Sunday, July 28, 2024

Bodies, Bodies, Bodies

 Very little can be written about Bodies, Bodies, Bodies  (Halina Reijn) without compromising the film's ingenious plot.  The modest pleasure afforded by this 2022 picture is circumscribed by its clever narration.  If you were to see the movie a second time, that is with a full understanding of its story-line and ending, I would  guess that the picture would vanish from sight.  Although it's stylishly made and persuasively acted, there's no there there except for the movie's reversal of expectations.  We  come to a genre picture of this kind with certain quasi-contractual understandings:  we should be able to identify the "last girl" in a slasher picture (of which Bodies, Bodies, Bodies is a variant); we have a sense for the order in which the miscreants and victims will be butchered; we have a general idea of how the movie will end.  Bodies, Bodies, Bodies defies all of these conventions and ends up being, on its own modest terms, a satire on the self-absorbed creatures of Gen Z, that is, a kind of morality play.

A handsome interracial lesbian couple (the picture presses all buttons) attends a house-party at a huge mansion somewhere in the mountains.  The parents are away and the 20 somethings have come to play -- the film implies that they intend to use massive amounts of drugs and engage in haphazard sexual encounters.  Everyone is very cute, snarky, and nasty (with the exception of a single mousy girl who is a Russian immigrant.)  Immediately, the viewer registers the protagonists as vicious, backbiting, and immoral.  The audience could take their immorality and self-indulgence as the nihilistic context for the murders that are about to follow -- but this is also a mistake.  Ultimately, the movie is making a point about its shallow and banal protagonists.  

After some preliminary misdirection, the kids agree to play a game in which murders are simulated and the participants have to guess the play-perpetrator.  Needless to say this doesn't go well.  And I forgot to mention that the action takes place in a hurricane after the power in the house has failed.  (Cell-phones in this sort of movie are like six-guns in old B-movie Westerns -- they have magical powers, don't need charging, can operate underwater, and, of course, reliably fail when necessary.  They have no realistic meaning but are purely instruments for narrative development.)   The movie is modestly violent, but not offensively so.  It has some funny scenes:  for instance, the girls bitch at each other about being "triggered" and having "borderline", using the shallowest and most self-aggrandizing jargon while a couple of gory corpses are underfoot.  The picture is pretty good and, if you have a couple hours to waste, recommended.  

Saturday, July 27, 2024

The Masque of Red Death

 It's fearfully boring waiting out the plague in a castle sealed off from the rest of the world.  (Cf. Boccaccio's Decameron).  Prince Prospero, a merry sadist played by Vincent Price, tries to keep the crew of libertines confined in the place amused with costume balls, child molesting, gladiatorial fights, and tortures of various kinds.  At one ball, he orders the dissolute lords and ladies to imitate animals to which they are kin -- a prince roots around on the floor like a pig, another courtiers imitates a writhing worm, and a woman playing the part of a jackass brays as another reveler rides on her back.  It's all good fun and Prospero orders his party-goers around with sinister zest.  In fact, he plays the part of a director, calculating effects, and devising the sinister mise-en-scene in his palatial halls and labyrinthine dungeons and torture chambers.  It certainly seems as if the director of the 1964 Masque of the Red Death, Roger Corman, has made Prospero in his own likeness and the movie, it seems, enacts some aspects of film-making.  It would be hard to imagine a picture more radically different from Corman's early American International cheapies such as Bucket of Blood and Little Shop of Horrors. The Masque of the Red Death is visually opulent and very brightly lit -- Corman, a thrifty filmmaker, wants his audience to luxuriate in every penny spent on costumes and decor and, of course, you can't achieve this effect without making sure your audience sees what the budget has purchased; the money has to be on the screen,  The movie, ostensibly an adaptation of Poe's story (with "Hop Frog" thrown in a for a good measure), has an elaborate, verbose script involving philosophical and religious issues:  if God had been killed by men, who will take His place?  Prospero is a Satan-worshipper and chews the scenery with harangues about evil and the paradise of Hell and, ultimately, that each man makes his own religion and serves the god that he has created.  This is all sophomoric stuff, but delivered by Vincent Price with robust and velvety gusto.  

Prospero tooling around in a flimsy-looking carriage (it looks like a tent on wheels) almost runs over a baby.  A bold young man saves the infant thereby enraging Prospero.  The evil prince is also intrigued by a comely peasant girl with bright red hair.  Exercising his droit du seigneur, he kidnaps the girl and, after threatening to garrot her boyfriend and father, takes them prisoner.  (Prospero is hoping to rape the girl and, then, make her choose which will die -- boyfriend or father; it's all in a day's work for a cruel villain.)  At the castle, Prospero gives the girl a bath -- Corman specializes in this sort of lurid scene -- and makes the young woman, Francesca, remove her crucifix.  A sort of love triangle ensues:  it seems that Prospero has another squeeze, Juliana, and has been initiating her into Satanism.  Juliana immediately perceives that Francesca is a threat to her and redoubles her efforts to  impress Prospero with her pious devotion to the Devil -- in fact, she goes so far as to brand her own breast with a hot iron shaped like an inverted cross to demonstrate her devotion.  The plague continues to rage in the countryside.  A fat lord and his lady beg for entrance to the castle.  The lord offers his wife to Prospero as a bride but the villain has already enjoyed the woman and, so, just fires a cross-bow dart into the man's chest, cavalierly tossing the woman a dagger so that she can kill herself.  Later the six surviving peasants from the village where the story began show up, carting some bloody victims of the red death around with them.  They meet the same fate as the fat lord.  In the castle, the libertines dance and feast.  Prospero's henchmen try to get Francesca's boyfriend, Gino, to duel to the death with the girl's father -- the two men refuse.  A toylike child dancer prances around in front of the assembled libertines with her protector a dwarf.  One of the lords among the dissolute crew in the castle, Alfredo, desires the child and licks his lips lustfully -- the film is surprisingly candid in showing the risk of sexual molestation to the child.  This offends the dwarf, who like Rigoletto, plots a horrible revenge on Alfredo; the dwarf is called "Hop Toad" for some reason -- Poe's similarly bloody-minded dwarf jester was called "Hop Frog."  Juliana continues her devil worship catechism and advances in her devotions to the point that she swallows some scary-looking red fluid in a goblet and has an elaborate hallucination -- in green vapor, she's repeatedly raped by leering demons who penetrate her various kinds of swords and scimitars; distorting lenses are used in this sequence and the demons as well as the women's  face appear as grotesque images in a fun-house mirror.  Prospero makes preparations for the climactic masque.  After some more depravity, the masquers assemble like a ballet corps for the last waltz.  Francesca's father has been killed by Prospero in a macabre game with poisoned daggers.  Francesca has decided to give herself to the silky and degenerate Prospero, a fate that she seems to be not at all that adverse to -- there's a sense that she enjoys Prospero's depravity more than the straight-arrow appeal of Gino.  Prospero has given orders that no one should wear red to his soiree.  Alfredo appears in the garb of a  gorilla and ends up burnt alive by Hop Toad.  Then, a figure in a red cloak appears and the film whirls toward it's delirious denouement -- lots of ballet with figures oozing gore encircling the doomed Prospero as they expire.  (It's a like a Las Vegas floor show in Hell.)  (Spoiler-alert:  the eerie masked figure in red who embodies the Red Death is revealed to be Prospero's doppelgaenger, thereby proving his assertion that each man makes his own God.)  Accordingly, Corman ends with a three-term equation:  Prospero the Satanist = Death by the Plague = the master of ceremonies, that is, Roger Corman as director of these festivities.  The film is blasphemous in that God is nowhere to be seen and, certainly, doesn't intervene on anyone's behalf.  In the final sequence, seven hooded figures, each of them color-coded according to the chambers in Prospero's palace (yellow, purple, white, and black with a red stained glass window) march about the ravaged, autumnal countryside (it's all studio with fog-machines) -- each of them announces that he has summoned "a hundred thousand" to his realm.  Curiously, this American International exploitation picture ends up with an elaborate ballet and, then, wintry images of hooded specters among blasted trees, imagery that looks akin to Bergman's The Seventh Seal.  Death is on the march.  

The movie is shot in delirious technicolor in wide-screen cinemascope.  It's rather sedate in some respects, although, of course, the subject matter is lurid.  The picture is insanely overlit and bright to the point that a night-time scene in the castle is shot as if in broad daylight -- this is inexplicable from a narrative perspective.  The obligatory Saw-style tour of the torture chambers also occurs in bright light.  (The spectacular pageant-like camera work is by Nicholas Roeg, later a noteworthy director in his own right -- the picture, which also features the leering Patrick Magee (he was in Clockwork Orange as the poor bastard crippled by Alex and his droogs), seems to have been shot in the U.K. and the movie has some of the brilliant, colorful imagery of Hammer horror films made in the era.  I prefer the earlier, less artsy, Corman -- although there's no question that The Masque of the Red Death is entertaining and impressively produced.  And the picture has some inexplicable elements:  why does the toy-like six year old dancer (credited as "tiny dancer") speak with the dubbed voice of an full-grown Italian harlot?

Friday, July 26, 2024

A Bucket of Blood

 Roger Corman's 1959 A Bucket of Blood is a delicious entertainment, sharply scripted and thought-provoking -- indeed, far better than it has any right to be.  Conspicuously low budget, the picture demonstrates Corman's characteristic opportunism and insouciance -- the picture is rip-off of House of Wax (corpses of murder victims encased in wax) filtered through jazzy exploitation of the beatnik milieuBucket of Blood's beauty is that Corman never winks at the audience; the exploitation isn't colored by irony -- the freak show aspects of the beatnik scene are played straight.  A good example is an earnest, clean-cut folk singer (he looks like Tommy Smothers or one of the Kingston Trio); the handsome young man with a crew-cut strums a guitar and sings a murder ballad that comments on the film's macabre action; he stares straight at the audience (and camera) and there is nothing campy or parodistic about the song or its repeated refrain:  "Go down, you murderer, go down!"  Corman seems to be reporting on a phenomenon that he thinks will intrigue the rural, down-market audiences at drive-ins where his pictures were shown and he has a sort of crazy integrity in presenting this colorful stuff to them.  His aesthetic is to show the audience what it wants to see, but without seeming to patronize people who have bought tickets to his movies.  

In an offbeat and grotesque manner A Bucket of Blood stages a thesis about modern art and the communities that consume this product.  In a beatnik coffee house called The Yellow Door, a crowd of "angel-headed hipsters" have gathered to listen to a hirsute bard recite a poem to the accompaniment of a mournful solo saxophone.  The bard (his name is Maxwell) announces that the artist and creator is the engine for all that is good and meaningful in society:  "What is not creation," he declaims, "is graham crackers doomed to crumble into oblivion... If you're not an artist, you are nothing!"  These words are part of a rhapsodic effusion involving hobos and bums and all sorts of picturesque imagery -- something that sounds more than a little like a slightly gentrified version of Ginsberg's Howl.

A schlemiel named Walter is working as a bus-boy at the coffee house.  He is universally derided by the customers and bullied by the boss, Mr. De Santis and the rest of the cool cats in attendance.  Walter Paisly looks like James Dean but with a terrible posture signifying that he is, more or less, literally downtrodden.  He has a handsome profile, but his features are a parody of fifties' stars like Tab Hunter, a poor man's caricature of a movie star.  Poor Walter takes the poet's dithyrambs seriously and retreating to his filthy apartment unwraps a big block of modeling clay and tries to make a figure.  He doesn't succeed, muttering "Be a nose!  Be a nose!" at the intransigent clay.  The landlady's cat has somehow become trapped in a wall (Corman, a great adaptor of Edgar Alan Poe in later movies, here borrows from "The Black Cat").  When he tries to extract the cat from between the wallboards, he drives a knife into the beast, killing it.  To conceal his misdeed, Walter coats the dead cat with clay and brings it to the coffee house the next day, the fatal knife still embedded in the grey figurine.  The beatniks and avant garde artists are enthralled by the so-called sculpture.  Walter, who seems completely naive, doesn't really hide the fact that the sculpture involves a real dead cat.  Indeed, he has taken to heart the poet's declaration that art is paramount over all other values and, therefore, has logically concluded that if a sculpture requires killing or, even, murder this is permissible.  Of course, one thing leads to another.  When a girl named Naolia slips some heroin into his pocket, Walter is confronted by a Narc.  When the cop pulls a gun, Walter panics and accidentally kills the man by splitting his skull open with a frying pan and, then, as the corpse's blood drips into the titular bucket, covers the cadaver with clay.  This new "art work" is greeted with even greater acclaim and Walter is proclaimed the king of the hipsters at the Yellow Door.  His work is proclaimed as return to figurative realism -- Walter doesn't really bother to hide his modus operandi but no one is willing to accept the reality about these sculptures. He commits a few more murders and, then, has a show at the Yellow Door -- the sleazy boss, Mr. De Santis, has been marketing Walter's creations, throwing a few bucks to him from the big commissions paid by equally corrupt dealers.  The poet recites an ode to him, stentoriously chanting that "Walter Paisley is born" as a a new artistic talent.  Walter decides to immortalize a young woman that he desires by transforming her into art.  He chases her in a desultory way through what looks like the back alleys of Venice Beach in LA.  The girl gets away and Walter commits suicide -- the film's ending is abrupt and unsatisfying; it's as if Corman and his screenwriter just ran out of money (or good ideas) and film's climax is perfunctory.  

The picture is very well-made with plausibly loathsome and pretentious bohemians cluttering up The Yellow Door and lots of au courant jargon involving smack and jazz and the like -- when Walter is proclaimed King of the hipsters and enthroned, he has a scepter that he calls his "Zen stick."  The film traffics in a number of interesting ideas.  First, there is the logic of fame -- with each "creation," Walter has to up the ante, the stakes keep increasing and his works have to become more and more grotesque and disturbing, "otherwise," the protagonist says, "I'll just be a bus boy again."  In Martin Scorsese's great picture, After Hours, two thieves are debating what art works they should steal from someone's apartment -- "how do you know it's good," one of the crooks (it's either Cheech or Chong) asks.  His companion replies, "the uglier it is, the better."  After Hours, which alludes to Bucket of Blood, is notable for a scene in which the film's hero is encased in plaster-of-Paris, entrapped in a sort of George Segal statue of himself.  Bucket of Blood anticipates the entire morbid esthetic of artists like Damien Hirst,, that is, embalmed sharks in plastic vitrines, bisected sheep and the like. One of the film's pretentious hipsters raves that the life-size figure of the cop with his head cleft in half exemplifies "the anguish of modern life."  A beatnik chick proclaims that "I went to Big Sur to look for Henry Miller" (who happened to be in Europe at the time.)  Walter's apartment looks like a Kienholz installation; it's dingy beyond belief, the color of baby shit and mold, and has a mirror all fogged with the dust from time immemorial.  On the wall of The Yellow Door, there are big pictures that look like engravings by Ben Shahn and jolts of abstract expressionism.  The decor is splendid, the dialogue witty, and the action gripping until the movie just runs out of steam at the one hour mark. But up to that point, it is, to use the lingo in the movie, "a gas."    

Monday, July 22, 2024

Film group note on Ousmane Sembene's Emitai

 Emitai




Emitai is the thunder god in the pantheon of Diola deities.  He signifies the power of the storm and, therefore, change and revolution.  In Ousmane Sembene’s Emitai, the 1971 film named after this god, a clap of thunders resurrects a dead man; the ensuing storm involving the resistance of Diola villagers to the French colonialist regime in 1944 prefigures the later struggle from which the modern nation of Senegal would be born.  


World War II in Senegal was a catalyst for political change.  Sembene, drafted to serve as an infantryman in the French army, later wrote that his wartime experiences showed him that the French colonial administrators were not demi-gods but fallible humans, prone to fear and homesickness just like their African recruits.  Seeing Frenchmen panicked in combat or vulnerable in other ways taught Sembene that the colonial regime could be toppled.  




Emitai is set in a Diola village near the southern border of Senegal, likely in the Ziguinchor region of Casamance province.  This is an area in which the ethnic groups, the Diola (Jola) and their closely allied Serer people, are dominant.  Ousmane Sembene was born in this area in a coastal village where his father worked as a fisherman.  Sembene’s father was a Wolof-speaking Lebu (a tribal group that specialized in fishing off the Atlantic coast), but his mother was Serer.  The Serer are closely related to the Diola people shown in the film – the Serer and Diola have what is called by anthropologists “a joking relationship”.  So-called “joking relationships” are very common in Mali (Senegal’s neighbor to the East) and West Africa in general.  In such a relationship, groups tease one another, engage in ritualized banter and exchange of insults but are not permitted to take offense.  (The model for these relationships between ethnic groups is the way West African men are supposed to interact with their mothers-in-law – they release tension and express conflict by vulgar joking.)  As a consequence of his upbringing, Sembene regarded the Diola with great affection but, also, considered them somewhat backward, dim-witted, as country bumpkins in other words.  This attitude is on display in Emitai, particularly in the way that Sembene portrays the rather feckless village elders and the settlement’s hapless warriors.  We are familiar with variants of “joking relationships” in our society – consider Ole and Lena jokes, jests involving ignorant Iowegians as well as jokes about Polacks.  As a boy, Sembene was  initiated into certain Serer tribal rituals and, therefore, had connections with Diola villagers of the kind shown in the movie.


The Diola were primarily animist (fetish worshipers) until urbanization attracted many of them to Dakar, emptying out the little villages of the kind that we see in the movie.  Prior to their diaspora, the Diola dwelled in small independent villages, controlled by village elders (some of whom were women).  They practiced “wet rice” agriculture, that is, growing rice in impounded “paddies” or pools.  This sort of agriculture is very labor-intensive and requires much manipulation of terraces, river-front terrain, and impounded water.  Rice cultivation was primarily women’s work; hence, the saying in the movie that “rice is a (Diola) woman’s wealth.”  An aspect of Emitai that is not immediately apparent to Westerners is that the Diola regard rice as the property of their gods.  (Thus, the film’s title: the French levy imposed on rice, therefore, has a sacrilegious aspect – the French require the Diola to pay tribute out of stores of rice that are commended to the gods and, theoretically, under their control.)  The Diola were not polygamous and didn’t practice female genital mutilation.  However, these customs are now more common among Diola people who have left their villages to live in urban centers such as Dakar. (The Diola language is called Fogun; Fogun is one of the six tribal languages spoken in Senega.)   


Islamic missionary work among the Diola was conducted primarily by the Mandinka people, residents of the Gambia river basin. In Mandinka, the Diola are called the Jola, a cognate word that means “payback”.  The Mandinka believed the Diola (Jola) were particularly inclined to “pay back” wrongs inflicted upon them by tit-for-tat violence, although equally characterized by repaying favors and kindnesses with reciprocal acts of friendliness. 


The geography of Senegal is peculiar.  The country surrounds a former British colony (called The Gambia) along the lower reaches of the Gambia River.  This country is only 31 miles wide at its broadest point and runs for several hundred miles on both sides of the river to its outlet in the Atlantic Ocean (where The Gambia boasts 50 miles of coastline.)  The Gambia is mostly Mandinka and officially English-speaking.  South of The Gambia is the Senegal province of Casamance (and its western administrative region Ziguinchor where Sembene was born and where the action of the film takes place.)


Sembene uses the kajandu, a tool used in rice cultivation, as a metonym for the Diola villagers.  We see kajandu, for instance, stacked around a tree in the village; the first conscript kidnaped in the movie is carrying a kajandu when he is snatched off the road.  The kajandu is a type of fulcrum shovel attached to a stave four to ten feet long.  The shovel’s working end is sort of paddle edged with iron on both sides.  The shovel is used for stirring rice paddies and excavating shallow trenches for water impoundment.  The worker uses the shovel by resting it over the knee and prying clods of earth up out of the ground.  




Marshal Petain (1856 - 1951) was the President of Vichy France, the French regime that collaborated wtih the Nazis during World War II.  The conscripts in the film, claimed to be “volunteers”, are pressganged to fight for the Vichy regime in France.  


Petain was the commander of the French army during World War I and the architect of the attritional cataclysm at Verdun.  After the War, he was regarded as a military hero, the man who had, albeit at great cost, saved France.  During the inter-war years, Petain was an influential politician.  (He had some experience with Africa, commanding French troops during the so-called Rif War against the Berbers in the mid-twenties.)  


German armies invaded France in 1940 and the fighting was over in June of that year, the French government capitulating to the Nazi forces and entering into an armistice with them.  In July 1940, the German installed Petain as Prime Minister of occupied France.  Petain was a willing and enthusiastic collaborator – he signed anti-Semitic decrees and persecuted resistance fighters.  In late 1944, Vichy France collapsed and Petain moved the collaborationist government into exile in Sigmaringen in southern Germany.  (You can read about the Sigmaringen enclave of extra-territorial French government in Celine’s 1957 nightmare novel Castle to Castle.)  Ultimately, Petain was detained by the Free French under Charles de Gaulle, a military officer who had served under Petain in World War One.  Petain was tried for collaboration and sentenced to death, this sentence commuted to life imprisonment.  (Curiously, President Truman and Generalissimo Francisco Franco offered him asylum in the USA and Spain respectively.)  Petain was briefly released from prison before he died in 1951.


The villagers in Emitai are puzzled by the posters replacing Marshal Petain’s image with a portrait of Charles de Gaulle.  These posters date the action of the film to sometime after September 8,1944 when the Vichy Republic collapsed and Petain was moved by the Germans to Sigmaringen.  




The Third Cinema was a movement defined by various manifestos written by Latin American film makers in the late sixties.  Emitai and Xala are often regarded as “Third Cinema” movies.  The most prominent directors of Third Cinema films were Fernando Solas (Hour of the Furnaces 1968) and Glauber Rocha (Antonio des Mortes 1969), both Argentines.  The “First Cinema,” as defined by these practitioners, was Hollywood.  The “Second Cinema” was the European Art film represented by Fellini, Godard, and Bergman among others.  (Godard later was recruited to the Third Cinema cause).  The Third Cinema was anti-colonialist and anti-imperialist, avowedly Marxist in its ideology, and revolutionary.  It practiced quasi-documentary style “guerilla” film making. Sembene’s revolutionary films, particularly pictures like Emitai and Ceddo, are often regarded as exemplary of Third Cinema practices.


The Third Cinema advocated that movies be brought to the people and shown to them outside of conventional theaters and distribution patterns.  A Third Cinema screening began with recitation of poetry, song, and the display of politically themed art works.  “Disinhibition” was accomplished by serving mild intoxicants such as yerba mate or wine and beer.  A chairperson was appointed to introduce the film and, then, conduct discussions as to its political and ideological content.  Sembene attempted to follow this practice in Senegal and took his films to the people, showing them in small towns and villages.  He continued this practice until the late eighties when he was (rightly) accused of misappropriating funding earmarked for one of his protegee’s movies and had to flee Senegal.  (He went to the United States where he was a mentor to Spike Lee.) 




Emitai is very cheaply made.  Notwithstanding its economy, he film is extremely lucid in its representation of space and action.  Everything in the movie takes place in carefully separated and compartmentalized spaces: there is the village, associated with the women in the community and the outback or bush (where the men hide).  The village elders, a group of five men in red hats, occupy a temenos, a roughly circular enclosure with flimsy thatch walls and a door panel – this sacred space is dominated by a scary-looking baobab tree, dead, with a cleft in which the gods hide, and short, crooked arms that rise up as if to petition the heavens.  A couple of short scenes involve a colonial headquarters somewhere (probably Ziguinchor), some dusty roads on which the soldiers march, and a couple of unimpressive monuments (a ridiculous shrine to Marshal Petain and an equally risible bronze statue dedicated to the “glory of Black West African Army”.)  The women in the film seem to be generally capable of moving between these spaces – in an enigmatic early scene, we see an attractive woman dreamily crossing a field of tall grass (who is she and where is she going? – I think this is Mbissine Therese Diop, the star of Sembene’s first feature picture La Noire de – (Black Girl).  I have no idea what this shot means – it seems Sembene just wants to include the heroine of his famous previous film in a cameo this picture.)  In the opening sequence of the film, two sisters paddle a canoe across a big river or lagoon to compel their brother, who is on the lam, to return to the village to be conscripted.  Later, in the picture, the women march out into the bush wearing fluffed-up raffia hats to initiate funeral ceremonies for the boy shot in the village – he is one of two mysterious youths who view the action from afar and, sometimes, intervene (for instance, bringing shade and water to the women sitting in the sun in the village square.)  Although the men are, generally, confined to the bush or their sacred precinct, the temenos that I have earlier mentioned, the women have greater latitude of action.  In general terms, the film’s paucity of locations and its tendency to cut back and forth between these places without establishing spatial continuity creates an impression of confinement – the villagers are locked into certain locations from which they can not free themselves.  In general, the movie documents a sort of surrealist paralysis – the village elder tied to a stick in the town square, silent, mostly motionless groups of women watching him as he bakes in the sun, the elders confined in their grass-walled enclosure, the large group of women and infants drowsing in the shadows and, then, overnight in the village, opposed by a group of soldiers who are similarly inert, squatting in a lane in front of the grass huts.  


Sembene’s economy of means is apparent in the scene in which the women cross the body of water to roust their brother out of the bush.  We don’t know where the water is located.  (A later scene makes it appear that it is about a hundred yards from the village, but there is no clear spatial contiguity between the lake or lagoon and the village.)  We see an initial shot of the women rowing their canoe taken from some kind of rowboat about eight yards away.  (Werner Herzog has said that you can feel shots taken from boats or rafts floating on the water “in your ass”, that is, at fulcrum of your body – this is true to some extent: the shots showing the canoe taken on the water, as opposed to the shore, have a distinctive “presence” in the film.)  It’s expensive and difficult to shoot on water and, so, Sembene avoids this approach to these scenes as much as possible – the succeeding images documenting the women’s crossing of the lagoon are either full frontal or close shots taken by handheld camera from the canoe itself in which the women are rowing or images captured from the adjacent dry land.  When the women return to the village with their brother, a trip that obliges them to retrace their path to the brush where the man was hiding, Sembene simply takes a couple of shots from the prow of the moving canoe (handheld camera again it seems) without even showing any figures in the image – this is masterful and sufficient to establish that the women are again crossing the body of water to return to the village.  There is something peculiar and dream-like about the fact that the women have to travel by canoe over a body of water that is otherwise never shown in the picture, particularly in relationship to either village or brush or sacred precinct, to retrieve the man – the viewer intuits that there is a big watery gulf between the men and the women, a divide or “watershed”, that also characterizes the gendered space inhabited by the villagers.


The dreamlike aspect of the film resides, as well, in its oddly uncanny or surrealist imagery.  Strange mammary-shaped gourds hang in trees; people drink from utterly inefficient dippers that result in much of the precious liquid being spilled (for instance, a woman who drools much water from the dipper while she is sitting in the sun in the village or one of the elders who spills about half of the palm wine that he is trying to drink from his dipper.)  In an image worthy of Lautreamont, a bike hangs from a tree, also adorned with breast-shaped gourds.  Strangely withered, bare trees decorate the landscape: the sacred Baobab tree looks like a worshiper petitioning the heavens, tortured sepulchral trees stand around the battlefield where he men wage their pathetic war on the French and a tree that is beaked and twisted like a dragon is prominently shown in one frame.  The women who are supposed to be tortured by the blazing sun, just fall asleep, drowsing in the mottled shadows – the soldiers haven’t really forced them out from under the shade of the trees in the village.  French troops are shown crossing a landscape full of elephantine trees with enormous grey buttress roots.  The women march in an angry procession wearing weird bundles of fluffed up grass on their heads and, then, put the hats down on the ground by the two corpses awaiting burial.  The body of Djimeko, the elder who doubted the efficacy of prayer and the existence of the gods, is swathed in red cloth decorated with sequins that outline in cartoon-form his arms and legs and torso as well as his doll-like face.  Two lone soldiers guard the corpse that lies inside a palisade of spears stuck in the ground.  The gods appear as weird bundles of grass sprouting little mask heads or what seem to be rods shaped like candlesticks.  The hostage-taking scenes don’t make any sense because the women seem free to depart whenever they muster the energy to move.  After they sit for 24 hours, first in the sun and, then, overnight, a single shot fired suffices to cause them to bolt, all of them darting away from the village square in defiance of the black colonial soldiers who are supposed to guard them.  The village is crisscrossed with flimsy fences made of twigs and grass.  We have no idea what these enigmatic barriers are supposed to mean.  But it doesn’t matter – when the women bolt from their captivity after the boy is shot, they simply crash through the barricades and knock them to the ground as if they were never really in existence or, of any significance, at all.  (Much of the village, the women’s hats, the mats, and the flimsy walls are made of raffia fiber, a product extracted and woven from the raffia palms that we see in the film, trees that also produce the “palm wine” that people drink – the raffia palm in Senegal is scientifically described as Raphia fannifera.)


Augmenting the picture’s intrinsic surrealism is its grotesque comedy.  First, there is the implicit political parallel between the French sergeant asserting that the colonial administrators should just kill the chief and replace him with a puppet ruler, precisely the thing that has happened in Vichy France where the Nazis have taken control of that country and installed Marshal Petain as their figurehead.  Despite the blazing heat, the tough-guy French soldier wears a long white scarf around his neck.  When poor Djimeko is carried in his red shroud across a field, one of the village elders repeatedly forces the pallbearers to back up so that he can continue to harangue the corpse.  The warriors, who are not particularly fearsome or effective on the field of battle, keep asserting that they must die with spears in their hands.  But this is all bellicose show, a false grandiosity – they are most warlike when they threaten the corpse or evil spirits around the corpse with their spears; but, later, when the women do this as well over the body of the dead boy, they put their men to shame.  Except when playacting, no one is very fierce in this film – one of the French soldiers is pushed back by a three-year old toddler who wants to play with his carbine.  The village elders give grandiose speeches that often deteriorate into collections of folk proverbs that are of doubtful relevance to the situation at hand.  The Elders make ridiculous sacrifices, smearing the horns in their shrine with blood, before nonchalantly tossing the dead victims of their rituals into the cleft in the baobab tree.  And, of course, there is the ongoing business involving Marshal Petain, the little monument to the French ruler, and, then, the various signs around the town invoking Petain’s heroism that are suddenly replaced with pictures of De Gaulle, much to the utter amazement of the villagers.  The conscripts are baffled that their marching song beginning with the words “Marshal, we are here!” will, now have to revised to “General, we are here!”


Emitai’s combination of grotesque and macabre humor with surrealistic elements stamps the film with elements that seem characteristic of Sembene’s ironic approach to his material.  The picture ends with a massacre.  But Sembene refuses to make the subject matter either sentimental or inspirational – he avoids the obvious pathos of the dire situation and, instead, imbues the proceedings with a blithe and clinical irony.  




In a fundamental way, Emitai is about theology.  The villagers are not imperiled in their material well-being by the theft of their rice.  They seem to be well-nourished and have plenty of other food sources.  The rice is sacred, however, and necessary for proper funeral feasting – therefore, the two victims of the French aggression can’t be properly buried since the women have hidden all the rice away.  The question that the film poses is: What will people do to preserve religious observances in which they don’t even really believe but which are of cultural significance to them?  The gods themselves are distressed by the intransigence of the villagers – one of them is made to ask: “Aren’t we more sacred than the rice?”  The somewhat obtuse and buffoonish villagers seem to have mistaken ritual for the actual substance of worship – the women revere the rice more than the gods that it represents.  If a dispute over rice results in the slaughter of the villagers, who, then, will worship the gods and give them food in the form of animal sacrifices?  Echoing Chinua Achebe’s famous novel Things Fall Apart, one of the elders cries out: “Our world is falling apart!”  The gods, it seems, are absent, missing in action:  they seem indifferent to the fate of their worshipers.  Ironically, the only one of the villagers who can see and converse with the gods is the dead (or dying) Djimeko who has previously announced that he doesn’t really believe in the Emitai (gods) himself.  Ultimately, the lethal duel with the French authorities is about nothing of any real significance, the mere occasion for a quarrel which the Diola, or “payback” people, elevate into a war that will result in the destruction of their villages.  “Better a live lamb, then, a dead lion,” one of the elders says as he delivers his family’s quota of rice to the village square to ransom his wife and children.  But the French act in bad faith – they arrest the man in order to coerce him into telling them where the men are hiding, thereby replicating the stand-off with which the movie begins.  And this bad faith illustrates to the villagers that there is no peaceful solution to the impasse in which the French and Diola find themselves.  In schematic form, Sembene illustrates the folly that leads to bloodshed – it’s the same in Europe as in rural Senegal, a carnival of false pride and misunderstanding with fatal consequences.    


    

Sunday, July 21, 2024

Eeb, Allay, Ooo!

 With Bad luck Banging or Looney Porn, Eeb, Allay, Ooo!, the name of Prateek Vats 2019 Hindi language movie, is one of the best titles in recent memory.  The sounds comprising the name of film are utterances intended to repel aggressive macaque monkeys, thousands of which, apparently, mob the area around the grandiose administrative buildings constructed by the British as their colonial capitol in New Delhi.  (This is the so-called Lutyens District, named after the renowned architect, Sir Edwin Lutyens.)  The monkeys are highly intelligent, resourceful and terrible pests.   But they are also sacred to devotees of Hanuman, the monkey god, and, therefore, exempt from any counter-measures that would kill or harm them.  As a consequence, the Indian government contracts with private firms that supply so-called "monkey repellers", men whose  job consists of shouting at the creatures, gesturing in a threatening way, and, in rare cases involving intractable nuisances, capturing macaques in cages and transporting them into the suburbs.  In Vats highly regarded film (it won the Indian equivalent of the Oscar for Best Picture), the hero, a young man from a rural village named Anjari Prased gets a job as a monkey-repeller.  The problem is that Anjari is comically afraid of the aggressive macaques and unable to make the requisite sounds necessary to drive the monkeys away.  And, in any event, the labor is Sisyphean -- no sooner is one monkey repelled than another four or five takes its place.  It's an awful job and Anjari is terrible at the work.  But quitting this employment is not an option.  Anjari doesn't write English, can't use a computer (in any event far beyond his humble means) and is otherwise unemployable.  (His sister and homely girlfriend have used a computer to find him the work -- otherwise, he's completely vocationally helpless.)  So poor Anjari stays on the job with dire consequences.  Although the movie is full of comic, if sinister confrontations, with the highly expressive monkeys (one can see how they might be considered divine), the film is tragic in tone and, ultimately, a dispiriting tour of the underbelly of modern Indian society.

Anjari lives in a tiny hovel with his pregnant sister and her husband, a jovial cop.  The family can barely make ends meet and, furthermore, Anjari's sister is not well -- the pregnancy isn't going as it should and she requires medication, drugs more or less beyond the means of Anjari and her husband.  (Ultimately, the pregnant woman seems to elect to use their scarce resources on medication and, therefore, shorts the landlord with disastrous consequences.)  Anjari's boss is vicious, bullies the unsophisticated young man, at one point, literally lifting him half off the ground by his ears.  Narayan, as the employer is named, is bullied himself by government officials who have imposed unreasonable demands on the monkey-repelling crews -- they have insufficient funds, no equipment, can't touch the brutish monkeys, and are understaffed.  (The director, Vats said that he made the movie to draw attention to the plight of non-union contract workers in his country, a labor force that serves at the will of their cruel bosses.)  Anjari is completely unsuccessful at repelling the monkeys -- in fact, they harass and intimidate him.  His buddy, Mahendar, with whom he smokes weed in a desultory manner, has tried to teach him the vocalizations necessary to intimidate the macaques but Anjari can't learn how to make the sounds.  Desperate, he first acquires colored posters of langur monkeys, creatures that are the mortal enemies of the macaques and that, although small, are, apparently, fierce.  The teeth-baring pictures of langurs are posted all around the Lutyen district, and seem to work to some extent.  But the boss, Narayan, finds this technique unacceptable and threatens to fire Anjari,  Things aren't going well for Anjari in any way, shape, or form.  His co-workers bully him by confining him in a macaque cage where he is taunted and forced to eat bananas before being released from his tormented confinement..  In general, things aren't going well for anyone in the family.  Anjari's sister is sick and her husband, in order to earn an extra 1500 rupees raise, has agreed to work the nightshift for the police force, a job that requires that he tote around a big shot gun, that he really doesn't know how to use and that his wife finds both frightening and ridiculous -- she orders to keep it out of the house.  (This is a good idea because Anjari and his girlfriend play with the shotgun, jocularly pointing it at one another, and the cop-husband ineptly brandishes the gun creating the implication that he is about to shoot someone in his family or a neighbor in the hideously crowded slum by pure accident.)  Anjari uses a slingshot to knock down a macaque.  (He claims a motorcycle ran over the monkey).  Vats shows us the monkey presumably dead, but then a closer shot assures us that the creature is still breathing -- we see the critter's ribs moving.  (My guess is that there would have been a hue-and-cry among monkey-worshiping Indians in the film audience were the macaque dead and, so, Vats doesn't dare depict the animal as having been killed by Anjari.)  During a patriotic festival (Republic Days), Anjari buys a langur outfit, dresses as that sort of primate, and dances around with a furry white fringe of hair around his cork-blackened face and a long serpentine tail, poised to strike like the sting of a scorpion.  This is also a successful strategy, seriously discomfiting the macaques, but Anjari starts allowing tourists to take selfies with him and, even, charges them 50 rupees for a picture, bad conduct that leaks back to Narayan who, then, fires the hero.  (There's a bespectacled monkey-worshipper who feeds the macaques, defies local ordinances prohibiting such practices, and, most likely, informs on Anjari, costing him his job.)  Things go from bad to worse,  Anjari buys some sweets to bribe his boss to take him back on the job -- no one wants this sort of employment.  But he's obstructed from seeing Narayan because of terrible event.  Mahendar, who comes from 7 generations of monkey repellers, has accidentally killed a macaque and been torn to pieces by the pious mob.  Anjari smokes more dope and the monkey god hovers over his shoulder, although the hero doesn't know this apparition is at his elbow.  That night, the landlord comes calling for his rent.  There's no money to pay him and the cop, who is off-duty, points his shot-gun at the importunate landlord, driving him off.  Everyone starts to cry because it's apparent that not only will the family be evicted,  but the brash cop will be charged with criminal assault and, of course, lose his job.  There's a festival sacred to Hanuman, the monkey god.  While this is underway, Anjari pawns his langur suit and tries to sell the police shot gun -- it's said to be 'original' and the pawn shop owner doesn't dare pay for it.  ("Original" is AI translation, I assume, for "real" -- that is, an actual working gun.)  Anjari goes spectacularly mad, painting his face like an ape, and prancing around in some sort of weird ecstasy at the monkey festival.  In the last shot, we see his painted face glaring out from among the masks of figures that seem to represent the mutilated corpses of the dead, mangled-looking ghosts standing in the procession in the streets.

The movie is pretty good and very well-made.  But it's depressing and, more than a tad, pointless -- who wants to see a gentle kittenish soul bullied into oblivion.  The camera-work is all telescopic lenses, pressing the action up close to your nose and the dingy alleys and mean streets are crowded to the point of claustrophobia with motorbikes and beggars and all sorts of people rushing to and fro.  Above, this chaos we see the calm edifices of Lutyen's complex of regal buildings --- great domes and columns and triumphal gates that seem to float in the smoggy, pinkish air. So far as I can determine, the acting is very fine.  The direction is fluent with a very strong sense of place -- for instance, there are as many trains in this movie as in some of Ozu's pictures and the characters are always stalled in place as one train after another rattles down the tracks.  For some reason, New Delhi is portrayed as very cold.  Everyone complains of the frosty weather and shudders in the chill nights -- I presume that for these Indians, cold means something like 65 degrees.  There's a fine scene in which Mahendur and the recently discharged Anjari work together at a posh wedding reception, stalking around the audience vocalizing the film's title syllables to scare away non-existent macaques.  The guests simply ignore the two men as if they are ghosts of some kind, entirely invisible to the well-dressed and prosperous Indians who are mostly messing around their phones in any event.  Mahendur and Anjari go home in the early morning hours, walking empty lanes suffused with amber light from streetlamps and Anjari uses a little dictaphone to record Mahendur's expertly rendered, macaque-repelling tones.  


Friday, July 19, 2024

The Big Combo

 Joe Lewis' The Big Combo (1955)is a vicious, low-budget the film noir that looks like a million dollars.   In a metropolis where the sun never shines, cops and gangsters strut through alleys cloaked in fog.  In the opening sequence, a pale blonde in a shimmer of white radiance runs through the shadowy archways of a nightmare colosseum.  A boxing match is underway in an orb of smoky light, but the dame is appalled and wants to escape the bloody spectacle.  Two gunsels run her down, plunging through the chiaroscuro corridor under the arena.  There's a lunch counter that looks like something out of Edward Hopper, a small, fragrant oblong of light in the dark wasteland of the city.  In the belly of the colosseum, a sadistic gangster is taunting the bloodied losing boxer while his cowardly obsequious sidekick nods and grimaces.  The lecture that the gangster is giving to the defeated gladiator resounds with the sidekick, a man who is also defeated, although by the mobster who has taken over his hotel,  his gang, and his life.  "First is first," the mobster, Mr. Brown, says, "Second is nobody."  The Big Combo channels the energy and vivid imagery of another "big"-named picture, Fritz Lang's The Big Heat -- it's got a similar plot involving an incorruptible if reckless cop pursuing a gangster whose tentacles have corrupted the whole city where the action is set.  There's an abused moll cowering before the gang boss and some colorful supporting actors, mostly playing psycho-thugs.  The Big Combo works variations on the patterns of light and dark that animate Lang's film. In fact, the climax of Lewis' movie pays homage to another Lang film, Metropolis.  In the silent picture, the villain Rotwang uses a spotlight to pin his victim, the virtuous Maria, to the walls of a dripping catacomb.  In The Big Heat, the roles are reversed; the abused girlfriend takes her revenge on the villain by flashing a light mounted on the fender of a big, dark sedan on the bad guy, again using a beam of light to pin him against the all-encompassing darkness.  

A dedicated cop, Lawrence Diamond (Cornel Wilde) is obsessed with convicting a mobster, Mr. Brown, the boss of the "big combo."  The combo runs the city and, through byzantine machinations, has caused four high school students, compromised by the criminals, to be on trial for murder.  Diamond is a "righteous man" -- this is how Mr. Brown describes him -- and he's a thorn in the side of the mobster.  Complicating Diamond's crusade is the fact that he has fallen in love with mobster's girl, Susan Lowell, the pale wraith-like figure we see fleeing the boxing arena in the first scene.  Susan Lowell was once a concert pianist although she doesn't play any longer.  (Her vocation motivates some showy and thunderous piano accompaniment to some of the action.)   The plot is complicated and barely credible, full of baroque details -- Mr. Brown tortures Diamond by jamming a hearing aid in his ear and, then, playing amplified jazz, including a "crazy" drum solo as Wilde's character writhes and trembles in a puddle of light in a dark room.  A number of bystanders get killed in various picturesque ways.  Mr. Brown seems obsessed with someone named "Alicia" -- he has scribbled the letters of her name on a wet window. (Susan Lowell whispers "Alicia" as she collapses in an early scene, knocked out by pills she has taken to attempt suicide. Diamond arrests the delirious woman, threatening her with six months in jail for attempting to kill herself.)  It turns out that Alicia has been incarcerated in an insane asylum by Mr. Brown, her former husband.  She wasn't insane when he put in the mad house but she is now -- she casts her wild eyes at the camera behind a frieze of orchids to which she attends in the asylum.  There are two homosexual thugs, Fante and Mingo.  They get blown up by a hand grenade delivered to them when they are "on the mattresses" in a safe house that turns out to be not so safe at all.  (Mr. Brown wants them out of the way since they know too much.)  The one thug is killed outright but the other, apparently covered in third degree burns, sobs as he sees the wreckage of his buddy.  There are psychoanalytical "free association" word games with Mr. Brown attached to a polygraph.  When he's not mooning around over Susan Lowell, the film's snow-white blonde, Diamond dates a show-girl, a burlesque cutie, named Rita.  Brown sends thugs to machine-gun Diamond but they accidentally pump 11 bullets into poor, serpentine Rita, the dark-haired heroine who contrasts with the virginal platinum blonde Susan Lowell.  Conscience-stricken, Diamond realizes that he was just using Rita for sex while investing all his love in the unapproachable Susan Lowell, a woman who is owned by the vicious Mr. Brown.  "I treated her like a pair of gloves," Diamond says about Rita, "when I was cold I called her up."  Pretty much everyone in the movie ends up getting murdered.  With Susan Lowell's assistance, Diamond captures Mr. Brown on a backlot set steamed up with black fog.  "I don't want to go to jail," Mr. Brown wails, begging the cops to shoot him dead.  

Richard Conti is excellent as the suave and vicious gangster.  Cornell Wilde manfully endures torture, one of his specialties as an actor.  Rita looks like Morticia Adams and, when she's gunned down, we see a flashing light in the darkness spelling out "burlesque."  There are a lot of crumpled-looking and bruised character actors to savor.  The dialogue is particularly pungent and clipped.  This is an excellent genre piece.  There is one noteworthy scene.  Mr. Brown's second banana (played by Brian Donlevy) as a cringing subordinate gets shot by a tommy gun.  Before he kills him, Brown pulls out Donlevy's hearing aid, used as a torture device in earlier scenes:  the music abruptly stops and, in the silence, we see muzzle flashes blossoming on the screen.  I guarantee you'll like this movie from beginning to end; I also gurantee that you'll forget it in about thirty minutes -- all good film noir are, more or less, alike.  You can watch a colorized version of The Big Combo on Amazon Prime for free; resist the temptation and pay the 99 cents to see the picture in its original black-and-white.  The superb camera-work is by John Alton.  

Monday, July 15, 2024

Film group note: Ousmane Sembene and Xala

 Ousmane Sembene and Xala


“He is the only film maker in the world who can not be bought and sold.”

Note in Film Comment on Sembene


“On a moral level, I don’t think we (Africans) have anything to learn from Europe.”

Sembene



Born in 1923, Ousmane Sembene (Ooze-mahn Soem - Beneh) is said to be the “Father of African Cinema” – the notion of “fatherhood” is contested and, therefore, we should call him something else, perhaps the fons et origo (“fountain and origin”) of African filmmaking.  Sembene proclaimed that his movies were not made for Americans or Europeans – “Europe” he said “is not my center.”  Nonetheless, he is far better known and admired in places like Paris, London, New York City, and LA than in Africa.  You are more likely to see one of his films screened in Berlin than in Dakar, the capital of Senegal where he lived, worked, and, 2007, died.  And, in fact, several of his films on Senegalese subjects were banned in his home country and, indeed, across Africa – for instance, Emitai about resistance to the French during the colonial period was widely banned and Xala was screened in Senegal with many scenes cut, censorship intended to protect the regime of President Leopold Senghor from scathing satire in the film.  (Ceddo also inspired a ban in Senegal, a subject that is complex and requires another essay.)  After his death in 2007, Sembene’s films went into eclipse, partly due to the director’s refusal to authorize DVD or home video versions of the pictures – he wanted the movies to be seen on the big screen.  However, with the centenary of Sembene’s birth in 2023, his pictures have enjoyed an art house revival and Criterion has recently issued a three disk set of some of the director’s most famous films, including Xala.


Sembene was born and raised in the southern part of Senegal, a coastal West African nation, then, a French colony.  His father was a fisherman and Sembene, as a boy, worked in the fishing industry and the construction trades.  As a boy, Sembene could speak French but not read the language – he claims that he wanted to “grow up to be a French boy.”  (Sembene was prone to self-mythologizing – he has given multiple accounts of his early relationship with French; for instance, he claimed that food in Senegal came wrapped in old French newspapers which his father demanded that he read aloud to him.)  He was sent to Islamic school, where he studied for a few years, presumably in Arabic, before being expelled on disciplinary grounds.  (Senegal is 97% Sufi Muslim.)  Sembene was drafted in 1944 (he was 21) and trained to serve in the Free French light infantry, the tirailleur force; his military service  was in Niger.  Sembene recalled later that his experience with White French soldiers was a “revelation” that “demystified” colonialism for him.  In combat, he saw White troops panicked, cowardly and weeping.  When a White soldier asked Sembene to write a letter home for him, he was dumbstruck – Sembene had previously thought that illiteracy was only a Black and African disease.   In 1946, he went to Marseille, France where he was employed as a dock worker.  When he was badly injured after about a year on the docks, he recuperated, using his time off work to learn to read French and, then, devouring contemporary French literature, including work by Camus. He joined the Communist party in 1950 after participating in noteworthy railroad strike earlier in 1947 - 1948.  In the early fifties, he lived in Paris where he met Richard Wright, the Black American novelist and important writers from Jamaica and Haiti, artists in the Negritude school.  He published his first novel Dock Worker in 1956, followed by an important novel in the vein of Zola and Camus God’s Bits of Wood, a book about the strike on the Niger to Dakar railroad line.  During this time, he did various odd-jobs and worked as a line assembly-man and union organizer at the Citroen factory.  All told, Sembene, who is considered an important figure in Senegalese literature, wrote six novels, four novellas, and a book of short stories.  


Sembene was at the Gorki Studios in Moscow in 1962 where he studied film production and worked as an intern on Soviet movies.  Sembene was 40 when he made his first short film, a twenty minute picture about a teamster operating a wagon, in 1963. When Senegal gained its independence, Sembene returned to his native country, then, under the regime of Leopold Senghor, also a poet and artist.  (Sembene and Senghor had a complicated relationship and, frequently, clashed.)  Sembene’s first 60 minute feature film, largely produced in Paris, is called La Noire de – (translated generally as Black Girl but meaning something like “the Black Girl of...”).  The movie, about the casual mistreatment of a Senegalese woman employed by a French couple, was highly acclaimed.  Sembene shot his next movie in Senegal, Mandabi, the first movie made in Africa to be shot in a vernacular tongue (as opposed to French the lingua franca of West Africa and the official language of Senegal).  Mandabi’s dialogue is presented in Wolof, the principal language in Senegal.    The film is about an unemployed Muslim with two wives and several children who struggles to cash a money-order received from a relative in Paris.  (Sembene was an activist in the movement to produce news and literature in Wolof – he was one of the promoters, and publishers, of Kaddu, a newspaper printed in Wolof; the newspaper is featured in a couple of scenes in Xala.)


Emitai is Sembene’s next picture, released in 1971.  The picture, combining comedy and tragedy of the direst kind, documents a rebellion against the French in a rural village in 1944.  France was conscripting young men to fight for the Free French (with people also drafted to serve the Vichy regime which controlled most of the colony).  A rice levy is imposed the village resulting in the women, culturally responsible for rice production (“rice is a woman’s wealth” as the proverb has it) concealing their harvest notwithstanding French reprisals.  The movie is strongly feminist with surreal overtones.  On the strength of Emitai, New Yorker films, an East Coast movie distribution enterprise, financed Xala released in 1975.  By this point, Sembene was afflicted with what he calls “the mathematics of cinema” – that is, the difficulty of raising money to make and show movies in an impoverished African country.  Xala was highly regarded and received rave reviews.  Sembene took the picture on the road with him, traveling around in rural Senegal, projecting the movie on sheets or lime-plastered walls, and promoting the picture with the mostly illiterate peasants.  (In some regards, Sembene’s activism recalls Dziga Vertov’s revolutionary films shown by the director to Russian peasants as part of the Kino-Eye movement after the Bolshevik revolution.)  Admirers of Xala nominated Sembene for service on various juries and panels judging film competitions – he was on the Cannes, Berlin, and Moscow film festival jury panels.  


Sembene made Ceddo in 1977, also a very highly regarded film.  Ceddo is a period piece, set at some indistinct time in “17th or 18th centuries” as Sembene has explained.  The movie, about Islam’s complicity in the slave trade, was controversial in Senegal and other majority Muslim countries and shown in censored form or, even, entirely suppressed.  More than ten years passed before Sembene was able to release another picture 1988's Camp de Thiaroye, a movie about a 1944 rebellion of conscripts enlisted in the French army.  During the Battle of France in 1940, more than 100,000 African from French colonies were captured by the Germans.  The Germans sent the Africans back to prison camps in West Africa.  In 1944, as a result of victories in Europe, the Africans were liberated.  Disputes arose about their transport back to their home villages and, at the end of November 1944, a mutiny occurred at a camp housing liberated French tirailleurs near Dakar.  French soldiers killed a disputed number of the mutineers, perhaps as many as 300, in a massacre that is seen as a precursor to political activity resulting in Senegal’s independence from France in 1960.  As a young man, the first President of Senegal, Leopold Senghor wrote a celebrated poem about the slaughter and, of course, Sembene had been enlisted as a tirailleur (or light infantry) soldier.  Camp de Thiaroye proved to very controversial and was suppressed both in France and Senegal – it must be good movie since it offended both the colonizers and the colonized.  Senghor has a sort of sibling rivalry with Sembene, both of them artists who had begun their mature work in the fifties, and the relationship between the men was complex and often fraught with hostility.  People who have seen Camp de Thiaroye describe it as despairing and nihilistic.  The movie proved to be destructive to Sembene in several ways – in order to finance the film, Sembene misappropriated funds earmarked for the use of younger African filmmakers, including one of his own protegees, resulting in a backlash that again made it infeasible for him to produce his next movie.  “I would sleep with the devil to make a film,” Sembene reportedly said.  He fled Senegal for a couple of years, teaching on American campuses and encountering African-American filmmakers such as Spike Lee whom Sembene has influenced.  The dust had settled by 1992 and Sembene returned to Senegal.


Guelwaar (1994) is a satirical comedy about a Catholic and Muslim who die on the same day.  A mix-up occurs between the corpses and the bodies are buried in the wrong cemeteries.  Roger Ebert proclaimed this movie as one of the ten best in 1994 – like most of Sembene’s films it’s very hard to access and see.  2004's Faat Kine is about an unwed mother with several children struggling to feed her family in Dakar.  Synopses of the movie make it sound like a neo-realist film similar to Mandabi but with a feminist slant.  Sembene’s last picture, Moolade dramatizes a protest by rural women against the practice of female genital mutilation (sometimes euphemistically called “female circumcision”) a common practice in Senegal and West Africa (as of 2010 about 27% of the women in Senegal had endured this kind of mutilation.)


Sembene died in Dakar in 2007 at 84.  He was buried in a shroud adorned with scripture from the Qu’ran.  With the death of Sembene, the Senegalese film industry died as well.  In the golden era, between 1970 and 1990, about five films were produced in Senegal each year.  There were rivals to Sembene, most notably Djibril Diop Mambety, whose film 1973 Touki Bouki (“The Voyage of the Hyena”) is very high regarded.  Mambety also experienced catastrophic funding problems. Between 2014 and the present, only five feature-length films have been produced in Senegal.  



Xala


Ousmane Sembane’s novel from which his film derives was published in French in 1973.  The film adaptation was made in 1974 and released under the auspices of New Yorker Films, a part producer of the picture, in 1975.


Study of the novel illumines some aspects of the movie that may be obscure to viewers in this country.  Here are some details helpful to an understanding of the film:


Xala is pronounced “Ha-la” and means both impotence and curse.  Senegalese believe that impotence is the result of someone casting a curse on its victim.  In this case, Ouimi N’Doye. El Hadji’s second wife, is the prime suspect.  


El Hadji Abdou Kader Beye is the name of the protagonist, said to be about 50 in the novel.  The sobriquet “El Hadji” designates the hero as a person who has completed a successful Hadj or pilgrimage to Mecca – El Hadji enjoys the reputation of being a pious Muslim.  In his youth, he was a firebrand trade unionist and active in the political struggle against the French colonizers.  


Adja Awa Astou is El Hadji’s first wife.  Her name “Adja” denotes that she also has completed a pilgrimage to Mecca, apparently with her husband.  (The novel tells us that she made the pilgrimage after 18th year of marriage to El Hadji; El Hadji wedded his second wife after 20 years of marriage to Adja Awa Astou.)  “Awa” is an honorific that means “first woman” or “first wife” – it’s an Arabic version of “Eve”.  In the novel, we learn that Adja Awa Astou was raised as a Roman Catholic, part of the 2% of Senegal’s population that follows that creed. She is said to have six children with El Hadji.


Rama is El Hadji’s daughter with Adja Awa Astou.  She is a University student and part of the movement to revive Wolof in Senegal.  She’s associated with Kaddu, a Wolof language newspaper.  There’s jealousy and tension between the two wives because El Hadji has given Rama a Fiat to drive, but not yet given a car to Mactar, Ouimi N’Doye’s eldest son.  


Ouimi N’Doye is El Hadji’s second wife.  In the novel, she reads movie magazines, dresses elaborately, and has five children with the protagonist.  She generally is portrayed as speaking French.  Both Ouimi N’Doye and Adja Awa Astou live relatively close to one another in an upscale neighborhood near the center of Dakar, a coastal port, Senegal’s capitol and a city with two million inhabitants. In the novel, the panicked El Hadji notes that she during her moome, she is sexually voracious and can not go two nights without having sexual intercourse, a prospect that terrifies him.  

 

Prior to El Hadji’s third marriage, the protagonist has a moome or aye (words meaning marital schedule) in which he spent three nights with Adja Awa Astou and three nights with Ouimi N’Doye each week.  Each wife has a separate villa in which she resides with her children and servants.   The honeymoon involving N’Gone will interrupt the moome schedule for thirty days – that is, El Hadji is supposed to spend 30 days exclusively with N’Gone. 


Yay Bineta is N’Gone’s Badyen, that is, Aunt and Godmother.  N’Gone is the 20 year old girl who becomes El Hadji’s third wife.  The Badyen is responsible for managing the engagement and marriage of her brother’s daughter.  N’Gone’s parents are Mam Fatou (mother), a zealous opponent of polygamy, and Yay Bineta’s brother, Babacar, a kindly, if weak, man.  According to the novel, N’Gone is a poor student that the family fears will become pregnant by one of her boyfriends.  (It’s unclear whether she is the virgin that she has been promoted to be.)  N’Gone is attractive and the family wants to get her married to a respectable husband before she ends up pregnant and a single mother.  N’Gone and her family are portrayed as more suburban than El Hadji’s first two wives, living farther away from downtown Dakar.    


The red cock – after El Hadji’s unsuccessful first night with N’Gone, Yay Bineta comes to the bedchamber with an old woman who is carrying a red cock.  The red cock was traditionally beheaded between the thighs of the bride, apparently to create a bloody mess that obscured whether the woman was a virgin or not when married.  Later, El Hadji is told to sacrifice a red cock to lift the curse of xala afflicting him.


Griots are professional troubadors central to West African culture.  They form a closed caste (marrying within the profession).  Griots are the repository of oral traditions and perform traditional ballads and songs, as well as innovating and improvising new material based on current events.  In Xala, we see them at the wedding (which takes place at the villa provided by El Hadji for N’Gone) serving as heralds – they, more or less, announce guests.  (In the film, Sembene sets up an opposition between the Dakar Star Band that plays American and European-style jazz and the griots who perform on the streets as buskers.)  A griot’s song about injustice tracks El Hadji through the latter part of the film.  A famous griot in this country is Papa Demba “Paco” Samb, born in Dakar but now living in Delaware.  Griots typically accompany themselves by playing stringed instruments or playing “goblet-shaped” drums.  Griot’s have considerable authority and, often, mediate or arbitrate disputes since they are thought to have access to applicable legal or common law precedents.  (In an interview about the making of Ceddo, Sembene maintains that Africa is an oral culture and that his films reflect different styles of “orality” – meaning, I think, various types of rhetoric and narrative modes.  Sembene’s meaning isn’t clear in the interview: he tends to adopt the vatic and rather aridly abstract diction of French literary theorists wqhen interviewed.  It is clear that Sembene distrusts the Griot tradition since he notes that various African dictators have retained ballad specialists of this kind to compose “praise songs” for them – certainly, a state of affairs that has been the case from the very outset.)


Marabouts are Sufi religious leaders – in Senegal, they are highly organized and operate in a hierarchy.  These figures lead congregations, provide instruction in Islamic scripture and traditions, and, often, engage in faith-based healing practices.  Many are itinerant and survive on alms.  The Muslim Brotherhood of Senegal is heavily Marabout in its orientation and, from time to time, these leaders have been involved in politics and political organizing to a significant degree.  Their Sufi religious practices are syncretic with traditional African animism and their rituals often show influences from both Muslim and pre-Muslim religious practices.  


Measures against Xala include offering a red cock to avert the curse, wearing an armband or belt (xattim) inscribed with verses from the Koran, and painting Koran verses on a piece of wood, then, washing off the paint, infusing it in tea, and drinking the liquid or rubbing it onto the flesh (the practice called saffara).  


The fierce Ouimi N’Doye (the second wife) is angry for a reason.  In the novel, Sembene says:


The thought that she was a second choice, an option, enraged her.  The middle position giving her a kind of intermediate role was unbearable to a co-wife.  The first wife implied a conscious choice, she was an elect.  The second wife was purely optional.  The third?  Someone to be prized.  When it came to the moome, the second wife was more like a door hinge.  She had given a lot of thought to her position in the man’s marital cycle and realized that she was in disgrace...the advent of the third wife re-opened the wound of frustration suffered by all Muslim women of our country.  She even thought momentarily of divorcing El Hadji... 



Sembene’s wife


Ousmane Sembene’s wife appears in a documentary on the Ceddo disc in the new Criterion set of films by the director.  The documentary shows Sembene in rural Senegal making the large-scale film Ceddo.  It looks hot and there are lots of people to manage, none of them professional actors.  At one point, the director of the documentary film (speaking in French) interviews a woman standing on the sidelines.  The woman speaks in what seems to me to be halting French.  Later, she is identified as Sembene’s wife.  She is said to be an American, hence, her uncertain French.  


It’s hard to track down her name.  AI now clogs up the internet with false or misleading information.  To one inquiry that I made, I was told by the officious, cheerful, and confident computer that Sembene was known to have two wives; his first wife was said to be Adja Awa Astou but the identity of his second wife (Sembene was polygamous the article claimed) was unknown. Obviously, the computer was mindlessly reporting the plot of Xala and not anything relevant to the director.


Roger Ebert’s website provides a review of a documentary made about Sembene (called, not surprisingly, Sembene!).  That review mentions a woman named Carrie Moore as Sembene’s wife.  He claimed that she was his muse and, then, apparently badly mistreated her – although the details of his abuse are not specified.


The young woman – I will call her “Ms. Moore” – is asked by the interlocutor if Ceddo will likely be a great success in America.  The interviewer observes that “Sembene is very well-known in the United States.”  Ms. Moore seems a bit dubious about this prospect.  You see her biting her lip, as if to restrain herself from saying: “Well-known compared to whom?”  She is asked if the movie will make money in America.  Moore responds: “No one is interested in his movies in Africa.  People want to see Hollywood pictures.”  The interviewer asks: “But what about African-Americans in the US?”  Moore replies: “People in the US like action films – westerns and gangster movies.  African-Americans idealize Africa.  They won’t be able to tolerate a picture that shows the truth about Africa.”


It is true that African popular cinema is dominated by violent American war movies (the Rambo series was particularly popular as well as American and Asian karate and martial arts pictures – Indian action films are also profitable.)


Pan-Africanism


In many interviews with Sembene, he advocates for Pan-African politics.  In Xala, El Hadji’s eldest daughter espouses Pan-African ideas and is filmed against a poster showing the entire continent of Africa without delineation of national borders.  Sembene argues that Africa has a distinctive culture and that this culture will be its defense against the First or developed World.  This is a common perspective asserted by African artists, but one must question its validity.  Indeed, if arguments about Africa as a whole were advanced by Colonial or Whites theorists, these ideas would be dismissed as essentialist and, probably, racist as well.  The fact is that Africa is a very diverse place, fractured into various tribal groups speaking separate and distinct languages, and it is difficult to see how a north African Tuareg or Berber has much relationship with a Zulu or Bantu pygmy.  Furthermore, modern Africa and, even, the continent in medieval times, shows a sharp distinction between urban dwellers and the more traditional agrarian farmers who live in rural villages.  Again, it seems unpersuasive to make general arguments based on what perceptions of what Africans essentially want or need.  In fact, Sembene’s arguments endorsing Pan-African ideas are undercut by his own films that depict an astonishing range of social and political environments.  Nonetheless, the Pan-African paradigm in intrinsic to Sembene’s thought must be taken into account as an animating factor that inspires his work.  This is particularly clear in Ceddo, the film Sembene made after completing Xala Ceddo is a complicated political allegory in which Sembene attempts to epitomize two centuries of African culture, decisive with respect to the incursion of Islam into the Sahel and sub-Saharan parts of the continent and, also, characterized by the development of the slave trade; Ceddo links Islam and the slave trade is ways that made viewers uncomfortable and resulted in the film’s censorship and suppression.  (In Senegal, Ceddo was ostensibly suppressed over a dispute about the spelling of the movie’s title – “ceddo” which means “strangers” or “rebels”, particularly with respect to non-Islamic animist Senegalese, is spelled with a single “d” in official Wolof orthography.  However, for historical purposes,. Sembene insisted that an archaic spelling of the word be used: that “ceddo’ with two “d’s”.  In general, official Wolof, one of the primary languages used in Senegal, does not double letters.  Prime Minister Senghor construed Sembene’s title as disrespectful in broad terms – Sembene, Senghor thought, was undercutting the entire system of Wolof spelling, part of the curriculum in state-subsidized public schools.  But, of course, no one really thought that the dispute had anything to do with spelling – Senghor and his ministers were concerned with the offense that the majority Muslim population would take to the film.)  Ceddo is promoted as a universal history, a scenario that purports to describe and analyze the interactions between sub-Saharan African states and Islam in the pre-colonial era – a period when African polities had agency, but, nonetheless, developed commerce based on the slave-trade.    

  

Xala (the film) and Xala (the movie)


In the film adapted from his novel, Sembene tightens the focus on El Hadji’s plight.  He makes political criticism of Senghor’s regime explicit in the opening scenes.  The visitor to Dakar from the country, come to the city to buy rice for his impoverished village, is a character that doesn’t appear in the novel version.  Likewise, the scene involving the theft from the visitor, the thief’s conversion of the funds into a suit with cowboy hat, and, then, his replacement of El Hadji on the board of directors of the Chamber of Commerce are all amusing incidents that don’t appear in the source novel.  The film amplifies the role of the crippled and deformed beggars in the plot and expressly equates them to the visitor’s impoverishment – the theme is that the kleptocracy diminishes everyone that it touches and, in effect, deforms Senegalese society.  In the novel, the beggars make their appearance in the 102 page novel only in its last four pages.  They are more prominent in the film and appear earlier in the narrative.  The book has a rather abrupt ending.  The beggars, without any foreshadowing, attack Adja Awa Astou’s villa, confronting El Hadji who is now insolvent, bankrupt, and under criminal indictment, spitting on him as shown in the film. In the book, a griot who is also a street beggar, challenges El Hadji from time to time, but the nature of the challenge isn’t specified – that is, we aren’t privy to the denunciatory lyrics displayed in the film.  (This griot beggar is the ring-leader of the cripples in the final scene in both book and film.)  Since the role of the crippled beggars in the film is much less prominent in the novel, the scene in which the deformed outcasts share a meal involving canned condensed milk doesn’t appear in the book.  


The novel is written in an omniscient third person that provides Sembene access to the thoughts of Adja Awa Astou – we learn that she was raised Catholic, that her first name was originally “Renee”, and other details about her upbringing.  Sembene also narrates the internal monologues of Oumi and Rama.  In other words, Sembene, although writing in third person, is privy to the thoughts of some, but not all of his characters – generally the two first wives, Rama, and El Hadji’s loyal chauffeur and lieutenant, Modu as well as El Hadji.  Omniscience is a bit of a cheat in the book since there is an aspect of the detective novel about the narrative: who is responsible for El Hadji’s xala?  Access to the minds of the two wives, of course, could be used to exculpate them from causing the hero’s xala, but Sembene wants to maintain suspense on this issue and so doesn’t offer an explanation for the affliction until about three pages from the end of the book.  At that point, Sembene (as in the movie) has the griot-beggar reveal that El Hadji misappropriated the wealth of his own kin and that his xala is a punishment for the misdeed upon which his fortune is based.  (The identify of the griot-beggar is established only at the very end of both book and novel.)  


In general terms, the film is more simplistic and much more strongly political – the aspect of allegory as to El Hadji’s crime and his punishment is much more strongly emphasized in the film.  The movie has the aspect of a parable about African (Senegalese) kleptocrats imposing their own form of (neo-) colonialism on the people of the country.  This idea is intrinsic to the novel but not pushed into the foreground.    


In both film and movie, El Hadji’s entire enterprise is entangled with his sexual virility. When this is stripped away, everything in his life collapses.  


Sunday, July 14, 2024

Bad Luck Banging or Looney Porn

 Bad Luck Banging or Looney Porn is one of the best movie titles in recent memory. The picture was directed by the Romanian auteur Radu Jude and was released in 2021.  When confronted by something unfamiliar, the best critical strategy is to present an objective description of the baffling object.  Perhaps, then, some critical analysis may be possible -- or, maybe, not.  

The picture is divided into a preliminary sequence and four parts.  Each part receives a Brechtian intertitle in cursive, stereotypical "female" handwriting against a hot pink background.  The pink hue is the shade that one associates with the facades of Reeperbahn peep shows and whorehouses.  The preface to the film is a home-made sex-tape involving lots of enthusiastic copulation, oral sex, someone wielding a whip and the like.  We don't really see these proceedings because the film (at least in the version on Amazon Prime) is obscured by a cheesy-looking title bearing the words "Censored" and "Censorship = Money."  Sometimes, a title describes the sex act occurring in the middle of the image obstructed by placard.  We can see some blurred action around the edges of the title.  At one point, someone in the next room shouts at the people having sex and they take a break to answer her.  Part 1 echoes a title in Walter Benjamin's essays -- "One-way Streets".  This is a literal description of the next 35 or so minutes in the film.  From various angles, we observe a young woman in a business-like suit making her way across a crowded city -- apparently, Bucharest.  She stops in several places that are full of people but not otherwise well-defined -- these seem to be either administrative offices or someone's home.  From fragments of dialogue, we gather that the woman is Emilia Cilibiu, a married schoolteacher at some kind of private (and, presumably) expensive school  We infer her dilemma from hearing one side of cell phone calls that she makes:  the sex tape that we have seen shows Emilia and her husband, Eugen.  The images were on a computer that he brought to a shop to be repaired.  These images are now circulating on the internet.  Eugen has tried to have the images "taken down" from Porn Hub where they were posted, but without any lasting success.  Emilia is in hot water at the school where she teaches and certain parents have demanded that she be discharged.  She may be on her way to a confrontation with school administrators (or parents) relating to this situation.  The streets of Bucharest are a picaresque carnival of violent encounters between motorists, demented old ladies who call out "Eat my cunt!", a self-proclaimed wandering sailor who propositions Emilia, and various other colorful and menacing street people. Emilia goes to a used book store and purchases a copy of Edgar Lee Masters' Spoon River Anthology; the clerk wants her read Charles Reznikoff's Testimony which interests her but, strangely, the shop doesn't have a copy -- apparently, in Bucharest they have good taste in American literature.  In the midst of all this chaos, Emilia goes to a pharmacy where there are more belligerent people (there was previously a fight in grocery store line) and buys one Xanax to relax herself.  The next part of the film (Part 2) is entitled something like "A Short Dictionary of Signs, Wonders, and Miracles."  This is montage of one or two shot scenes, each using a static camera for a single shot (or several related shots) or showing a historical picture.  Individual scenes are labeled with words like "Revolution", "Cock", "Fist," "Blonde Joke" etc.  These vignettes shown in rapid succession one after another are cynical and demoralizing, brief cynical aphorisms as it were about subjects such as war and racism and sex.  We see a tour-guide describing the grandiose "House of the People", the enormous and hideous palace where the dictator Nicolai Ceausescu lived.  There's an anecdote about Pasolini -- he told people that the non-professional actors persecuting Jesus in his Gospel according to St. Matthew were former Fascist cops and bureaucrats, but this was a lie -- he cast the parts with labor union leaders and good Communist comrades.  A man gazes at pig heads in butcher shop and says that God created pigs for us to eat them.  Some of this is disturbing; some of it is very funny.  There is no perceptible order to the vignettes and they come at the viewer so fast that you can't keep them in your mind.  We see revolutions, massacres, cell-phone footage of some British boss brutally berating workers through a  translator who softens his cruel and savage words.  There is other cell-phone footage of someone beating up a Roma woman and an image of a boy with a badly lacerated and bruised back coupled with a title that tells us over 60% of children in Romania are the victims of physical abuse.  We are shown similar statistics about rape.  Part 3 is called "Praxis and Innuendo".  This sequence, also about thirty minutes long depicts Emilia's trial at the school.  The proceedings occur in a garishly lit courtyard full of stone lions and other weird statuary.  The participants all sit, socially distanced (Covid is ravaging Bucharest) and wearing masks so that we can't see the lower half of anyone's face; this includes the heroine, Emilia.  The people sitting in judgement are all stereotypes -- there's a cartoonish fascist lieutenant in full uniform, a pearl-clutching dowager, some alarmed and semi-hysterical mothers and fathers, a pretentious intellectual who spouts Frenchified theory, a beautiful Czech woman who wears a clear plastic mask so her lovely features can be seen and speaks in her native language causing the other people to shout that she should present her position "in English" (which she does).  A variety of arguments are advanced, although the participants in this quasi-judicial proceeding keep losing the thredt of their thoughts and deviate into all sorts of weird digressions about the State, politics, the persecution of the Roma and so on.  Emilia defends herself vigorously.  She is completely unashamed of the images on the video and suggests that she's just providing something akin to sex education for the students. (She provides a vehement vindication of fellatio, for instance.) There's some discussion of Romania's most famous poet, someone called Mihai Eminescu (whose plaster bust presides over the hearing):  would he condone the sex-tape or not?  (Emilia recites by heart an erotic poem by the writer). An Orthodox priest clucks his tongue.  The discourse degenerates into anti-Semitic name-calling; someone claims that George Soros and Bill Gates are somehow sponsors of the sex-tape.  Finally, Emilia is denounced with such vulgarity and rage by one of the women that the teacher loses her composure and the two women end up tearing out each other's hair and rolling pn the ground next to a baroque fountain lit in lurid green and red tones.  The last section is called "Three Possible Endings" and true to its title presents three outcomes from which the audience can choose.  Here the setting remains the theatrically lit courtyard. In the first outcome, Emilia is acquitted and keeps her job.  In the second, she is fired.  In the third outcome, she becomes a superhero, a figure something like Wonder Woman in a strapless bathing suit; in that garb, she projects a net from her fingers (like Spiderman) tangles up her persecutors in the webbing, and, then, proceeds to assault them with a robustly proportioned dildo.  The sound track throughout is a combination of pop tunes, advertising ditties, Wehrmarcht marching songs, with an up-tempo version of "Lili Marlene" playing both during the porno scene at the outset and while Emilia dildo-rapes the people sitting in judgement of her in the courtyard.

I can't figure out what the movie is really about, all interpretation baffled by the section comprised of unrelated vignettes that don't seem to have anything to do with principal action involving amateur the sex-tape and its discontents.  Even parts of the movie that can be easily described are constructed in peculiar ways.  "One Way Streets" is simply a series of documentary-style images of busy streets.  We learn to watch the sequence in this way:  often Emilia isn't immediately visible and, so, the viewer engages in a game similar to the Where's Waldo books -- we scan the image closely to pick out Emilia who is sometimes in the remote distance or who, often, enters the frames (or departs) so that most of what we see is simply random traffic and pedestrians.  Since our view of the porno film is obstructed, this first part of the movie presents us with similar problems -- we want (or expect) to see Emilia, but the shots don't really oblige; indeed, often the camera wanders off, ignoring the protagonist to show us advertisements or quarrels between people on the street (for instance, a car and a pedestrian are in a stand-off, screaming at one another until the car simply knocks the pedestrian down and out of the way.)  The montage of vignettes has nothing really to do with the plot, doesn't cast any light on its themes, and seems resolutely indifferent to Emilia's dilemma.  As far as I can determine, the montage demonstrates the moral and political wretchedness of Romania, a place that is depicted as rife with child abuse and rape, full of Fascists (we see nuns singing a Fascist anthem), and pretty much corrupt in all respects.  I don't know what this exercise is supposed to accomplish although it is certainly persuasive that the denizens of Bucharest are in no position to make moral judgements about anyone, least of Emilia whose peccadillos are minor compared to the social decadence otherwise in evidence.  The trial scene is wildly exaggerated, implausible, and theatrically lurid -- and, as with the vignettes, the participants keep slipping off the point and veering into other topics that seem irrelevant.  The film maker is unwilling to provide a denouement, suggesting three endings, one of which is patently escapist -- but nothing that occurs at the so-called trial is realistically presented.  These scenes feature disorienting alienation effects -- it's like Brecht composed by, and for, morons.  Ultimately, I conclude that the film is a Dadaist provocation signifying that modern Romania is so completely dysfunctional that even a criticism of Romanian politics and education must be inevitably dysfunctional itself.  The film's most obvious thesis is that Romania has defined sex as obscene while engaging in all sorts of moral and political obscenity that has true and disturbing significance.  But this argument, advanced in the first sex tape scene -- namely that film makers can show a murder on-screen but not a blow-job -- is so puerile that the viewer hopes that this can't possibly be the movie's meaning.  

(The version of Bad News Banging or Looney Porn shown on Amazon Prime is bowdlerized.  I have made arguments about the censorship in the first section (censorship = money; why is this?).  This is apparently an artifact of the way the film is available on Amazon.  The sex scene at the outset of the movie is apparently not censored or obstructed in any way in the actual film as shown, for instance, at the Berlin Film Festival in 2021.  Furthermore, the crooks that run Amazon Prime want to hustle you away from the movie when it is ostensibly over -- thereby, making it difficult to watch the final credits which apparently contained interpolated quotation from people like Jean-Paul Sartre, Brecht, and Benjamin).  I doubt that these additional features would clarify anything about the movie, but caution must be exercised about making judgements about the version of the picture on Amazon streaming.)