Em casa de ferreiro... só tem ferro".
"Quem tem boca... fala. Quem tem grana é que vai a Roma!"
"Gato escaldado... morre, porra!"
"Quem espera... fica de saco cheio."
"Quando um não quer... o outro insiste."
"Os últimos serão ... os desclassificados."
"Há males que vêm para ... fuder com tudo mesmo!" (essa é ótima!!!)
"Se Maomé não vai à montanha... é porque ele se mandou pra praia."
"A esperança... e a sogra são as últimas que morrem."
"Quem dá aos pobres.... cria o filho sozinha." rsrsrsrsrsr....
"Depois da tempestade vem a ..... gripe."
"Devagar..... nunca se chega."
"Antes tarde do que ... mais tarde."
"Em terra de cego quem tem um olho é ... caolho."
"Quem cedo madruga... fica com sono o dia inteiro."
"Pau que nasce torto... urina no chão."

Courtesy: Leopolda von Maur post in English / Portuguese Language Group (Inglês / Português).