Film Atlas (Haiti): Moloch Tropical

Country: Haiti

Title: Moloch Tropical (2009)

Moloch Tropical follows 24 hours in the life of fictional Haitian dictator Jean de Dieu Theogene (unbeknownst to him, they will be his last as president), while he prepares for a sumptuous Independence Day celebration at his palatial mountain fortress. Jean’s day gets off to an ill-omened start when he steps on a shard of glass during his austere, lonely morning ritual, sustaining a minor injury that will leave him limping the rest of the film. American celebrities arrive (predictably commenting, with vacuous sympathy, that it’s “such a beautiful country, but so poor.”) though, one by one, ambassadors from various countries back out and send their regrets. Jean, incensed, perceives these cancellations, particularly from his white ex-allies, as personal snubs that undermine his political legitimacy. He fails to realize the full seriousness of his situation, discernible on the televisions and radios around him, namely that a popular uprising is underway in the capital.

Michaelle, who despite her stunning good-looks is clearly a lot more than the trophy wife Jean signed up for, has seen the writing on the wall. A former American lawyer, her high-ranking connections have hinted that Washington plans to drop Jean and advises them to evacuate immediately along with their children. Michaelle has long since become estranged from her husband (not to mention objecting to his politics), but fears his violent rages. Jean gets his sexual gratification from various maids, a habit which is clearly well established by this point in their lives. His latest prey is, at least, savvy enough to demand he pay. She’s saving the money in the hope of escaping the country with her boyfriend, a dopey saxophonist who is, likewise, pressured into a sexual liaison with a high-ranking cabinet member. 

Jean surrounds himself with a conspicuous majority of women (the only two males being his most fawning yes-men), including the sadistic ‘Mother Theresa,’ general of a bloodthirsty paramilitary horde. It’s perhaps all part of Jean’s revealing conflation of sexual and political authority, his meticulously built defenses against his own insecurities; his fears of disempowerment and emasculation, of receiving hatred instead of the love he demands, of rejection by his people and peers.

One grows to appreciate that Jean, beyond the crimes and compromises in which he only dimly recognizes his own responsibility, is also the victim of larger forces. He discusses his lapsed idealism, his disappointing term as president and his humiliation at being an American puppet with a recently captured and brutally tortured prisoner, a former comrade turned anti-regime radio host who, through pre-recorded broadcasts, is leading the revolution outside. Meanwhile Jean's mother, a peasant ignored by pretty much everyone, sits with the cynical kitchen staff and wonders what it all means. The next morning the CIA arrive and force Jean, who has stopped taking his medication and spent a surreal splenetic night scampering about his jungle castle in the nude, to sign a prepared resignation and pack up his family into exile. As he drives away he passes his maid hitchhiking and hears a single gunshot as his doggedly loyal bodyguard shoots himself.

Moloch Tropical is a big, bold, thoroughly brilliant ensemble film led by veteran actor Zinedine Soualem as Jean and Sonia Rolland as Michaelle, both of whom deserve to be better known. The same could be said for director Raoul Peck, who’s been making tough take-no-prisoners political films in both his native Haiti (The Man by the Shore) and his adopted home in the Congo (Lumumba), but getting more-or-less ignored by Western audiences and critics. With his earlier films I think I understood why they hadn’t caught on. They were maybe a bit too earnest, literal, topical and geographically specific to reach international appeal. But with Moloch Tropical he has made his best work: a multi-layered multiple-perspective and yet economical deconstruction of power, corruption and collapse. The number of characters he juggles is impressive, and even more so that each actor turns in an excellent performance, makes larger-than-life figures psychologically accessible and contributes something new to say on a spectrum of complicated topics.

And yet there is also time for quiet character moments, too, where Jean, clearly an intelligent man despite his many faults, struggles with his conscience, his emotions, his longings, his speeches, his state duties, his broken family, his slipping sanity. A favorite moment is when Jean looks over his parapets at a corpse, a former friend turned critic, and almost falls before being saved from himself by a bodyguard. We never know whether he is truly suicidal, temporarily emotionally overcome, or just off-balance from stress, lack of sleep and his injured foot. We never know quite what ratio of sorrow, regret and guilt plague him. There are only these sad glimmers, visible through his official facade, that even he would welcome assassination.

The title, in addition to its referencing the cruel Biblical monster-god of the Phoenicians, is also a nod to Russian director Alexander Sokurov’s totalitarian trilogy: Moloch, Taurus and The Sun about, respectively, Hitler, Lenin and Hirohito. Peck’s decision to extend this series to a Caribbean dictator (and Haiti has had its share, though the film’s most obvious targets are Jean-Bertrand Aristide and Jean-Claude Duvalier) is a stroke of both intertextual genius and an insightful, innovative way to modernize our understanding of authority, and those who wield it; abuse, and those who perpetrate it. 

Major Directors:

Raoul Peck

Film Atlas (Zimbabwe): The Legend of the Sky Kingdom

Country: Zimbabwe

Film: The Legend of the Sky Kingdom (2003)

In this visually distinctive stop-motion adventure, a trio of orphans team up with a pair of accented eccentrics to escape the underground gold mine where they're enslaved. After their first attempt fails they come across Telly, essentially a talking Bible, who helps guide them out of the city via an invisible bridge (a scene which introduces the gang to the film's central catchphrase: "Believing is seeing"). Once in the open air above ground, the group is aided by a variety of new friends: a teleporting bird, a forest full of kindly monkeys and a hooded man who supplies them with magical weapons and armor. They proceed to overcome a battery of obstacles and enemies, including a hungry crocodile, a smooth-talking chameleon, a sword-fighting baboon, a snobby professor and The Emperor of Evil himself. They triumph largely through their faith in the Sky King and his only son Ariel, eventually ascending to heaven in a chandelier spaceship.

The Legend of the Sky Kingdom is reminiscent of Veggie Tales, both of which are animated, targeted at kids and informed by an unambiguously Christian agenda. I've got extremely mixed feelings about children's movies that push specific religious beliefs (see my full length review and discussion from a few years back), but I'm unequivocal in my love for the film's artistic design. Director Roger Hawkin's didn't have much budget to work with, so he invented a technique he calls 'junkmation,' literally dumpster diving for the materials to make his characters and sets. His resourcefulness is staggering.

TV remote pirates!

You can't help noticing endless smile-inducing little details, which range from the cleverly practical to the creatively bizarre: arrow fletches made from origami playing cards, hyenas with alligator clip jaws, a spider villains made from an expandable tool kit with monkey wrench limbs. The latter's progressive shrinkage, due to his waning powers, is accomplished by switching in successively smaller caliber wrenches. And that's not even mentioning the more obvious set pieces, clearly labors of love: a baffling maze made of circuit boards, a tempting forest of candy wrappers, a beach umbrella island in an undulating plastic sheet sea and a desert whose cacti are melted toothbrushes.

The visual are sure to impress anyone, but the plot less so. By focusing on such an overwhelmingly metaphorical journey where each clearly defined chapter teaches a specific spiritual message, the story ends up feeling preachy and schematic. However the colorful characters, with their expressive if somewhat dodgy voice acting, makes it easy for kids to root for the plucky heroes.

The Legend of the Sky Kingdom, despite laying almost certain claim to being Africa's first stop-motion film, has never attracted much attention. At the time of this review it has only 25 votes on IMDB. I had to order the DVD from the makers when I first watched it in 2009, but nowadays you can stream it for $2 on Amazon (in the US), so if you're at all interested in the medium you should check it out. Similarly South Africa's little-seen claymation dramedy Tengers, aimed at a considerably more adult audience, is currently also available.

Film Atlas (United Arab Emirates): City of Life

Country: United Arab Emirates

Title: City of Life (2009)

City of Life is three interlocking stories that demonstrate the breadth of Dubai’s population. A Romanian flight attendant reluctantly accepts a modeling gig from a charming British advertising exec, but her newfound love and happiness is built on sand. Two Arabs, heirs of affluent, highly traditional families, squander their advantages on racing and brawling, but gradually awaken to a larger sense of responsibility. An ambitious taxi driver exploits his physical similarity to a Bollywood pop star to earn extra money, but can’t seem to make ends meet while his luck swings up and down. Opportunity is followed by disappointment and, for most, second chances. The carnival of cultures, careers and possibilities lends itself to dreams and, though these unravel sometimes catastrophically, other nights and other dreams are hot on their heels.

City of Life opens with one of its best sequences: a series of shots taken from the just off the wheel of a bike peddling into the heart of Dubai. It’s a collage of architectural styles, including no shortage of staggering monuments to the country’s ambition of turning an oil economy into a sustainable uber-capitalist business and tourism Mecca. It showcases the central attraction and distraction of City of Life, which is the feverish activity and numbing scale of its central character: the city itself. It's a sort of 21st century take on what yesterday's film, Man with a Movie Camera, sets out to do, but with a self-consciously commercial intent. 

In fact, City of Life sometimes feels like an advertisement, full of product placement and shamelessly tourist-friendly montages, but it’s thankfully never quite as shallow as its least-sympathetic characters. It’s a movie that, like its home, acknowledges its immaturity but doesn’t apologize for enjoying its youth. It relies on energy over introspection, missteps with some out-of-place fight scenes (why does everyone know martial arts?) and wallows in its thematic cycle of dreams-disillusionment-renewal but it’s also smart, sexy and full of life. It’s a film that's trying to seduce you and that can be exciting if you’re into it or creepy if you’re not.

Film Atlas (Thailand): Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior

Country: Thailand

Title: Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior (2003)

An unscrupulous drug dealer steals the head of Ong-Bak, a statue of Buddha, from a small temple in Pradu, and the only one who can save the day is Ting, a highly-principled but unworldly yokel who practices a regional martial arts called Muay Thai. He heads to the big city to track down the crooks and quickly teams up with fellow Pradu-émigré Humlae and his girlfriend Muay Lek, smalltime gambling hustlers who initially fleece Ting but reluctantly help him after getting chased by a gang through Bangkok’s bustling bazaars and back alleys. 

Humlae takes Ting to a freestyle fight club where he impresses the bosses (including handicapped kingpin Komtuan) by defeating a trilogy of competitors whose specialties are, in order: strength, speed and a willingness to use any objects in the room as a weapon (the latter pretty much destroying the facility). This somehow leads them to Don and his flunkies, who they chase in tuk-tuks (motorized rickshaws), leading to more destruction of property and ultimately exposing a hoard of stolen religious artifacts in an underwater fish farm. The mastermind, Komtuan, reveals that he still has the head of Ong-bak, and agrees to give it back if Ting fights Saming, his adrenaline-fueled right-hand man, and throws the fight. Afterwards he reneges and leaves behind a few of his least competent henchmen to execute Ting while he goes to unearth a giant Buddha from a nearby cave. Ting makes quick work of his goons and catches up with him in time for a final showdown supported by his new friends.

Ong-Bak made its star, Tony Jaa, an overnight sensation, launching his career as a major martial arts action star in the same league as Jackie Chan and Jet Li, at least in terms of combat versatility and acrobatics, if not charisma. What’s most exciting about the film, though, is simply seeing Muay Thai in action, a fighting style that hadn’t previously enjoyed international exposure. Its focus on elbows and knees over hands and feet and its sweeping leaping explosiveness make it visually distinct from other martial art forms even to untrained viewers. Director Prachya Pinkaew and fight choreographer Panna Rittikrai (Jaa’s mentor) are particularly good at finding fresh venues for Tony Jaa to kick ass in and inventive ways to push his abilities to extremes, be it flying through the air with his legs on fire or crashing a dozen tuk-tuks off a bridge. And the absence of CG or wires gives the film an air of old-school authenticity.

The film’s early foot chase is one of the highlights, managing to be wildly creative while playing its obvious contrivances for laughs: they dash past conveniently inconvenient obstacles like tables, vehicles, walls, fruit carts, glass panes and loops of razor wire while weaponing chili powder, sizzling woks and an array of cutlery. The fight club scene is also a standout, showcasing outrageously idiosyncratic tongue-in-cheek fight styles that harken back to the tournament-themed martial arts films of yore (Enter the Dragon, Master of the Flying Guillotine, etc.), though it also grinds the narrative to a halt without mustering much in the way of plausible excuse. 

Story, though, is just dressing in this type of film (besides which, in the US and Europe, several of the subplots were hacked up anyway and the Thai music replaced with generically serviceable hip-hop), but Ong-Bak will entertain nevertheless if you have even the slightest sweet tooth for action. After the opening sequence, a rather curious tree-climbing affair, and the typical exposition loll, Pinkaew wisely ramps up the pace and only lets you catch your breath during ‘instant replay’ style alternate takes of the best stunts. You rarely have enough time to consider whether Buddha would’ve really sanctioned all this skull-smashing over an icon of his likeness or why the police never show up or how come so few gangsters have guns.

In addition to a renaissance in action and horror films, the last two decades have seen Thailand establish several art house auteurs, particularly Pen-Ek Ratanaruang and Palme d’Or winner Apichatpong Weerasethakul. The latter makes radically-personal highbrow slow cinema critically ranked among the best of the 21^st century, but I have to admit to finding him a little too detached, ponderous and obscurant, so I’m taking a vacation from writing about Important Landmarks of Art Cinema (I think Tropical Malady is his best, if you're curious) and backing a bit of schlocky fun instead.

My Favorites:

Ploy

Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior

Tears of the Black Tiger

Tropical Malady

Last Life in the Universe

Major Directors:

Prachya Pinkaew, Pen-Ek Ratanaruang, Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Banjong Pisanthanakun and Parkpoom Wongpoom

Film Atlas (Tanzania): Maangamizi: The Ancient One

Country: Tanzania

Title: Maangamizi: The Ancient One (2001)

Dr. Asiri is an American-educated psychiatrist who returns to her homeland of Tanzania to work at a clinic run by Dr. Moshi. There she encounters resistance from the nursing staff, who resent her foreign manners, and the chauvinistic Dr. Moshi himself, who has little respect for the medical opinions of women. Fortunately Dr. Asiri has no trouble immersing herself in her work, particularly a strange semi-mute patient named Samehe who experiences visions. A nun claims she once made a pair of twins, who bullied her at an orphanage, disappear. Asiri soon discovers that Samehe suffered a great deal of trauma as a child, witnessing her mother being burned alive by her crazed preacher father. 

The doctor and patient bond, especially after the unlikely revelation that two are related, but they clash over how to approach the recovery process. Asiri favors psychiatric techniques including confronting childhood memories and hypnosis while Samehe prefers to follow the spirit guide of her shaman grandmother, Maangamizi, into the afterlife where she seeks to forgive and be forgiven by her guilt-stricken father and wrathfully bitter mother. As Samahe improves, she realizes that Asiri, who has repressed memories of her grandmother’s lynching, is in need of help herself, and the pair enter into a process of mutual healing and self-discovery.

I went into Maangamizi with some trepidation, worrying that it would be about rejecting modern medicine in favor of more ‘natural’ folk remedies, a theme I particularly dislike. But Maangamizi’s focus on psychological and spiritual issues and its generous attitude towards both Western and African approaches to mental health, implicitly acknowledging the advantages and limitations of both, felt sensibly holistic even if never quite convincingly realistic. I particularly liked that in Samehe’s trips to the afterlife, her father, who held Christian beliefs, finds himself trapped in a Christian hell, while her mother, who held pagan beliefs, finds herself as a sort of goddess-guardian over Africa’s ancient magical ruins. These visits, while furthering the films themes of forgiveness and closure, are also some of the most visually effective, not to mention disturbing, including Samehe gifting eyes to her blind father and rejecting the pessimism of her severely burned mother.

A little less successful is the film’s other noble theme, tied to Asiri, of taking pride in her identity as an African woman, in part because the doctor is neither as interesting or as developed as her patient and in part due to the theatrical stiffness of her monologues. Despite this, the performances actually hold up quite well in the face of Maangamizi’s difficult roles and sensitive topics. I was left wanting more, curious to know what happens to the characters after the curtain fell, and while that is, perhaps, evidence the screenplay could have done more, it's also a sign that the directors knew not to wear out their welcome and that I had become emotionally invested despite my initial reluctance.

Film Atlas (South Africa): District 9

Country: South Africa

Title: District 9 (2009)

Starting out in faux-documentary format, District 9 catches the viewer up on some alternate history: In 1982 a giant disc-shaped spaceship appeared above Johannesburg, South Africa. After it fails to pose any particular threat, a team of investigators was sent up to cut their way in. What they found were thousands of alien refugees confined in miserable conditions. With the eyes of the world turned upon them, the South African government along with MNU (Multinational United, a private security contractor) undertook to house and feed this unexpected population (pejoratively labeled Prawns, due to their crustacean-like appearance), establishing them in a settlement called District 9. Surrounded by barbwire and regulated by military forces, its quickly became a crime-ridden slum with a thriving black market; the principle trade being alien weapons (which are keyed to operate only with prawn DNA) in exchange for cat food (which the Prawns respond to as both an essential nutrient and addictive drug).

Our ‘hero’ is Wikus van de Merwe (Sharlto Copley), a blundering minor functionary at MNU who is put in charge of a politically popular but human rights-violating plan to evict the denizens of District 9 and relocate them some 200 kilometers away from the city. Though he’s actually quite an expert on the Prawns, speaking their language fluently and showing a familiar knowledge of their habits and conditions learned from attending frequent weapon raids, he owes his position solely to his father-in-law, the ruthless chief executive of the company. It goes without saying that the aforementioned executive thinks his daughter could do a lot, lot better. Wikus treats the Prawns with the casual condescension of the well-informed anthropologist, but he’s still a far cry more sensitive than the trigger-happy security forces. While serving eviction notices, Wikus is accidentally exposed to an alien liquid being collected by Christopher Johnson (a Prawn attempting to repair the spaceship’s command module so his people can return home) and begins mutating into a Prawn himself. The MNU, whose real goal is to find a way to make the Prawn weapons human-usable, immediately understands the genetic potential of this hybrid and kidnaps Wikus. After his father-in-law heartlessly signs his death warrant, Wikus breaks free and goes on the lam in the one place he can safely hide: District 9. There he teams up with Christopher Johnson and his son, experiencing the cruel extent of the Prawns’ predicament firsthand while hatching a scheme to save them and, hopefully, himself.

District 9 is foremost a masterpiece of world-building, the art of creating a convincing alternate universe with a sense of the interrelated complexities of a fully developed history, culture and economy while giving the impression that it extends beyond the frame of the narrative. The film is clearly a labor of love, full of easy-to-miss details and ably supplemented by a wealth of special effects that didn’t cost the fortune one would assume (the film’s $30 million budget is huge, but not for this level of production value). Every element of the art direction shows care, commitment and inspiration: the biology of the Prawns and the fluidity of their insectoid movements, the ogle-worthy weapon, vehicle and technology design, and the gutsy use of actual Johannesburg locations teeming with makeshift hovels cobbled from corrugated sheet metal and repurposed timber and doctored up with just the right amalgam of salvaged junk and extraterrestrial garbage (they paid an enormous amount of attention just to the trash!). The arc of the story and Wikus’s central role are both satisfying, but director Neill Blomkamp’s talent and originality tends to shine brightest in the fine-grain minutia and the large scale vision, while in the human/prawn-sized zone in between there are a few characters (especially the villains) who suffer from one-dimensionality or simply disappear from the plot.

2009 was a banner year for science-fiction, including surprises like District 9, Mr. Nobody, Moon, The Watchmen, Splice and The Road in addition to popular hits like the Star Trek reboot, The Time Traveler’s Wife and Avatar, the latter of which became the highest-grossing film of all time (as of 2014). But one of things that made District 9 standout is its thematic relevance and allegorical heft, tackling in an unforced and yet decidedly direct manner topics like refugee resettlement, racism, apartheid, modern-day mercenaries (I mean, ahem, “private security contractors“), human rights abuses, slumifcation, immigration reform, stateless nations, cultural-linguistic divides, covert weapons programs and multinational corporations operating above the law. District 9 is distinctly 21^st century in its concerns, returning sci-fi to the arena of contemporary discourse by thinking beyond the oft rehashed first-contact scenarios that emerged in the 19^th and early 20^th century (alien encounters as a metaphor for fascism and imperialism), the Cold War (hive minds, brainwashing and the threat of apocalypse) and late 20^th century (technological enslavement, environmental depletion, etc.). Consider, by comparison, the way that Avatar makes rather graceless stabs at topicality, broadly gesturing towards the Iraq War, while essentially presenting a feel-good revisionist history of Europe’s clash with Native Americans.

My Favorites:

District 9

Tengers

U-Carmen eKhayelitsha

The Gods Must Be Crazy

Yesterday

Major Directors:

Neill Blomkamp, Darrell Roodt

Film Atlas (Paraguay): Paraguayan Hammock

Country: Paraguay

Title: Paraguayan Hammock / Hamaca Paraguaya (2006)

Paraguayan Hammock consists of only about a dozen static camera positions in which we see the daily life of Ramon and Candida, an elderly Paraguayan couple who live in quiet isolation farming in the jungle. The film opens with a 15 minute shot of Ramon and Candida setting up and sitting in their hammock at dawn. Thunder grumbles in the distance. They complain about the heat and the incessant barking of their son’s dog.  We slowly trace the source of the tired melancholy that hangs in the heavy pre-storm air: their son has left to fight the war against Bolivia.

The war ended a couple days earlier. Their son has not returned. Ramon and Candida both know from separate encounters that their son is almost certainly dead, but neither tells the other. The camera keeps us at a distance that prevents us reading their expressions. Our only hints about their monumental struggle to cope come from dialogues that play over each scene, not necessarily synchronized with what we are seeing; several are heard while we watch Ramon or Candida working alone and in silence. We overhear audio-only flashbacks, perhaps memories or even just thought conversations. The film ends on another 15 minute shot of the hammock, this time at dusk, as Ramon and Candida implicitly make the decision to go on living, content with only each other’s company. In the heartbreaking final moments of darkness, we hear the rain begin to pour.

Minimalism is one of the hardest things there is to do well. 98% of the time I think it comes off as lazy and, more importantly, uninspiring. To make it work you have to take something simple, small or brief and reveal within it something evocative, profound or unexpected. This can often times mean more work, more thought, more discipline and discernment than classical art and on top of that you also need a touch of alchemical magic. And even then it probably isn’t going to work for everyone. I think Paz Encina’s experimental Paraguayan Hammock is one of those rare works that does what minimalism should do. A handful of long takes over the course of a single day and a sampling of conversations tells us everything we need to know about this family: who they are, how they live and what they are going through. The soundscape of thunder, barking, labor and voices cycles with careful precision, allowing us to enter into a rhythm that has been playing long before the camera started rolling and will continue long after it fades to black. Though Encina’s images are crafted with an exquisite grace and a keen eye for natural lighting, the mood is largely an aural creation and it mounts to an emotional crescendo that is superbly capped off by the breaking of the storm. It doesn’t come naturally for me to adjust myself to the pacing of Latin American peasant farmers, and I admit to moments of impatience, but the cumulative result is rewardingly moving.

My Favorites:

7 Boxes
Paraguayan Hammock

Film Atlas (Palestine): Paradise Now

Country: Palestine

Title: Paradise Now (2005)

Said and Khaled are best friends living within the Palestinian territories, working as auto mechanics. They are literally and figuratively spinning their wheels. Said’s malaise temporarily lifts while bantering with Suha, an attractive customer visiting from France. But before this relationship has time to bear fruit, Said and Khaled are informed by their local PLO cell that their applications for a suicide bombing mission have been accepted. This has been a long time dream much meditated by the two young men, especially Said, who wishes to redeem a traitorous act by his father. But while spending a last night at home Said sneaks out to visit Suha, and although wavering, can’t bring himself to tell her the truth.

The next day they shave, don suits, film short propaganda videos glorifying their ‘eminent martyrdom’ and are driven to a checkpoint where they will cross into Tel Aviv. But the plan goes awry; the two become separated and are unable to reach their target. Said considers blowing himself up on a bus, but balks at the sight of a child. Khaled returns to his infuriated handlers and promises to find Said before the situation deteriorates further. While scrambling about Nablus searching for his friend, Khaled meets Suha, who reasons him out of his plan. Said, on the other hand, bounces back from his crisis of conscience with ever greater resolve and agrees to a second mission. The film ends with Said riding a bus full of Israeli soldiers, moments before an unseen, unheard explosion.

The early 21^st century saw a number of films attempting to humanize terrorists, religious fundamentalist or radical dissidents, but few had the psychological acumen and tonal grace of Paradise Now, without compromising the political implications of what remains an incredibly hot button issue. I figure that if at least a few people on both sides don’t accuse you of condoning atrocities or sympathizing with monsters than you’ve probably failed, but Paradise Now manages to successfully walk the fine line where it generously offends both sides. But it's never flippant. It's actually quite studious and well-considered; full of small character touches and dispassionate procedural details. Paradise Now gets under your skin, but treads carefully enough to avoid triggering knee-jerk responses, instead offering up characters with complicated motivations and opinions along with insight into the historical, environmental and psychological factors that inform their decisions.

Director Hany Abu-Assad, recently Oscar-nominated again for his new film Omar, is sensitive enough to sustain the dramatic impetus throughout the film, without feeling like he’s making a thriller. He’s helped by Kais Nashef and Ali Suliman who give brave, convincing performances, while Lubna Azabal, as Suha, far from functioning purely as romantic bait, sinks her teeth into the task of arguing common sense. What I like best is the contrast between Said and Khaled’s capacity to think and feel (their vulnerability in more than one sense) with their militant organization’s perfunctory and routine preparation rituals, nigh-wordlessly encapsulating the film’s thematic interest in the overlap between and limitations of individual choice and political agendas.

My Favorites:

Paradise Now

Divine Intervention

Major Directors:
Hany Abu-Assad, Elia Suleiman

Film Atlas (Pakistan): Silent Waters

Country: Pakistan

Title: Silent Waters / Khamosh Pani (2003)

Ayesha and Saleem are mother and son living in Pakistan around 1979. Ayesha teaches compassionate interpretations of the Koran to local children and has a curious habit of avoiding the village well. Her son is a good-natured and relatively normal teen of middling prospects who’s in love with Zubeida, a progressive woman with career aspirations. Their lives change after the execution of prime minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto by hardline Islamic fundamentalist General Zia-ul-Haq who seized power in a military coup two years earlier. An increasing level of nationalist and religious fervor sweeps in, led by two ultraconservative strangers who preach intolerance and jihad. The predominantly apolitical villagers fight back with passive resistance and humor but many are bullied into line as the prevailing wind becomes clear. Saleem, searching for identity and meaning in his life, is drawn under their influence, eventually rebuffing Zubeida and his own mother after revelations about her affiliation with visiting Sikh pilgrims.

This debut film by Sabiha Sumar starts off as a pleasant formula-abiding romance, but soon becomes a great deal more interesting as it jettisons the love story in favor of confronting the issues, many still unresolved, that rocked Pakistan during its 1970s return to military rule. In particular, Sumar’s mature and delicate handling of the friction between local village life and national politics, moderate and extremist interpretations of Islam and Muslim and Sikh communities brings out the complexities and tensions of a difficult period, already burdened by a history of violence, oppression and reprisals and the still-bitter memories of the partitioning of India and Pakistan along religious lines and its consequent legacy of displacement and conflict. 

Saleem in particular makes an excellent avatar of the era’s confusion and frustration mixed with the universal experiences of teenage angst and direction-hunting. His gradual ‘awakening’ as he finds pride, purpose, friends and excitement is one of the more convincing portrayals of radicalization that I’ve seen. Credit goes to Sumar for seeing this trajectory through without resorting to redemptive or tragic clichés. The mother’s arc, an equally interesting navigation of identity issues, repressed memory and the struggle of Pakistani women, gets a somewhat less nuanced treatment and is cut short by a fate a bit too laced with irony. I also wished Silent Waters could have packed more visual punch despite its modest budget, but it’s emotional and thematic heft are invigorating, especially coming out of Pakistan’s typically light musical-romance-driven popular cinema.