aether's silly little film corner

In the movie Lionheart by Genevieve Nnaji (2018) Adaeze fights to save her husband's failing business. Jane Bryce, in her essay “Signs of Femininity, Symptoms of Malaise: Contextualizing Figurations of ‘Woman’ in Nollywood” posits that Nollywood often paints women as either the epitome of femininity or the embodiment of female malaise. Adaeze's character embodies both aspects, showcasing her strength and resilience while navigating a male-dominated business world.

One pivotal scene exemplifies this duality. Adaeze, dressed in a sharp pantsuit, strides confidently into a boardroom filled with men. The mise-en-scène positions her as an outsider, her attire contrasting with the men's suits. The low-angle shot from her perspective emphasizes her vulnerability, yet her determined gaze and unwavering posture convey her inner strength.

The cinematography mirrors Adaeze's emotional journey. Initially, the lighting is harsh and unforgiving, reflecting the challenges she faces. As she gains control, the lighting becomes softer, symbolizing her growing confidence. The editing intercuts between Adaeze's boardroom interactions and flashbacks of her domestic life, highlighting her ability to balance her roles as a businesswoman and a wife. Sound also plays a crucial role in reinforcing Adaeze's determination. Her voice, clear and assertive, cuts through the room, demanding attention. The score swells during tense moments, underscoring the pressure she faces. Yet, there's a subtle undercurrent of traditional Igbo music, a reminder of her cultural roots and the strength she draws from them.

In the opening sequence of Niki Caro's Whale Rider (2002), the film establishes a connection between Paikea and the natural world, while also introducing the motif of "mythological time". As Pai plays among the seaside rocks and waves, the camera lingers on her playful movements, capturing her harmonious existence within this natural environment. The soft, natural lighting and the gentle sounds of the crashing waves create a tranquil atmosphere, emphasizing Paikea's sense of belonging in this untamed landscape.

Du Plooy's analysis of the film highlights the significance of this opening scene, suggesting that Paikea's connection to the natural world represents a harmonious relationship with the cyclical mythological time of her ancestors. This cyclical time contrasts with the linear, progressive time that has been imposed by colonization. The film's juxtaposition of these two temporalities sets the stage for Paikea's journey to reclaim her ancestral heritage and restore balance to her community.

In Claire Denis’ film “35 Shots of Rum” and Akosua Adoma Owusu’s “Kwaku Ananse” the father figure is elevated to a state of idealization and romanticization through cinematic means of creating liminality. By liminality, I refer to natural changes or rites of passage in the human world. In James S. Williams’s “Romancing the Father in Claire Denis’s 35 Shots of Rum,” Williams describes the main stylistic risk that Denis takes with this film, which is the use of cinematography that evokes a slowness, a steadiness to it. Williams highlights specifics of Denis’ artistic choices here, such as “the poetic images of passage and transience, the capture of immediate physical sensations, and the attention to multiple textures and the tactile materiality of things.” The most notable use of this in Clair Denis’ film is the opening footage of commuter trains traversing the landscape of Paris.The dreamlike feeling of this footage also evokes a feeling of the liminal, the feeling of passing through. This serves as a perfect precursor for the journey to come within the movie. 

In Akosua Adoma Owusu’s “Kwaku Ananse,” the use of the liminal is evoked through the depiction of the forest. As Kyan Koronhwea walks into the forest away from her father’s funeral, she is really traveling into another world. The forest symbolically represents mystery and spirituality, and within this film it is used similarly as a “travel ground” for spirits finding their way to God. It is notable that Kyan travels into the forest during sunset, and the viewer sees the trees grow darker as she solemnly walks further and further. The bubble-like view from the camera into the trees further evokes the sense of the dream as the true shapes of the trees warp slightly. Kyan looks up at the gaps of sunlight shining through the tree leaves, and the viewer gets a sense of a sparkling pattern in the light. The camera then cuts to a shot of thousands of ants on a tree, and Kyan asks the ants where to find her father. This scene encapsulates the film's exploration of the liminal space, where the boundaries between the physical and metaphysical blur, ultimately reinforcing the film's central theme of seeking connection and understanding in the face of loss and transition. In conclusion, both Claire Denis' "35 Shots of Rum" and Akosua Adoma Owusu's "Kwaku Ananse" employ cinematic techniques to idealize and romanticize the father figure through the feeling of liminality. Through these cinematic choices, both directors elevate the father figure to a realm of reverence, infusing their films with a sense of transcendence and connection to the spiritual.

Directed by Iram Haq, 'What Will People Say' (2017) tells the tale of Nisha, a young Pakistani-Norwegian woman, who finds her world unraveling when her secret relationship with a Norwegian boy is exposed. Forced by her family to stay with relatives in Pakistan, Nisha's resilience shines through as she grapples with the clash of cultures, fiercely asserting her desire for freedom and then being forced to adapt. One of the film's powerful moments includes Nisha's emotional confrontation with her parents, which reflects Dancus’s analysis. In the scene after Nisha's relationship is discovered, the room brims with palpable tension, sound at this moment playing a huge role, with silence searing through the room as Nisha, torn between defiance and vulnerability, pleads her case. Her father embodies a mix of hurt and duty, while her mother grapples with conflicted emotions, torn between love for Nisha and societal pressures. The charged atmosphere, coupled with the actors' remarkable performances, vividly portrays the clash of cultures and generations. This emotionally charged moment encapsulates the film's exploration of identity, family, and societal expectation. 

Content warning: Discussion of excessive racialized violence, slavery and the KKK

Before I dive into the film, I want to address the controversy around Tarantino and why I hate him in particular for making this movie 

The institution of slavery was one with many horrors, and I believe Tarantino’s film ultimately portrays this in excess, to enlighten or to entertain, but either way, Tarantino being a white director, it’s ultimately a flawed conception done by the wrong man. 

Synopsis

Tarantino’s Django Unchained hails as the perfect example of excess within a film- being Tarantino’s notable style, including depictions of excessive gore, violence, and power imbalances. He has been one of the most successful filmmakers in displaying excessive perspectives of human horrors and why people commit these horrors. Django Unchained is no exception (with many mistakes to the presence of nuance, but we’ll get into that later). 

Django Unchained is a revisionist western film that follows the story of Django, a former slave-turned-bounty hunter who is “freed” by a German dentist-turned-bounty hunter, Dr King Schultz, who is in search of the Brittle Brothers (former owners of Django and his estranged wife Broomhilda). 

After Django and Schultz find and kill the Brittle Brothers and collect the bounty, they embark themselves on a bounty-hunting journey and become partners, collecting the heads of many (notably white men) who have done wrong. Schultz trains Django in bounty-hunting and aids him in finding his wife.

Genre

Everything about this film is about spectacle, and of course that’s film in general, but this film in particular makes a spectacle of every aspect of the post-civil war South. From the failed Klu Klux Klan meeting structured like an SNL skit (we bask in the hilarity of white men on horses who can’t see out of the eyeholes of their KKK hoods, and are then blown to smithereens by Django and Schultz), to the hideous torture of enslaved people through Mandigo fighting. 

Notes on the “Mandigo” fights:

Within the film, Django and Schultz take a visit to the “Candyland” plantation where Django’s wife is still enslaved by the cruel slave-owner villain Calvin Candie. Calvin Candie regularly hosts “Mandigo” fights, where the strongest enslaved individuals are forced to fight to the death by hand while White people watch for entertainment. These Mandigo fights were NOT something that happened historically- it is a fantasy that Tarantino creates to push forward the plot of the film, and to further justify Django’s imminent revenge plot. 

The Revisionist Western fantasy

Something I personally find problematic, but to an engaging extent, is the rewriting of history that Tarantino does within this film. Django Unchained is classified as a “Revisionist Western,” a film taking place in the dynamics of a classical western body, but with a nuanced perspective on the lines between good and evil, usually through the “anti-hero” protagonist, or in the case of Django, a former slave, an outlaw, who is also committing heinous acts of revenge.  

To this end, the character of Django is an incredibly powerful one, but the plot devices that Tarantino uses to create this character are problematic to me. First of all, Django only gains his freedom and power through a white man (the white savior) rather than finding this call to power himself. He has agency within himself, but it is only realized after the white man comes along to free him and kill the people who are holding him captive. I would have personally preferred a revenge story without Dr. Schultz. 

Gender and racialized bodies

The largest elephant in the room with this film is Tarantino’s excessive writing and use of the n-word in the film. Obviously, it’s largely controversial. Some would argue for historical accuracy, some would argue for disrespect, and I think it ultimately boils down to a further racialization within the film. It clearly separates and otherizes African-Americans within the film, serving to intentionally and excessively create divides. 

Gender within this film is not addressed in depth as the content dives more into racial divides rather than gender divides, however the gender divides are still present with this film being a Western. 

First of all, the subjugation of women’s agency is present. There is not a single woman in this film who shows much agency at all beyond the agency to do some action for a man or in relation to a man. 

There are only two “main” female characters in this film, being Lara Lee (the sister of the villainous Calvin Candie), and Broomhilda Von-Shaft. 

Lara Lee, in a position of white privilege, takes on the role of taking over the Candyland plantation after Clavin Candie is shot by Dr. Schultz. This is her only moment of agency, but she does so to carry on her brother’s legacy rather than acting from her own will. Her role is that of a southern white woman who only serves to uphold a system that subjugates her but also others. This is a primary example of how race relations supersede gender relations in terms of otherization. It always comes back down to the black/white power disparity, despite Lara’s subjugation as a white woman, who is objectified and almost an incestuous object of desire for her brother Calvin.

Broomhilda is portrayed as the classic damsel in distress archetype, waiting for her knight in shining armor (Django) to come to rescue her. Her abuse is used as a plot device in order to instill more power in Django. One primary example would be when Django and Dr Schultz arrive to Calvin Candie’s home asking for Broomhilda, and they are informed that she is in the “hot box”. This, of course, pisses off Django who asserts dominance over the lead enslaved man Stephen Warren, who is essentially the “boss” of the other enslaved people. Django orders him to take Broomhilda out of the hot box, again giving him another moment of power. 

There is an extremely notable lack of solidarity between enslaved people in the film, which is again a huge historical inaccuracy on the part of Tarantino. This lack of solidarity further alienates Django, who also exacts his revenge against another “privileged” enslaved person being Stephen, who is in a position of power and is protected by Candie. 

Questions:

Is the excess of violence within this film justifiable to the ends of the plot, or does it take away from the message of freedom portrayed through Django’s call to power and revenge?

Is the excessive use of the n-word within this movie justifiable for the aim of historical accuracy, or is the otherization that it creates an unacceptable element of this film?

Is Django’s revenge justified? (Probably a question for those who have seen the film). 

Jane Campion’s The Piano is a colonial noir depiction of feminine domination as well as racial domination. Through the intimate characterization of Ada Mcgrath, we come to know a defiant woman caught between three lovers: the passed on lover, the evil arranged husband (Alisdair Stewart), and the sensitive yet coercive lover (George Baines). 

Within the confrontation scene between Stewart and Baines, we find the two men lit by candlelight, and a sleeping Baines confronted by Stewart with his rifle in hand. Flora sleeps next to Baines in his hut, her clothing draped from the ceiling. The two men are only partially lit, with Stewart’s face especially half covered in shadow. He comments on the face of Baines, calling it “nothing”, and mentioning that he has his marks (the marks of the Maori people, a significance of Baines’ comradery with them). The most prominent characterization of the Maori is through Baines, the “white man turned native”, and naturally he is subjected to partial indignities from his community and also Stewart in this moment. 

Margaret Jolly’s article discusses the subjugation of the Maori people through their lack of characterization, and I would like to point to this particular moment of subjugation that occurs between two men of the same race. Naturally, Stewart’s disdain for Baines is fueled by his jealousy and rage, but the “nativization” of Baines’ character serves to further this otherization of him in regards to other white members of this colonial community. In this, once again, the Maori people are misrepresented through the lens of the white filmmaker, regardless of her cross-cultural intentions, which were in poor taste. 

In Wanuri Kahiu’s Rafiki, we are left longing for something more, a world where queer utopia is not just an occasional pocket of safety and a breath of fresh air, but something real, as Ziki says. 

Within the scene on the rooftop, we find this desire come to a blossom. Kena and Ziki make a pact to “be something”, not to be like “any of them down there”. Ziki’s confidence in the notion that their relationship could become a “real” and socially accepted one propels the message of hope forward. Alongside the beautiful nature of this scene, the message of hope for a better future comes to a head here, with sunlight shining through Ziki’s hair and forming a beautiful halo around her head. The camera pans to the sky at a certain point, and we see the clouds radiating with pinks and blues in a pastel tone. The aesthetic building of the scene relates back to Johnstone’s mention of “Afrobubblegum” philosophy held by the director. The pastel colors of the sky remind me of the name itself (bubblegum) and the presence of fluttering laundry of many colors relates back to the philosophy itself, which is the creation of art that portrays Africans as “vibrant and loving and thriving and living a vibrant life” (Kahiu, 2017). This scene was definitely one of the most vibrant to me, and the narrative content of their conversation pushes forward the message once again, that their love can very much become “real”, and doesn’t have to simply exist in this pocket. The ephemeral nature of the scene ultimately cements this, as love is just that, ephemeral and beyond any limitations of others.