Simply put this is the graphic novel version of the 2023 movie of the same name that centres around the disappearance of Brazilian pianist Francisco Tenório Cerqueira Júnior (or Tenório Jnr for short). He was one of the most recognised musicians of the samba-jazz movement who, on 18 March 1976, shortly after playing a gig in Buenos Aires left his hotel to buy a sandwich and was never seen again.
That might seem like a shocking event in itself but when you consider the political instability of some South American countries during the 70s it sadly becomes one story in thousands of others. This was happening in lots of different countries and the extent of this is touched on in this book.
The story is written from the point of view of a New York journalist who is supposed to be researching a different book entirely but is soon hooked onto the disappearance of the musician. This takes him through numerous interviews with friends, family and musicians from the time that reiterate the fact that musicians rarely have any interest in politics or anything outside of the desire to make music. Everyone agrees that Tenório Jnr was a musician and was in no way affiliated with any political movement or uprising.
The illustration work here sits strangely in two worlds. At times the art is detailed in capturing the likenesses of long-retired musicians (this being a true story, these are real people, not made-up characters) but at other moments the art is quite crude. Where it comes to life is in the colouring.
Brazil and the music of samba is always associated with bright colours and those reds, oranges, greens, yellows and blues really pop from the page. During the flashback scenes of the carnivals and fiestas you can almost hear the drums and the brass playing. This acts as a contrast to the sad events of the story. When the truth finally comes out it’s truly heartbreaking.
In some ways this reminds me of the emotional impact of Art Spiegelman’s Maus, which explores the Nazi treatment of European Jews during WWII. We know what awful things people have done to each other, but to see it on the page makes it more powerful. Especially, in They Shot The Piano Player, we see the space left by the loss and the impact that it has on those around them.
The book does seem to drag a little in the middle, where repetitive interviews make for slow progress, but fans of this genre of music from this era should enjoy the interviews with people who form a who’s who of the time and style. They undoubtedly give more understanding of how widely regarded Tenório was.
All in all, it’s a powerful story of how damaging and how dangerous South America was during the 70s. If like me, you read some of it whilst listening to the music of Tenório Jnr, you’ll understand exactly what was taken from jazz.
They Shot The Piano Player by Fernando Trueba (author) and Javier Mariscal (illustrator). Selfmadehero; hb; 256pp. ISBN 978-1914224249
