Song Without a Name is a tragedy on many levels. Most immediately, there’s Georgina’s personal tragedy. Then there’s the tragedy of Peru in the 1980’s – oppressed by a military state. And in the background, there’s the tragedy of Peru’s indigenous population, that is being left behind. Song Without A Name is a brilliantly made black and white drama of one indigenous woman’s experience in a turbulent 1980’s Peru.
In Simshar, 11 year old Theo’s first trip with his Maltese fisherman family goes terribly wrong when the ship sinks far from land in the Mediterranean Sea. Meanwhile, Alex a medic on a Turkish merchant vessel that rescues a group of migrants in trouble gets stuck on the ship as the surrounding countries wage a bureaucratic war over who should take them in.
There’s plenty going on in Simshar. Perhaps too much. Instead of focusing on the Simshar incident or the migrant crisis, it tries to connect both in two separate stories. However, their connection never feels strong enough to make Simshar a compelling melodrama or political drama.
Instead of being a movie that examines the migrant crisis through the Simshar incident, this movie is a dramatized depiction of the Simshar incident featuring another narrative tied to the migrant crisis. Whilst they both are related to the sea and Malta, the director doesn’t nearly do enough to tie the two stories. It feels like the migrant crisis pieces are included to make the film more relevant to the political climate in which it was made.
Even the dates of the film feel off. Whilst the Simshar incident happened in 2008, the migrant crisis didn’t fully explode until slightly later in the 21st century. This is not to say that there weren’t African migrants traversing the Mediterranean in 2008 – there were – but it was not nearly as well covered in European news in 2008 as in 2014 when this film was made. Making this movie about an international immigration crisis, and not just about a fishing tragedy, probably made Simshar a lot more marketable on the film festival circuit than if it just focused on the fishing tragedy.
However, if you’re into Mediterranean melodrama, the Simshar incident narrative might appeal to you. It’s sepia tinted scenes backed by a slightly whimsical accordion soundtrack evokes a romanticized depiction of Maltese life. It almost feels a bit nostalgic too, as if it’s looking fondly back on a time in Malta before the migrant crisis and foreign rules (fishing restrictions) threatened it. The no-nonsense Maltese family that clings onto their way of life despite national and international fishing restrictions runs against the change caused by the migrant crisis.
The romanticized portrayal of Maltese life feels slightly problematic in contrast with the underdeveloped migrant characters in the migrant crisis narrative. The Maltese characters are given screen time to build their characters through dialogue and actions, whereas the migrants are only spoken to. It means that viewers naturally sympathize with the traditional Maltese people and not the migrants as they’re actually humanized on screen. This is most evident in a scene in which one black migrant shouts “you don’t know what we’ve been through” to white Maltese hecklers. We, like the Maltese characters don’t know what they’ve been through, and unfortunately the film never tries to answer this either. As a result, Simshar’s attempt to cover the migrant crisis, whilst also dramatizing the Simshar incident feels half hearted, leaving both narratives feeling flat.
What to Watch Next
If you like warm portrayals of quaint Southern European life, check out Cinema Paradiso and The Courtyard of Songs. Both fully immerse the viewer without trying to make political statements. Or if you’d really like to see film that does manage to integrate a political statement into a small town Mediterranean film, try the gentrification narrative of Montenegro’s The Black Pin.
In Hive, a struggling widow starts making Ajvar to get by. Setting an example for self sufficiency, the town’s widows flock to her to share their grief and start healing. However their independence faces backlash from the patriarchy.
Before watching Hive, all of the films I’d previously watched from Kosovo were affected by the Kosovo war. Whether directly or more indirectly, the trauma of the war that forged the country’s birth just over 20 years ago has never had a chance to heal.
Hive is no different. Fahrije’s husband has been missing for what might be years. Her father in law and two kids still believe he is alive. But she seems to believe he must be dead. Her face has been sucked of all emotion – as pointed out by her daughter – and she has started to move on. She visits mourning sites, such as the river where many local men were killed, and has also taken over some of her husband’s chores (bee keeping). She’s accepted his fate.
In addition to being a mother, Fahrije is forced to assume her husband’s role in his absence. So she seeks work to make a living in a neighboring town. However, she’s ostracized for behaving like a man with locals shooting her threatening stares and throwing bricks at her car and windows. Faithful wives aren’t supposed to learn how to drive and leave the house. In response, Fahrije also subconsciously takes on the stereotypical masculine emotions too, assuming an unemotional stoicism that confuses her kids. She hides her grief so deep to avoid dealing with it.
Her way out is not in independence through work but in company. Her successful Ajvar making business inspirationally brings together other widows together in community. They’re willing to sacrifice their honor because she’s taken the brave step to doing something about her situation and trying to move on.
What to Watch Next
If you’re looking for another inspirational story about a group of entrepreneurial women fighting the odds to succeed, try Writing with Fire. It features India’s only women-run news channel. Or if you’re looking for another story set within another traumatic event, Beatriz’ War follows a widow and her community fighting for freedom in East Timor. Or for more stories from Kosovo, try the tragic short, Shok, and feature film, Three Windows and a Hanging.
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