This movie is like water, it glimmers and sparkles with humor, tenderness, beauty, hope, and the complexity that is love.
But like water, it also rages and storms; big waves rippling the mirror we call the spiral of history and ever-changing memory.
“We no go gree, we no go gree” bursts like a church chant, and in many ways we see the religious pour into the spiritual and the political.
Prayers are hawked on the streets.
Prayers become trance, offered to the water.
Prayers, prayers, prayers, both activation and an ominous force.
The (living) dead are so present, and the eyes of the child see spirit in everything, in everyone, in everywhere.
So many of the unseen members of society surface,
humanized through an innocence of tender curiosity.
“Don’t stare at the suffering” — yet how do we acknowledge them?
The family feels like the most important, yet haunted, institution. The father appears like a ghost before a ghost. Nature becomes our greatest foreshadowing.
Chai… what a curious and speculative piece.
I felt so much grief seeing our collective present inside a story of a country’s past.
The soundtrack… incredible. The mourning, the moaning, the mourning, the moaning.
Yoruba is a gorgeous language and I am blessed to have watched this in theatre with both my parents and my siblings. We all cried except for my father and brother, who in a quiet n intense irony couldn’t really resonate with the film.
Hm, this great film of African male love.
Father and Sons, Brother and Brother.
The male relationship is haunted and wounded. Mothers cry, in and outside the film.
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jacobvanloon
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