Whenever someone asked him the inevitable question, “So where are you from?” Enio always had the same thought: “It’s complicated.”

In America, where he was born, he was known as “the Brazilian kid”. In Brazil, where his parents had immigrated from, he was “the gringo”. In his hometown of Glencoe, he was “the neighborhood goy”. In Syracuse, where he went to college, he was “Jewish, right?” In film school, his classmates called him “frat-boy”. In the frat house, he was “the arty one”. And while his mother claimed she was descended from a long line of Lebanese nomads, his father sent him off to find his Italian famiglia, who affectionately dubbed him “Enio Antonio Rigolin Da Venezia.”

For an American-Italian-Lebanese kid raised in a Jewish neighborhood by Brazilian Catholics, pursuing a career in anything but the movies made about as much sense as identifying himself with just one culture.

Growing up on the fringes gave Enio two options: He could turn inward and go crazy… or look outward and write down every crazy-ass thing he saw.Thankfully, he chose the latter.