Other (Sweet) Barbarians/Outros (doçes) bárbaros, Andrucha Waddington’s 2002 documentary about the reunion of four legendary Bahian Tropicália activist-singers and the preparation for, and performance of, two mammoth concerts in São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, lacks the high quality of this filmmaker's recent, stunning House of Sand.

One of four entries comprising a “40 Years of Tropicália” sidebar -- one other of which (the remastered Jom Tob Azulay’s 1977 The Sweet Barbarians/Os doçes bárbaros) covers the supergroup’s recording of the milestone album of that same name -- to the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s eighth LatinBeat: Recent Films from Latin America, this Waddington film will probably find only a few adherents.

The work is too clipped in major rehearsal/concert sections to fulfill fans of Brazil’s bossa nova-samba-jazz fusion, too disorganized in interviews and press conferences to give a sense of the aesthetic vision or, more importantly for unfamiliar audiences, provide historical context of the artists’ protest commitment (and exile for two) during the terrorism, economic collapse and political chaos ushering in General Ernesto Geisel and successors’ military dictatorship; and, finally, hurt by poor visual and sound editing, too casual, predictable and flat to arouse interest, even as Caetano Veloso yawns, too.

Veloso, Maria Bethânia, Gal Costa and Gilberto Gil -- the latter now Minister of Culture -- are Sonny-and-Cher-cute longhaired, bell-bottomed, shirtless or bare-midriffed flower children in the disappointingly few late seconds inserted from the 1977 documentary. Sad to say, the once “Jovem Guarda” young firebrands come across as greying tired nostalgia act, in another of the too many tributes churned out on cultural phenomena of that era. Nice voices, even good ones, but from this record, at least, one may well wonder what all the fuss is about.

In fairness, lots of music non-fictions are undistinguished, indistinguishable one from another, mainly aimed at those perhaps interested in such and such a performer or type. While wisely avoiding the stasis of endlessly talking heads, Other (Sweet) Barbarians nevertheless neither develops anything nor goes anywhere. Admittedly, the genre does produce some satisfying pieces that do not do so, either, and are content simply to chronicle an individual singer or group, an event, or a single venue. But this particular film pretends to more -- indeed, in light of foreigners’ unfamiliarity with the background, it should do so.

Easily missed here is an almost offhand reference to Sympathy for the Devil aka One Plus One, an unfortunate comparison for this film. That 1968 Godard problem-plagued, ”start at zero,” non-narrative joining of the Rolling Stones’ constructing through rehearsal with Black Power and a white lover’s suicide, is a sometimes fascinating jumble that progresses through stark opposition and what amounts to viewer self-editing. One need not necessarily be furnished a concrete context to appreciate its power. In the same vein, if anyone could be found totally unaware of Their Satanic Majesties the Stones, in the Maysles brothers and Charlotte Zwerin’s 1970 Gimme Shelter he/she would still react to the pounding beat and, more, to the contrast effect between Jagger’s swagger and play-acting violence and his sick shock at the real evil thing.

Other (Sweet) Barbarians is not a film that forces or allows one to develop emotional involvement like the above two. Nor does it manage the lyric interlude of a Jazz on a Summer’s Day, the fellowship joy of The Concert for Bangladesh, the hindsight sadness of Let It Be, the sheer energy of Monterrey Pop. Confusing in its own session numbering, it reflects the modern fragmented attention span and, even past and present concert moments hanging limp, gives no point of emphasis. Bits and bytes make for neither a pleasing mosaic nor an integrated film.

(Released by Biscoito Fino; not rated by MPAA.)