A lot of places in the world you can’t just do what you want to do. In Jamaica it’s a lot like that. And I use that as a positive motivation to get me to pursue it and achieve it.

Shama

Outdeh follows three young men (Shama, Bakersteez, and Romar) in their quest to try and make something of their lives. They all want to do something new to build a platform for the next generation. Shama is the first professional surfer from the island, Bakersteez is trying to forge a career as a rapper from a country dominated by dancehall stars such as Popcaan, whilst Romar is trying to make it out of one of the islands most notorious ghettoes by playing football. They’re all going for their dreams because no other path has been cleared for them. And they all want to prove that their dreams are achievable.

The first thing that draws you into Outdeh is the idyllic slow motion shots of the island backed by the Jamaican soundtrack. It captures a musical-esque utopia that we are happy to be immersed in. There’s the ocean waves which Shama effortlessly glides through in front of empty Sandy beaches. There’s also shots of Shama carelessly skateboarding through city streets, dancing in front of cars as if he’s invincible. Then there’s shots of Romar playing football with a large group of guys from the neighbourhood. It doesn’t look like he has any worries even though we hear that he has to beg for money to eat from the neighbourhood boss. The evidence of an unhappy life is only spoken about, leaving the slow motion shots to show the utopian side of the idyllic island they live on. It’s a sign of a hopeful, positive future.

You’ll also be drawn in by the laid back characters of Bakersteez and Shama which hide a restless energy. Despite saying he gets nervous before his gigs, Bakersteez always appears completely confident and in control of his life’s direction. Shama is no different. Even though he’s the first professional surfer from Jamaica, he doesn’t even act like it’s a big thing, it’s just something he’s picked up for followed what he loves to do. Like Bakersteez, even though they’re forging new paths for a new generation, he never appears flustered or out of place.

The future looks bright for these three in Outdeh and the youth of Jamaica.


Head to our Santa Barbara International Film Festival Hub for more reviews from the Santa Barbara International Film Festival 2020.

Despite reforms from MBS, the current ruler of Saudi Arabia, 1,000 women escape Saudi Arabia each year. Saudi Runaway follows Muna, a typical Saudi Arabian woman trying to make herself one of the 1,000 to escape the oppressive patriarchy. All the footage is shot on her phone camera, often in secret from under her hijab, to document a snippet of her life.

Muna gains our trust right from the start by showing us things we shouldn’t see. She takes us into the crowds of the Hajj pilgrimage circling the Kaaba by capturing the crowds from a phone camera hidden under her veil. She also documents her family secretly in prayer and the patriarchal words her family and fiance say without realizing they’re being filmed. From these secretive observational moments we can start to build a picture of the society and family she lives in and its restrictiveness. We can also feel the risk she’s taking in secretively filming her family. She obviously hasn’t told them about the film as all they’re faces are blurred. Because of the risks she takes and secretive shots she has shared with us, she immediately gains out trust and empathy.

The film strengthens our connection with Muna through a series of video diary entries in which she shares experiences from her life and plans her escape. We hear about the patriarchal oppression she faces: how her husband won’t let her drive and how she can’t go to the supermarket or leave the house without a man. We also hear about her slim chance for escape: she cannot leave the country without a man’s permission in Saudi Arabia, so she has to get married before attempting an escape in the UAE whilst she’s on her honeymoon. Amazingly, she captures all of the tension of her ordeal, even taking a minute to document her final thoughts before she attempts her escape.

The only fault I could give this exciting documentary is the touch of melodrama the European director adds to the raw footage from Muna. In some of the tense moments, the soundtrack feels like it’s emphasizing the emotions more than it needs to. It makes the film feel ‘more produced’ and therefore less intimate and trustworthy by taking away from the realness of the first hand footage shot by Muna. The ‘dear Sue’ addresses in Muna’s video diary also make the film feel more like an act, by recognizing the foreign hand in its creation.

Overall, Saudi Runaway is a documentary that any fans of escape documentaries (see Midnight Traveller) or viewers interested at an inside look of Saudi Arabia should watch.


Head to our Sundance Film Festival Hub for more reviews from the Sundance Film Festival 2020.

A Storm Was Coming starts with a still shot of the landscape of Equatorial Guinea. Slowly, the landscape becomes more and more overexposed until the shot is completely whitewashed and the landscape has disappeared. This visual example of whitewashing to start A Storm Was Coming is a style that director Jose Fernandez Vasquez uses throughout the film to represent the Spanish Empire’s eradication of the culture of Equatorial Guinea.

The Spanish Empire controlled Equatorial Guinea until 1968. As presented by the Spanish texts from the Francoist era which are read in the film, their rule was benevolent. Colonialism and the power structures it left ensured that an indigenous voice didn’t arise to challenge the Spanish hegemony. This one sided history is represented throughout the film through the scenes of a white man recording Spanish history and the lack of indigenous representation.

Scenes of a white Spanish man in a recording studio reading passages from bibliographies of Spanish colonists make up the bulk of A Storm Was Coming. The passages, which are being recorded in a studio in Madrid, present a one sided view of the history of Equatorial Guinea from the capital of the colonizers. These scenes are visually supported by images of different Spanish missions in Equatorial Guinea appearing out of a blank screen, as if they’re appearing on white photographic paper processed in the photographic darkroom. Their appearance from nothing, perpetuates the controversial colonial viewpoint that colonialism ‘civilized’ their colonies, providing infrastructure, culture, and history. It’s a viewpoint that erases all pre-colonial history, as if nothing of significance existed before the colonists’ arrival. The director combines images of Spanish missions appearing from ‘nothing’ with the reading of Spanish colonial texts to demonstrate the Spanish hegemony of written, aural, and visual Equatoguinean history.

Whilst the voices of Spanish colonists are being preserved, the voices of the colonized have been lost. We hear from a few Bubi people (one of the indigenous groups in Equatorial Guinea), but we never see them on screen. They tell us about Esaasi Eweera, a Bubi leader who tried to resist the Spanish Empire. He’s a heroic leader in their eyes, but his resistance is diminished in Spanish texts. As a result, he has almost disappeared from history, just as the place of his birth has disappeared under overgrown bush. Furthermore, whilst the film spends a lot of time documenting the Spanish voices in Madrid and showing images of Spanish missions, the only pictures of native Equatoguinean people are flashed onto the screen for less than half of a second. Their lack of representation emphasizes how the Spanish rule has lasted visually and aurally, seared onto the minds of the native and Spanish people. In contrast, the Bubi have disappeared from the past and present; they don’t even appear in the film.

Well, at least until the very last scene. To prevent enforcing the Spanish narrative the film reveals, the director, a Spanish filmmaker himself, ends A Storm Was Coming with a face on interview with Bubi scholar Justo Bolekia Boleká. It’s the first time the director shows a native Equatoguinean on screen, giving him more respect than the other characters with a face to face interview. It’s also the first time we hear the Bube language. Ending with Justo Bolekia Boleká and his daughter reciting a Bubi poem in Bube, reveals one thing the Spanish couldn’t eradicate: memory. It’s an ending statement that shows that Bubi culture still survives, despite the Spanish cultural and historical hegemony which still holds power today.


Watched on Festival Scope Pro. This film screened at the Berlinale Forum 2020.

Once Upon a Time in Venezuela starts with images of the famous Catatumbo lightning silently flashing over Lake Maracaibo. The lightning is an atmospheric phenomenon unique to the region, occurring for 140 to 160 nights per year. It’s what drew filmmaker Anabel Rodriguez Rios to the region, but ultimately became one of the least interesting happenings in an area that serves as a microcosm for the socioeconomic and political crisis in Venezuela.

The once thriving town of Congo Mirador becomes the focus for this observational documentary. It’s a town built upon stilts above Lake Maracaibo, complete with a church, a school, and houses. Everyone gets around on boats, whether they’re commuters, cake sellers, or musicians. The water is the lifeblood of this town. It’s their road that connects everyone, their bath to wash in, and their sewage.

Therefore, it’s not a surprise that sedimentation is brought up first. It’s the most urgent problem for the community, and not the political movements happening in the big cities elsewhere in the country. Sedimentation blocks their transportation paths by making the routes too shallow for boats to move, it blocks the free flow of sewage, and pollutes the towns’ supply of fresh water. Shots of people washing juxtaposed against shots of dead fish, highlight the immediate problems that sedimentation causes. As the film progresses, the director makes sure you can see the physical change in the community. Houses are uprooted and moved on boats, and plants start to take over the once fluid waterways.

It’s not clear where the sedimentation comes from; perhaps it stems from the oil reserves that have started contaminating beaches nearby, or maybe it’s just happening naturally. However, what is clear is that if nothing is done, this town will gradually be consumed by dirt and pollution, thus becoming uninhabitable.

The town community need the help of higher powers to help. However, Once Upon a Time in Venezuela chooses two rivals to center this documentary to represent the division in the community: Mrs. Tamara, a Chavista and town representative, and Natalie, a local teacher. Their rivalry, and the progress it hinders, represent the political division in the country and the slow decline of the town, the sinking state of Venezuela.

  • Mrs. Tamara: the Hugo Chavez fan girl, with a large spacious house, Hugo Chavez dolls, and a farm along the lake. She’s shown boating around the lake to buy votes and relaxing in her hammock.
  • Natalie: a humble teacher and single mum that appears apolitical and lives in a small house. She’s shown hand washing clothes and teaching kids.

The class distinction between the two, and way they talk about each other (Natalie rarely mentions Mrs. Tamara by name) help us choose our allegiances in Congo Mirador and Venezuela. Ultimately, their rivalry distracts us from the decline of the town, just like the presidential rivalry between Maduro and Guaido has provided a distraction from resolving the political and social crises in Venezuela.


If you’re looking for more films from Venezuela like Once Upon a Time in Venezuela, check out La Soledad or It’s All Good for two more films set within the crisis You could also watch Hermano for a Venezuelan film featuring gangs and football. Or, head to our Sundance Film Festival hub, if you’re looking for more reviews from the festival.

Dhalinyaro doesn’t tread the same paths of other African films set in Islamic countries. Instead of focusing on themes of patriarchy, tradition, or sexism that provides the main conflict in films like Papicha, Freedom Fields, Beauty and the Dogs, and Flesh Out, Dhalinyaro focuses on a fiercely independent trio of girls from modern Djibouti. Lula Ali Ismail’s debut feature, feels more like a companion to Celine Sciamma’s Girlhood or the first 20 minutes of Mounia Meddour’s Papicha with the friendship between three girls. It’s an impressive debut feature that is also the first film from Djibouti.

The main conflict of the film sits between the three girls. Their class differences are emphasized in the size and space of their houses, their everyday meals, and methods of transport (private vs. public). However, they’re also immediately distinguishable in the way that they dress. Hibo, a spoiled girl from a wealthy family shows the most skin, whilst Asma, from an underprivileged background is almost always fully covered. Deka, who sits in the middle in terms of class, is moderately dressed, serving as the middle ground between her two friends. Because she takes up the middle ground between Hibo and Asma, she’s the audience’s mediator in the relationship between the three girls.

Their backgrounds affect how they see the future. They all attend the same school, and are all good students, but the differing size of their support networks provide different opportunities to each of them. For Hibo, the most wealthy, her future is already decided. She will study abroad just like her sister, regardless of grades. For Asma, the poorest, her future is also decided. Her family cannot afford to send her abroad so she has no choice but to continue her studies in Djibouti no matter what grades she gets. Deka, our mediator, has the luxury of choice. She can decide to work hard and study abroad as her mother wants, or choose to study at home. In showing how the characters from different classes view their future, Lula Ali Ismail depicts the lack of class mobility in Djibouti. Asma will stay poor and Hibo will stay rich. Only Deka has the opportunity to change.

Dhalinyaro is a high school drama with depth and great character development. Hopefully it won’t be the last film we see from Lula Ali Ismail or Djibouti.