Original subtitles

The thundering hooves of many horses,

the sound of a thousand beer cans popping open...

Ah!

And music... always music.

♪

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

No, really.

Whoo!

Mardi Gras!

It's the Mardi Gras!

♪ I took a walk through this ♪

♪ Beautiful world

♪ Felt the cool rain on my shoulder ♪

♪ Found something good in this ♪

♪ Beautiful world

♪ I felt the rain getting colder ♪

- ♪ La, la - ♪ Sha la, la, la, la

♪ Sha la, la, la, la

- ♪ Sha la, la, la - ♪ Sha la, la, la, la

♪ Sha la, la, la, la, la

♪

There are parts of America that are special,

unique, unlike anywhere else,

cultures all their own...

Kept close, much loved, but largely misunderstood.

The vast patchwork of saltwater marshes,

bayous, and prairie land that make up Cajun Country

is one of those places.

While the rest of the USA

got stitched together by superhighways,

southwestern Louisiana remained

relatively isolated.

I-10 wasn't completed until the 1970s,

finally connecting this part of the state

to New Orleans, Houston, and the rest of the nation.

With that came chain restaurants,

drive-throughs, and strip malls, but fear not.

It's still magnificently weird.

Take, for example, Cajun Mardi Gras.

Ordinarily, I loathe the idea of Mardi Gras.

Any kind of group celebration,

anything festive involving dancing

fills me with self-conscious dread.

Thousands of happy drunks

crowded into the French Quarter,

for instance... not for me.

But Cajun Mardi Gras is another thing entirely...

Closer to the ancient French tradition,

vaguely more dangerous.

Downright medieval.

Cajuns do things their way...

Always have, always will.

Whether it's hanging on to the French language

of their ancestors, their music,

traditions, or food,

Cajuns fiercely keep it all vibrantly alive.

Boudin is a ubiquitous sausage of Cajun Country,

and judging by the line up at the drive through,

Billy's Boudin is pretty damn popular.

So this is a boudin ball

stuffed with pepper jack cheese,

which I believe Billy's is responsible for its invention.

What's not to like? Ground-up sausage

and molted cheese, battered and fried?

Who's gonna hate that? No one.

In addition to boudin,

breakfast around here wouldn't be complete

without some cracklins, and of course, a cold beer.

My father's first language is French.

I mean, as a kid, for him,

he was whipped at school for speaking French.

Yeah, I mean, look, is it fair to say that

at most points in its history,

the Cajuns have been, if not, a despised minority...

An aggressively marginalized minority.

Our depiction stops at swamp scenes and alligators,

and it's so much more than that...

Not just because of the food, not just because of the music,

because of the way of life, you know?

Especially Acadiana... This is the most European

part of America, in my opinion.

So we're gonna eat well this week?

Yeah, a lot of good food, a lot of house parties.

- Excited about Mardi Gras? - Mm.

My first. Never been to one.

Here, it's a whole different thing.

I mean, the major difference is that,

here, you're the event.

If you're attending Mardi Gras, if you're running Mardi Gras,

you are part of it.

Right.

Like, it's bigger than Christmas.

Toby Rodriguez is about as Cajun as you get.

I met him nearly a decade ago

when I came here for a boucherie.

Back then, Toby and everybody else said,

"You got to come back for our Mardi Gras."

- Wanna give me a hand? - Yeah.

"We do Mardi Gras right."

And so, here I am.

It's the week before,

and there's anticipation in the air.

All over Acadiana, scenes like this unfold.

Out in the yard with friends and family,

kids playing, music, dancing,

beer, good Catholic whiskey,

gumbo cooking in a big pot.

♪

Mardi Gras!

Welcome back. How you doing?

Really good. Good to see you both again.

- Good to see you too. - Thanks.

You might call the Savoy family Cajun royalty.

I know them from my last visit,

and it's good to see them again.

Marc Savoy was born and raised here

in the small prairie town of Eunice.

Together with his wife Ann and sons Joel and Wilson,

they make up the Savoy family band.

They've all been playing music since they were children,

and share a devotion... Dedication...

To Cajun culture.

So how far does the family go back here?

Marc, here's the question.

How far does your family go back here?

Well, I think back to the American Revolution

because the land that we live on

was ceded to one of our ancestors,

and part of that land is still in our family today.

How the French-Acadian pioneers got here

and ended up becoming Cajun is a long story.

Forcibly deported by the Protestant British

from their homeland in Nova Scotia,

the Acadians became refugees,

eventually settling deep in the mosquito-infested

swamps and flatlands of Louisiana...

A place nobody else wanted at the time.

Over the years, the settlers absorbed,

to varying degrees, other cultures...

Irish, Spanish, German, Native American,

and West African, among others,

mutating into a distinctive culture unlike any other.

So how long has the family been playing music?

Well, my grandfather was a fiddler,

but I don't know... I don't know more than that.

- I have that fiddle. - Yeah.

Your grandfather's fiddle, and your uncle's fiddle.

Yeah, which was your great uncle.

Living in the same case here in the house.

So what are you guys doing for Mardi Gras?

- Running. - Running.

- You ready? - Uh, I believe I am.

- What are you doing? - He's accounting.

- What are you doing? - I'm running Mardi Gras.

- What are you doing? - I'm running Mardi Gras,

right here.

But, you know, in the old days,

it was just people walking.

It wasn't... it's become insane.

It's become insane, more and more insane.

And every year, somebody dies in Eunice.

Every single year, there's one death at the Mardi Gras.

Every year. But, you know,

you gotta stay away from the horse's feet.

You know, like a lot of horse injuries.

Like, their horses... Right.

Some horses will kick you in the head or something.

Oh, okay.

I mean, there's a lot of really good reasons

that you're doing all these things.

I mean, it's the end of winter,

people are out of food...

- And it's right before Lent. - It's the last year.

Yeah, this is the last...

You gotta stop everything for a good while.

Let's just misbehave before Lent.

And then the next day, they go to church

and get a X on their forehead.

So you go in, you got a black eye,

your shoulder's out of its socket, and you get the...

You get the cross at church.

At the bayou church, praying, getting the ashes.

"I'm sorry for everything I did." "Okay."

"Sorry for everything I did yesterday."

♪

"Fais do-do,"

translated means, "go to sleep,"

something a mother would say to a crying baby.

This soothing phrase became, over time,

something else entirely.

- What the hell? - Finish that.

- I gotta drive. - Mardi Gras.

Mardi...

Apparently mom was just lulling junior to sleep

so she could go party.

A warm up for Mardi Gras,

or simply a continuation of what seems like

an endless pre-game of drinking, eating,

music, dancing, and celebration.

♪

Toby, a contractor and butcher and restaurateur

jack of all trades, is the host of this epic fais do-do.

And he's invited 170 or so of his closest friends...

Hey!

♪

Everybody cooks.

Men, women... even kids appear to have a specialty.

Weather be damned.

We came to party, and party we shall.

♪

Ho!

Food has always tied communities here together.

Cajuns trace the roots of their culture and cuisine

to a particularly brutal diaspora followed by

a steep learning curve as they adapted

to the harsh environment of rural Louisiana.

Their culinary traditions

are a direct reflection of those days.

Ho-ho.

Mardi Gras, everybody!

This is Saturday, right?

So we are prepping for Mardi Gras.

So these people have been drunk for how long?

- About a week, yeah. - Uh-huh.

Uh, so what part of... Where am I?

Man, you're in the middle of Grand Coteau, Louisiana.

Right, like, this is not the bayou.

This is the prairie. Oh, you're in the prairie.

That's what the Grand Coteau is...

Big hill. Right.

So, that's like, right now, where we're at...

You're actually at one of the highest points in Louisiana,

if you can believe that.

It's kinda scary, right? Yeah, 8 feet elevation.

Yeah, like, if you take a Cajun to the mountains,

they might get a little woozy.

No party around here would be complete

without a crawfish boil.

All right, we fire up the reactor.

Oh, yeah.

- I hope you're ready. - I'm ready.

I like this... this thing.

Oh, man, this is my baby right here.

Now, what's the appropriate term for a crawfish?

Is it crawfish? Crawdad? Mudbug?

We don't... don't say crawdads.

Here, down here, it's crawfish.

All right. No other term is acceptable?

I mean, you can call them little mudbugs if you want,

but we like to just call them by what they are...

Crawfish.

Okay, so écrevisse would not be a...

Yeah, écrevisse, yeah, that's French for crawfish.

Oh, right. That'll work too?

Yeah, that's good. Yeah.

Oh, yeah.

Hoo, that's good.

Go for it, man.

And the kids don't need much convincing.

Oh, they love them, that's because it's the

first crawfish of the season for us.

Aww, man, that's pretty.

What is with that super dark sauce, man?

Yeah, it's, like, parsnips and celery roots.

Ah, okay. I get it.

Aw, that's delicious.

What are these guys doing out there standing in the rain?

And this sounds like a good idea when drinking...

A rousing game of Stump, or stumping nails.

Throw a hammer in the air and drive it down hard,

hopefully onto a nail rather than a hand

or other extremity, preferably in the rain.

How dumb do you feel if you end up at a hospital

with that thing sunk into your, like, cheek?

- No, that's a... - Only twice.

Has this happened? "Only twice?"

Okay, good.

So, like... I like my odds.

Swing it down.

- Yes. - There you go.

- You got a spark. - Got a spark.

First shot, first killing.

As night falls, it's time for more food.

Hot pot. Hot pot.

I sit down with Toby and his friends,

Lucius, Megan, and Joleen.

That's catfish coubion. Rice first, Tony.

Perfect rice.

That's a shrimp stew down there?

- That's shrimp stew. - What are those?

Those hard-boiled egg? Yeah.

I gotta ask though, before I forget.

Now, Mardi Gras's coming up Tuesday.

- Yeah. - Yes.

Now, I mean, I've sorta noticed it's a guy thing.

Most runs, we cannot run... Women cannot run.

It is very much a boys club. It always has been.

Do you support this brutal, fascist regime?

Oh, no, the run that I Capitan is co-ed.

But that's the exception, not the rule.

- It is the exception... huge. - Yeah.

We had a female the other day go,

"I'm gonna run Mamou." And I'm like, "No, you're not.

Don't do it. They don't accept it."

So what'd happen if you would've showed up?

You get chased off.

- Chased off? - Yeah.

They're segregated as far as the sexes,

but there are two different runs.

Yeah, but that's like Saudi Arabia, dude.

I know.

Yeah, no, it's backwards here, I mean...

It's very backwards, like,

women don't have a place in a run of Mardi Gras.

Now, we need y'all to come in a little bit

'cause we're kinda getting cold.

And we need y'alls warmth up in this mud right here.

♪

♪

♪ Well, take them down, come on ♪

♪

♪

♪

Ash Wednesday, man.

That's the beginning of Lent.

Try to get all the devil out.

And I, you know, I drink a little whiskey every night.

So you're buzzing fly high,

but you gotta come down to drink.

What is Creole and what is Cajun

are increasingly difficult distinctions

in this day of commercialization

and appropriation.

Anything delicious and unique

is gonna end up slapped on a bag

in front of the words, "potato chips."

Creole means... Or has come to mean...

A mixture of languages, peoples, and cultures.

In Louisiana, though, it's usually used

to describe members of the African-American

or mixed race French-speaking community.

Why do you think it's important that

people still sing in French and...

To me...

Keep that language... That dialect... alive?

That's what makes it Zydeco.

Zydeco's always been influenced by mainstream music,

but it started as French music, as Creole music.

And you totally remove that from the music...

A lot of times it's just rap with an accordion,

or rock and roll with an accordion.

You still have the French-y stuff.

I tell you what.

I can call mama... she's 85... Right now on the phone.

And she talk... one time talked to me in French.

My grandma couldn't speak nothing else.

Right.

I'm having lunch today with historian and radio DJ,

Herman Fuselier.

Creole cowboy Dave Laemmle,

and musically-inclined business owner,

Sid Williams.

This spot is Laura's plate lunch Two,

popular all the time,

but particularly busy on Sundays after church.

Rice and gravy, fried fish, ribs,

and smothered, stuffed turkey wings,

which I am all over like a heat-seeking missile.

Damn. That looks serious.

Mm-hmm.

When you say Louisiana, they think of Cajun.

Cajun is a big part of Louisiana,

but Creole is a big part of Louisiana too, you know.

Used to be native to Louisiana.

Yeah.

That was the original meaning, as I had said.

It still has hundreds of definitions.

But for us, it's descendants of slaves

and free people of color,

and it deals with the food and the music.

And the Catholic church is a big part of it too.

But yeah, trail rides and horseback riding

is just a way of Louisiana now.

You know, it's been going on for so long and...

Music was always part of it,

but the music got to be more of it,

and then slowly but surely became a party where,

you know, kinda this social scene.

It's a lot of pieces coming together.

You got food, horses, and music.

♪

Trail rides go back a long way.

They happen all year, but are also the way

Creoles celebrate Mardi Gras around here...

Kind of a moving tailgate party and barbecue.

Interestingly...

And I almost wanna dig up John Wayne just to tell him this...

Creoles are wildly believed to be the first American cowboys,

herding cattle in the plains and bayous of Louisiana

long before white dudes and assless chaps

started showing up in the west.

In fact, Zydeco music was born out of cowboy culture...

The rhythm of the washboard mimicking the trot

of a horse on the trail.

♪

We don't wanna lose our culture... what we have here...

Because this is a true thing that goes on every weekend,

and I think the world need to see it, you know?

Yeah, we are Creole black guys riding horses,

wearing cowboy hats, dancing to Zydeco music...

- Playing accordions. - And playing the accordion.

At one time, maybe it wasn't cool,

but now, if you being country,

and trail riding, and listening to Zydeco music,

you cool.

♪

♪

You see a pig...

If you see a pig, shoot that motherfucker.

♪

Hunting in Louisiana marshland

has been a way of life for the Acadians

since they first arrived here hundreds of years ago.

Back then, however, they didn't have these things:

a big fan and a whole lot of horsepower.

Also didn't have an infestation of wild pigs,

an evasive, but delicious species

that are causing big problems for the local ecosystem.

They're supposed to be all over,

like shooting fish in a barrel, I'm told.

I'm tagging along with the Millers.

Uncle Bruno is the best cook in the family.

His nephew, Jay, a stone-cold killer.

You know, there's a technique to holding your beer.

Like, shit like this? Look.

That's the technique.

♪

Everywhere there's a tree hanging over like that,

that little area... it just seems like I can sense...

But we're just not... Just not seeing them yet.

There's definitely problematic hogs in this area.

It's just,

they're not here at the moment, you know?

Well, the cracks are everywhere.

They've walked here in the past 24 hours.

- Yeah. - So where they at?

Where?

We could try our best to hog call.

Just, like... Would that work?

Wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world?

Yeah, that's it.

And yet, despite there being millions

of invasive, wild pigs in Louisiana,

after terracing around the marshes for hours,

we come up empty.

No pig for you, Yankee carpetbagger.

I know you wanna have a family dinner

and all this romantic bullshit,

but look, let me tell you.

My grandma has the most oppressive farts

you've ever smelled...

And the best cinnamon rolls too,

so you're in for a treat both ways.

I'm just saying. I'm looking forward.

Nope, we ain't get... We didn't see nothing.

No pigs. It happens.

I guess that's why they call it fishing and hunting

instead of killing and catching, you know?

Yep.

Let's, uh,

continue on with the beer drinking and perverted jokes.

You know? Indeed.

That's what we came here for.

♪

There are consolations, however,

for our mighty hunters.

Back at the Miller home,

Grandma Jackie prepares fresh-baked bread...

While Uncle Bruno cooks up

some traditional family specialties...

Shrimp and okra, sweet potatoes,

rice, of course, and...

Pot-au-pois...

Heirloom peas from Grandpa Larry's garden.

All in all, things worked out okay in the end.

Bless us, O Lord, and these, thy gifts,

which we are about to receive from Thy bounty.

Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.

And,

good food, good meat. Great God, let's eat.

God damn it, let's eat!

You gotta pray before you cuss, so...

As one does.

It's the order before you do it.

Tony. We always start with rice.

- I'ma get some wine for... - Yeah? Let's start with some...

Jay's gonna pour some wine.

Aww, it's beautiful.

So everybody excited about tomorrow?

The big day? Yeah, oh yeah.

And then how many days to recover?

Well, we have the whole Lent to recover.

- Yeah. - Right.

- There you go. - Thank you.

The music and the food are part of what makes us Cajun.

And the Mardi Gras is a very important part

of who we are as a people.

So we keeping those traditions going.

We're in the fifth... Starting the fifth generation

of my family running Mardi Gras.

How far back does the tradition go,

and where did it all start?

Back in the 16th century,

and it wasn't called Mardi Gras then.

But it was because our ancestors

who were not invited to the king's party

'cause he invited only the wealthy people

and the church hierarchy.

So our people would do a street party of their own.

So what started out as a genuine need for food...

And a way to get it. That's true.

One day a year that you could get it,

and as I understand it,

it was kinda license to mock the people you were...

Who were leaving you out of the party.

That's where the tall, conical hats come from...

In mockery of the Queen.

They were proud people and they wanted to be recognized.

That's why they disguised their face,

and not to feel like they were taking charity.

- Mm-hmm. - So they put on a performance.

- You got a little... - Here you go.

So at each home that we stop at,

there's, like, a little party that goes on.

Right, so they knew you were coming,

and you knew you were expected. It's already prearranged.

Like, they know we're coming, they have a chicken,

and they cook something and...

So if I knew you were coming,

what would the appropriate preparations be?

I should have some food on hand?

You could throw money,

you could donate a couple chickens

that they could chase and grab.

Right.

Basically just board up the windows,

and make like there's a hurricane coming.

Open up the barn,

put everything in the barn, lock the barn.

Mm-hmm.

I'm talking about down to a shovel.

If a Mardi Gras finds a shovel

just leaning up against the back of the house,

they're gonna grab it, dig a hole,

and bury another Mardi Gras.

- Or me. - I know.

I will be taking part in the Mardi Gras run this year,

and one does not interject one's self among hundreds

of drunk Cajuns without proper attire.

Fortunately, Grandma Jackie is one of the premier couturiers

of such specialty garb in these parts.

How many masks and outfits do you do a year?

Masks... I guess I made about 50.

I usually have 50 or 60 a year.

So you're working on those all year long?

Um, well, yes.

Jackie has created a signature nose

that's unique to her... Basically, yeah.

- That she's known for. - Ah.

A lot of people just say, "I want a suit."

Or if I have one, they say, "Ooh, I like this.

I like this one." Right.

Now, if they come to me and they say,

"I want the Saints," or, "LSU,"

I say, "No, I make traditional",

Tee Mamou Mardi Gras costumes."

I don't make one that looks like Santa Claus

or anything like him.

They have to be traditional, or I don't make them.

Here it is.

Oh, yeah.

- It's amazing. - There you go, Tony.

- So thrilled. - Oh, yeah.

- Oh, it's fearsome. - How'd you like to model it?

That's great.

- Let me just try it on. - There you go.

Uh-huh. Oh, yeah.

- Yeah. - All right.

It's all you.

Give me a chicken.

"Give me a chicken."

- Just look at the back. - Oh, man, it looks great.

Oh, yes.

I'm gonna wear this around the house after Mardi Gras.

Thank you so much.

Thank you. It's yours.

Hey, I've seen a lot of different people

turn into a lot of different things Mardi Gras day.

That's right. That's right.

Some of them ain't come back from it either.

You're like the voice of doom, man...

♪

Traditional costumes and revelry,

the contrasting streak of bright color

set against the wet, gray landscape of late winter.

♪

This is Grand Mamou, Louisiana,

early morning of the last day before Lent.

And in Cajun Country,

that means it's time to run Mardi Gras.

Men on horseback,

men on foot, in search of chickens,

presumably, for the evening's ritual gumbo.

House to house they will go,

bringing mirth, mockery, and mayhem.

Cajun Mardi Gras traces its roots back to medieval France

when this was the one day of the year

working poor could hide their identity

and subvert the conventions of society.

Old-fashioned costumes modeled on satirical riffs

on the period garb of aristocrats,

religious and political leaders

remain the garment of choice,

though there are also some

decidedly modern adaptations.

And at this point,

I feel like I should be giving you

some sort of parental advisory

about disturbing imagery and behaviors,

along with a caution not to try any of this at home.

♪

Mardi Gras!

While everybody is still on their best behavior,

the first stop at the local retirement home,

to bring a little joy into the lives of the old folks.

♪

Mardi Gras!

Come on!

The Capitans, in purple and gold robes,

keep the marauders in line.

I don't know what these guys are called,

but they are everywhere, providing the revelers

with a steady supply of cold beer.

Whoo!

I believe they are called... enablers.

It's before 9:00 a.m., and already,

everybody is thoroughly swacked.

Since this is my first Mardi Gras,

a rundown of the rules would be helpful.

No eye-gouging.

No fish-hooking. No eye-gouging.

- No picking in the nose. - No groin shots.

- No women. - No women.

No women, and don't wring the chicken's neck.

Oh, that's good to know. Right.

What happens if you break the rules?

Nothing.

Whoa!

- Whoa, whoa, whoa! - Whoa!

Catching chickens for the evening community gumbo

is the name of the game.

But you don't get chickens for free.

That's what it's all about.

You are expected to work for it,

dancing, clowning,

and providing some entertainment

before your host release the chicken or chickens.

♪

♪

Kind of like trick-or-treating,

if your Halloween candy moved at high speed

and all the other trick-or-treaters were drunk

and competing for the same peanut butter cup

like it was the last peanut butter cup on Earth

and they didn't care if they killed you to get it.

- Come here, chicken! - Oh.

Damn.

Wow, grandma got that one.

♪

Whoa. Oh, shit.

Oh.

No, man. Those chickens...

Oh.

That takes a level of dedication.

Wouldn't that leave you freezing cold

with a moist nutsack for the rest of the day?

No.

And the beer keeps on coming.

And I wonder if this is the kind of promotion

a major brand had in mind.

I'm... I'm gonna have nightmares

about grandma flashing me her titties.

Hey! Mardi Gras!

Does this mask cause derangement?

Like, if you keep looking through the mask...

Like I feel like... Like I got a brain tumor.

Mardi Gras, who does your hair?

Who does your hair? It's so nice.

Hey!

In feudal Europe, I guess you'd describe what follows

as a state of religious ecstasy,

but it's evolved into something else entirely.

There's definitely a "Purge" vibe... right?

♪

The Mamou Mardi Gras!

I need a nurse next season.

- Oh, yeah. - Please look into that.

I believe this might be a prudent time

to employ a stunt double,

for purposes of amusement, comedy,

and of course, personal safety.

Oh.

♪

Finally, the mighty warriors return,

triumphant, to a proud,

if safely boarded-up town of Mamou,

by this time, well beyond the point

of noticing such things as physical pain.

Oh!

♪

Ugh.

Gonna be hurting tomorrow.

♪

Ash Wednesday marks the end of winter,

the beginning of spring and Lent,

where bruised from our exertions

and our dimly remembered sins,

we might purge ourselves

of our transgressions and impure thoughts.

Be merciful, O Lord, for we have sinned.

Try even to make amends, perhaps,

by getting right with Jesus

in a period of fasting and quiet reflection...

Or something like that.

Forgive us, O Lord, for we have sinned.

Ashes on the forehead,

ask for forgiveness for all your

chicken-related foolishness of the previous day,

then 40 days of meatless meals

and no sin.

I got stuff to do,

so I'm hitting the drive-through

for a more expedited service.

It's like the express line and so convenient.

- Hi. - Hi.

Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return,

but the steadfast love of the Lord endures forever.

Amen.

Thank you.

All right. I got right with God.

Let's eat.

Then a drive through country roads

all the way out to near Kaplan to Suire's Grocery,

one of the more awesome locations I've ever found,

the kind of breakfast spot I just love deeply,

menu right there on the wall as you walk in

so you know what you're getting.

Hi. How you doing?

Oh, real good now. How you guys doing today?

I think, uh, oyster po'boy,

but you have crawfish étouffée as well, yes?

- Crawfish étouffée. - Yeah, I gotta do that.

And you do pecan pie by the slice as well for dessert?

- Yes, sir. - Oh, yeah, okay.

I'll be having some of that later.

Man, how come my grocery store doesn't have this?

Oh, man, eat your heart out.

Got everything I need here.

God damn it.

Feeling pretty good about the world considering.

Minimal hangover,

minimal, uh, Mardi Gras-related damage.

A few bruises.

At my age, I should be happy I didn't break my hip.

Ah, thank you. The pecan pie.

- How'd you like it? - Oh, so good.

Really, really good. Thank you.

Love this place.

On balance, my Cajun Mardi Gras experience

was certainly... memorable, if nothing else.

And through the parting clouds of cruel winter,

there is light and hope in the onset of spring.

♪