Cell Phones, Western Sahara, a Cow Named GPS
The Mauritanian director Abderrahmane Sissako's 2014 film Timbuktu deals with people of that city and its surroundings adjusting to life under occupation by the al-Qaeda-connected group Ansar Dine, which came into power there for a while in 2012. As fundamentalist Muslims practicing Sharia law, Ansar Dine (with its black and white flag so similar to that of ISIS) bans music, long trousers, exposed female faces, football. Their punishment of adultery is to bury the couple to their necks and then throw stones at their exposed heads.
The people of the city and surrounding countryside get on with their lives as best they can. Some women openly defy the automatic rifle-toting men--a fish seller, told to put on gloves refuses, saying they can cut off her hands if they want to, but she's not going to wear gloves while cleaning fish; it isn't practical.
They arrest her, but they never arrest a woman with a voodoo-like air who often mocks them and laughs at them. Coming across three of the occupiers killing time by discussing football players and the World Cup, she says, "Assholes," and walks away, with no consequences. Throughout the film she's left alone by authorities even though she's quite defiant of them, suggesting they're afraid of her.
Outside town, a musician, his wife, and daughter, who have turned to grazing goats and cows after fleeing from their homeland in the epic diaspora caused by the Global War on Terror, live on a hill in a tent. One of their cows goes astray and is speared to death by a fisherman who doesn't want the cattle disturbing the water. Kidane, the musician father, (Ibrahim Ahmed, a musician in life as well) goes to confront the fisherman. They fight, the gun Kidane has on him goes off, killing the fisherman. He has to go before Sharia judges. Ironically, this trial stems from a situation that might have happened even without the presence of Ansar Dine and its overbearing new relationship to life in ordinary society.
The fascinating technique used in this film consists of Sissako's frequent unexplained scenes, impressions of life in the city and surrounding desert environment. An image of a street with a motorcycle buzzing by; a group of boys playing forbidden football without a ball; an Ansar Dine leader taught by a teenaged boy how to drive. The film is filled with scenes that aren't connected in the usual Hollywood way, where the glue in some films holding the scenes together is so apparent that it can be smelled. Sissako is an impressionist; he indicates what's going on, but subtly. After a while, certain threads become more and more recognizable, the film, despite its overall quietness and gradual build of pacing, becomes increasingly understandable.
The film throughout has great beauty and emotional textures. It shows a part of the world (the film was shot in Mauritania) that Western audiences are likely not familiar with, and certainly don't spend much time thinking about. The scene featuring a teenaged Ansar Dine boy, with his automatic rifle, making a confessional video about how he gave up his previous life (he was into rap music--basically, he was just a regular kid) to get into jihad has a poignant quality as he stumbles overs his words, is directed by the camera operator, who takes over at one point and acts the part of the boy, showing him how to do it. Sissako doesn't make his characters into villains or heroes. All of them are human, thus, it's all the more powerful to witness a filmed set of situations that don't conform to black and white thinking patterns, the kind so easy for Westerners to slip into when thinking about other lands.
Vic Neptune
The Mauritanian director Abderrahmane Sissako's 2014 film Timbuktu deals with people of that city and its surroundings adjusting to life under occupation by the al-Qaeda-connected group Ansar Dine, which came into power there for a while in 2012. As fundamentalist Muslims practicing Sharia law, Ansar Dine (with its black and white flag so similar to that of ISIS) bans music, long trousers, exposed female faces, football. Their punishment of adultery is to bury the couple to their necks and then throw stones at their exposed heads.
The people of the city and surrounding countryside get on with their lives as best they can. Some women openly defy the automatic rifle-toting men--a fish seller, told to put on gloves refuses, saying they can cut off her hands if they want to, but she's not going to wear gloves while cleaning fish; it isn't practical.
They arrest her, but they never arrest a woman with a voodoo-like air who often mocks them and laughs at them. Coming across three of the occupiers killing time by discussing football players and the World Cup, she says, "Assholes," and walks away, with no consequences. Throughout the film she's left alone by authorities even though she's quite defiant of them, suggesting they're afraid of her.
Outside town, a musician, his wife, and daughter, who have turned to grazing goats and cows after fleeing from their homeland in the epic diaspora caused by the Global War on Terror, live on a hill in a tent. One of their cows goes astray and is speared to death by a fisherman who doesn't want the cattle disturbing the water. Kidane, the musician father, (Ibrahim Ahmed, a musician in life as well) goes to confront the fisherman. They fight, the gun Kidane has on him goes off, killing the fisherman. He has to go before Sharia judges. Ironically, this trial stems from a situation that might have happened even without the presence of Ansar Dine and its overbearing new relationship to life in ordinary society.
The fascinating technique used in this film consists of Sissako's frequent unexplained scenes, impressions of life in the city and surrounding desert environment. An image of a street with a motorcycle buzzing by; a group of boys playing forbidden football without a ball; an Ansar Dine leader taught by a teenaged boy how to drive. The film is filled with scenes that aren't connected in the usual Hollywood way, where the glue in some films holding the scenes together is so apparent that it can be smelled. Sissako is an impressionist; he indicates what's going on, but subtly. After a while, certain threads become more and more recognizable, the film, despite its overall quietness and gradual build of pacing, becomes increasingly understandable.
The film throughout has great beauty and emotional textures. It shows a part of the world (the film was shot in Mauritania) that Western audiences are likely not familiar with, and certainly don't spend much time thinking about. The scene featuring a teenaged Ansar Dine boy, with his automatic rifle, making a confessional video about how he gave up his previous life (he was into rap music--basically, he was just a regular kid) to get into jihad has a poignant quality as he stumbles overs his words, is directed by the camera operator, who takes over at one point and acts the part of the boy, showing him how to do it. Sissako doesn't make his characters into villains or heroes. All of them are human, thus, it's all the more powerful to witness a filmed set of situations that don't conform to black and white thinking patterns, the kind so easy for Westerners to slip into when thinking about other lands.
Vic Neptune
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