Indigenous Batswana films aren’t easy to find, so if you know of any, please contact me here. In the meantime, check out N!ai, the Story of a !Kung Woman (the exclamation marks represent click sounds). It’s a documentary made by an American anthropologist, so it’s by no means a true Batswana film. However, you will get to see the impact of the white government on the independence of the !Kung people as portrayed through the life of a !Kung woman named N!ai.
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.
An African doctor finds a miracle cure to a deadly virus and decides to mass produce the drug at low cost in Africa. However, a pharmaceutical multinational finds out and sends an agent to Africa to sabotage his plans to maintain their position in the industry. Ashakara is an entertaining pseudo-heist movie that pits African medicine against the imperial nature of the big pharmaceutical companies and capitalism.
Ashakara starts with multiple narratives featuring different characters with different intentions regarding the new miracle cure. There’s the African doctor who wants to spread the miracle cure across Africa; a foreigner that has been sent to the country by a big pharmaceutical company to sabotage to ensure their continued profitability worldwide; as well as the African doctor’s assistant who wants to sell the secret recipe of the miracle cure for instant riches. Each party represents a different part of Post-Colonialism: the Doctor represents Africa’s hope for true independence from continued European imperialism, represented by the foreigners of the big pharmaceutical company, whilst the doctor’s assistant represents the global net of capitalism that drives greed and corruption. It’s a film that emphasizes African sustainability, both in the power of African medicine vs. ineffectual western medicine (the prison guard’s constant headaches and the rare disease are only cured by the African fetishist), and the community driven financial support available in tontines vs. the predatory nature of the money lender and big pharma company representing global capitalism. Capitalism and Imperialism drive the villains in this movie.
The initial exposition phase is livened up by the upbeat Togolese music layered in the film and stock shots of the busy Togolese capital city. It imbues the film with energy to keep viewers attentive (including a few musical interludes added for extra effect). The musical presence fades as Ashakara moves into the second half of the movie as the action kicks in to keep the viewers attention.
Ashakara also includes a homage to 2001: A Space Odyssey in the European pharmaceutical agent’s portable artificial intelligence system named VAL (a riff on HAL). The agent carries VAL around in a case throughout the movie and uses it to connect with his demanding boss back in Europe. He also uses it to solve the crime and win his independence from his boss. It’s a surprise Sci-Fi addition to this heist movie that makes the European Pharma company seem even more villainous and perhaps compares Europe’s treatment of Africa as an ‘conquerable area’ to the Space colonization in 2001.
If you’re looking for an African film with plenty of Pro-African themes mixed with a few sci-fi and Voodoo elements backed by African music, dance, and dress, you need to watch Ashakara. It manages to pull together a number of narratives and characters into an entertaining heist movie that pits European imperialism and capitalist greed against indigenous African medicine and culture.
What to Watch Next
If you’re looking for more Post-Colonialist African movies, check out Black Girl from Senegal – one of the most famous films from the continent – or The Burial of Kojo from Ghana if you’re looking for something a bit more experimental.
Or if you’d like to see more films that celebrate indigenous medicine over Western medicine watch Embrace of the Serpentwhich follows a shaman in the Amazon or In Search of Voodooto find out more about Voodoo culture in Benin.
Lastly, for more African heist thrillers, go seek out Coming from Insanity from Nigeria.
The Cathedral follows Lina, a young woman wandering Port Louis, the capital city of Mauritius. She interacts with friends and family around the city in a carefree manner which is only challenged (slightly) when her dancing catches the eye of a foreign photographer.
The Cathedral is based on a short story written by Ananda Devi. However, the tone of the film feels completely different from the reviews of the book which emphasize the hopeless poverty of the main characters. In contrast, the film has a very laidback island feel thanks to the light background music, sunshine, and warm colors. It also helps that most of the film follows Lina roaming around Port Louis, stopping at stalls to chat to vendors and catching conversations happening around her. Her wandering gives her and the film a very care-free nature – even the conflict that comes towards the end of the movie doesn’t feel that serious.
However, it does feel like The Cathedral is trying a bit too hard to be poetic. This is particularly noticeable in the two extra narrators that interrupt Lina’s narrative. One is a personified narrative voice of the city’s cathedral. It’s meant to give a poetic character to the city, but it comes across a bit unnatural for a film, as talking buildings are more expected in classroom historical documentaries or children’s shows. The other narrative voice comes from a foreign photographer. Like the cathedral, the photographer’s narrative voice feels strange because it interrupts Lina’s narrative at various points of the film. It’s also never diegetic – instead his narrative voice is layered over him taking exaggerated pictures of locals (which are also awkwardly voyeuristic). Because the two narrators interrupt the flow of the film and feel unnatural next to the film’s images, the poetic impact they’re intended to create doesn’t come across.
It’s also a bit uncomfortable how much Lina is fetishized. Everyone follows her – the camera, the photographer, and the cathedral. The cathedral speaks about how she is the light of the city and that she’d be missed if she ever left; the foreign photographer takes pictures of her dancing in the street without asking, whilst the camera follows her as if she’s the center of a fashion photo shoot. She’s heavily objectified and treated a bit like she’s a pretty bird flying around the city. She also isn’t given any depth. Her character development is overlooked in her care-free wandering character. Perhaps her character’s fetishization is a metaphor for a country still trapped in a web of colonial interests, however it’s more likely that it’s a byproduct of the director’s male gaze. So if you’re looking for a tour around Port Louis from a fetishized young woman, this film might be for you.
The laid back feel, whilst contrasting with the book reviews, at least makes The Cathedral an easy watch. It doesn’t feel too complex, but perhaps there are some deeper themes it alludes to from the book that doesn’t quite translate to the movie.
What to Watch Next
The Cathedral reminded me of a combination of 3 types of films:
The slightly cheesy slice of life sun-drenched dramedies like The Courtyard of Songs from Lisbon which present happy, dreamy city life by the sea.
Movies that bounce between casual conversations like Jim Jarmusch’s Coffee and Cigarettes, which make you feel like a fly on the wall of a particular place.
Documentaries that exoticize it’s subjects like Sauper’s Epicentro (in this case it’s a pretty local girl instead of a group of local kids).
Honestly, I was a bit confused at the start of Perfumed Nightmare as the tone seemed a bit off. The film was made in 1977, but the black and white footage looks even older, so I was surprised to have the fourth wall broken a few times by the main character, Kidlat, after he pulls an increasingly larger toy truck over a bridge. The genre is also deliberately hard to pin down. It gives off the appearance of a stylish, amusing ethnographical film set in rural Philippines to disguise its strong revolutionary undertones. Don’t let anything put you off from watching this movie though as it’s a brilliantly unique and clever contribution to the Third Cinema movement.
There are a lot of familiar elements in Perfumed Nightmare as it deliberately borrows from a mixture of well-known revolutionary film-making. The frenetic pace of the movie, with cuts across time and a fuzzy narrative voice that seems to be a half-second behind the images, feels a lot like Jean-Luc Godard’s iconic film, Breathless. The fast paced montages of Filipino and Parisian society, which meshes together a range of stock and new images showing the evolution of society towards modernization, borrows from Dziga Vertov’s influential Man with a Movie Camera. Both of these influences (each monumental to the development of European film) are referenced by the Director, Kidlat Tahimik, to stake a claim for Filipino film within the context of cinema and to also set Filipino film apart by reclaiming the medium’s portrayal of the Philippines.
One of the best things Kidlat Tahimik adds to the revolutionary film movement is humor. It both makes the film more enjoyable whilst also targeting the ‘Third World’s’ portrayal by ‘the West’ to reclaim it for the Third Cinema movement. One example of this is in the inventive use of dubbing, in which all of the film’s white characters, whether in the Philippines or Europe, are dubbed and made into comedic caricatures. One white person in the Philippines is turned into a bumbling, arrogant, imperialist, through the dubbing, whilst Kidlat’s French beneficiary is turned into a money obsessed businessman. Whilst it is fun to laugh at the dubbed characters, which makes the film an easier watch, the dubbing is also used to subvert the portrayal of Filipinos and other ‘Third World’ characters in Western film who are typically voiced and spoken for by white European/American directors. Instead, it’s the white characters that are spoken for in Perfumed Nightmare.
The film’s visual gags also serve a similar function. The shots of Kidlat filling up chewing gum dispensers in some ridiculous locations for his French beneficiary, whilst funny, also serves to make fun of capitalism. If chewing gum dispensers in cemeteries is the peak of Western progress, then capitalism and Western imperialism seems pointless. The humor is a welcome addition to an otherwise serious revolutionary genre. It makes the film easier to watch, but also backs up the central theme of Kidlat’s Charlie-Chaplin-esque journey chasing the American Dream; that life is better in the Philippines. Perfumed Nightmare mocks and rejects the progress of globalization, imperialism, capitalism, and everything the West stands for in favor of a celebration of Filipino life.
What to Watch Next
There’s a few places you can turn to next after watching Perfumed Nightmare. The most obvious place to go would be to watch more revolutionary films from the Third Cinema movement such as Ousmane Sembene’s Black Girl or Sarah Maldoror’s Sambizanga. You could also brush up on your European film history, which Kidlat Tahimik subverts in this film, by watching Breathless or Man with a Movie Camera. Obviously both of these film movements have plenty more examples than the four listed above, so please don’t limit your exploration to these four movies!
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