Questões de Concurso

    Em outubro de 1967, quando Gilberto Gil e Caetano Veloso apresentaram as canções Domingo no parque e Alegria, Alegria, no Festival da TV Record, logo houve quem percebesse que as duas canções eram influenciadas pela narrativa cinematográfica: repletas de cortes, justaposições e flashbacks. Tal suposição seria confirmada pelo próprio Caetano quando declarou que fora “mais influenciado por Godard e Glauber do que pelos Beatles ou Dylan”. Em 1967, no Brasil, o cinema era o que havia de mais intenso e revolucionário, superando o próprio teatro, cuja inquietação tinha incentivado os cineastas a iniciar o movimento que ficou conhecido como Cinema Novo.
    O Cinema Novo nasceu na virada da década de 1950 para a de 1960, sobre as cinzas dos estúdios Vera Cruz (empresa paulista que faliu em 1957 depois de produzir dezoito filmes). “Nossa geração sabe o que quer”, dizia o baiano Glauber Rocha já em 1963. Inspirado por Rio 40 graus e por Vidas secas, que Nelson Pereira dos Santos lançara em 1954 e 1963, Glauber Rocha transformaria, com Deus e o diabo na terra do sol, a história do cinema no Brasil. Dois anos depois, o cineasta lançou Terra em Transe, que talvez tenha marcado o auge do Cinema Novo, além de ter sido uma das fontes de inspiração do Tropicalismo.
    A ponte entre Cinema Novo e Tropicalismo ficaria mais evidente com o lançamento, em 1969, de Macunaíma, de Joaquim Pedro de Andrade. Ao fazer o filme, Joaquim Pedro esforçou-se por torná-lo um produto afinado com a cultura de massa. “A proposição de consumo de massa no Brasil é algo novo. A grande audiência de TV entre nós é um fenômeno novo. É uma posição avançada para o cineasta tentar ocupar um lugar dentro dessa situação”, disse ele.
    Incapaz de satisfazer plenamente as exigências do mercado, o Cinema Novo deu os seus últimos suspiros em fins da década de 1970 − período que marcou o auge das potencialidades comerciais do cinema feito no Brasil.

(Adaptado de Eduardo Bueno. Brasil: uma história. Ed. Leya, 2010. p. 408)

    Em outubro de 1967, quando Gilberto Gil e Caetano Veloso apresentaram as canções Domingo no parque e Alegria, Alegria, no Festival da TV Record, logo houve quem percebesse que as duas canções eram influenciadas pela narrativa cinematográfica: repletas de cortes, justaposições e flashbacks. Tal suposição seria confirmada pelo próprio Caetano quando declarou que fora “mais influenciado por Godard e Glauber do que pelos Beatles ou Dylan”. Em 1967, no Brasil, o cinema era o que havia de mais intenso e revolucionário, superando o próprio teatro, cuja inquietação tinha incentivado os cineastas a iniciar o movimento que ficou conhecido como Cinema Novo.
    O Cinema Novo nasceu na virada da década de 1950 para a de 1960, sobre as cinzas dos estúdios Vera Cruz (empresa paulista que faliu em 1957 depois de produzir dezoito filmes). “Nossa geração sabe o que quer”, dizia o baiano Glauber Rocha já em 1963. Inspirado por Rio 40 graus e por Vidas secas, que Nelson Pereira dos Santos lançara em 1954 e 1963, Glauber Rocha transformaria, com Deus e o diabo na terra do sol, a história do cinema no Brasil. Dois anos depois, o cineasta lançou Terra em Transe, que talvez tenha marcado o auge do Cinema Novo, além de ter sido uma das fontes de inspiração do Tropicalismo.
    A ponte entre Cinema Novo e Tropicalismo ficaria mais evidente com o lançamento, em 1969, de Macunaíma, de Joaquim Pedro de Andrade. Ao fazer o filme, Joaquim Pedro esforçou-se por torná-lo um produto afinado com a cultura de massa. “A proposição de consumo de massa no Brasil é algo novo. A grande audiência de TV entre nós é um fenômeno novo. É uma posição avançada para o cineasta tentar ocupar um lugar dentro dessa situação”, disse ele.
    Incapaz de satisfazer plenamente as exigências do mercado, o Cinema Novo deu os seus últimos suspiros em fins da década de 1970 − período que marcou o auge das potencialidades comerciais do cinema feito no Brasil.

(Adaptado de Eduardo Bueno. Brasil: uma história. Ed. Leya, 2010. p. 408)

Atenção: Considere o texto a seguir para responder as questões de números 56 a 60.

    December 12, 2012
    If It’s for Sale, His Lines Sort It
    By MARGALIT FOX

    It was born on a beach six decades ago, the product of a pressing need, an intellectual spark and the sweep of a young man’s fingers through the sand.
    The result adorns almost every product of contemporary life, including groceries, wayward luggage and, if you are a traditionalist, the newspaper you are holding.
    The man on the beach that day was a mechanical-engineer-in-training named N. Joseph Woodland. With that transformative stroke of his fingers − yielding a set of literal lines in the sand − Mr. Woodland, who died on Sunday at 91, conceived the modern bar code.
    Mr. Woodland was a graduate student when he and a classmate, Bernard Silver, created a technology, based on a printed series of wide and narrow striations, that encoded consumer-product information for optical scanning.
    Their idea, developed in the late 1940s and patented 60 years ago this fall, turned out to be ahead of its time, and the two men together made only $15,000 from it, when they sold their patent to Philco. But the curious round symbol they devised would ultimately give rise to the universal product code, or U.P.C., as the staggeringly prevalent rectangular bar code (it graces tens of millions of different items) is officially known.

    Here is part of the story behind the invention:
    To represent information visually, he realized, he would need a code. The only code he knew was the one he had learned in the Boy Scouts.
    What would happen, Mr. Woodland wondered one day, if Morse code, with its elegant simplicity and limitless combinatorial potential, were adapted graphically? He began trailing his fingers idly through the sand.
    “What I’m going to tell you sounds like a fairy tale,” Mr. Woodland told Smithsonian magazine in 1999. “I poked my four fingers into the sand and for whatever reason − I didn’t know − I pulled my hand toward me and drew four lines. I said: ‘Golly! Now I have four lines, and they could be wide lines and narrow lines instead of dots and dashes.’ ”
    That consequential pass was merely the beginning. “Only seconds later,” Mr. Woodland continued, “I took my four fingers − they were still in the sand − and I swept them around into a full circle.”
    Mr. Woodland favored the circular pattern for its omnidirectionality: a checkout clerk, he reasoned, could scan a product without regard for its orientation.
    But that method − a variegated bull’s-eye of wide and narrow bands −, which depended on an immense scanner equipped with a 500-watt light, was expensive and unwieldy, and it languished for years.
    The two men eventually sold their patent to Philco for $15,000 − all they ever made from their invention.
    By the time the patent expired at the end of the 1960s, Mr. Woodland was on the staff of I.B.M., where he worked from 1951 until his retirement in 1987.
    Over time, laser scanning technology and the advent of the microprocessor made the bar code viable. In the early 1970s, an I.B.M. colleague, George J. Laurer, designed the familiar black-and-white rectangle, based on the Woodland-Silver model and drawing on Mr. Woodland’s considerable input.

(Adapted from http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/13/business/n-joseph-woodland-inventor-of-the-bar-code-dies-at-91.html?nl=todaysheadlines&emc=edit_th_20121214&_r=0)

Atenção: Considere o texto a seguir para responder as questões de números 56 a 60.

    December 12, 2012
    If It’s for Sale, His Lines Sort It
    By MARGALIT FOX

    It was born on a beach six decades ago, the product of a pressing need, an intellectual spark and the sweep of a young man’s fingers through the sand.
    The result adorns almost every product of contemporary life, including groceries, wayward luggage and, if you are a traditionalist, the newspaper you are holding.
    The man on the beach that day was a mechanical-engineer-in-training named N. Joseph Woodland. With that transformative stroke of his fingers − yielding a set of literal lines in the sand − Mr. Woodland, who died on Sunday at 91, conceived the modern bar code.
    Mr. Woodland was a graduate student when he and a classmate, Bernard Silver, created a technology, based on a printed series of wide and narrow striations, that encoded consumer-product information for optical scanning.
    Their idea, developed in the late 1940s and patented 60 years ago this fall, turned out to be ahead of its time, and the two men together made only $15,000 from it, when they sold their patent to Philco. But the curious round symbol they devised would ultimately give rise to the universal product code, or U.P.C., as the staggeringly prevalent rectangular bar code (it graces tens of millions of different items) is officially known.

    Here is part of the story behind the invention:
    To represent information visually, he realized, he would need a code. The only code he knew was the one he had learned in the Boy Scouts.
    What would happen, Mr. Woodland wondered one day, if Morse code, with its elegant simplicity and limitless combinatorial potential, were adapted graphically? He began trailing his fingers idly through the sand.
    “What I’m going to tell you sounds like a fairy tale,” Mr. Woodland told Smithsonian magazine in 1999. “I poked my four fingers into the sand and for whatever reason − I didn’t know − I pulled my hand toward me and drew four lines. I said: ‘Golly! Now I have four lines, and they could be wide lines and narrow lines instead of dots and dashes.’ ”
    That consequential pass was merely the beginning. “Only seconds later,” Mr. Woodland continued, “I took my four fingers − they were still in the sand − and I swept them around into a full circle.”
    Mr. Woodland favored the circular pattern for its omnidirectionality: a checkout clerk, he reasoned, could scan a product without regard for its orientation.
    But that method − a variegated bull’s-eye of wide and narrow bands −, which depended on an immense scanner equipped with a 500-watt light, was expensive and unwieldy, and it languished for years.
    The two men eventually sold their patent to Philco for $15,000 − all they ever made from their invention.
    By the time the patent expired at the end of the 1960s, Mr. Woodland was on the staff of I.B.M., where he worked from 1951 until his retirement in 1987.
    Over time, laser scanning technology and the advent of the microprocessor made the bar code viable. In the early 1970s, an I.B.M. colleague, George J. Laurer, designed the familiar black-and-white rectangle, based on the Woodland-Silver model and drawing on Mr. Woodland’s considerable input.

(Adapted from http://www.nytimes.com/2012/12/13/business/n-joseph-woodland-inventor-of-the-bar-code-dies-at-91.html?nl=todaysheadlines&emc=edit_th_20121214&_r=0)