#lcafilmfest

Deeper than Fruit

By Olisa Nwokedi

Looking at the title of the short film, Olive, one would automatically assume that the movie revolves around the tasty fruit but it is much deeper than that.

The movie follows two struggling couples trying their best to make their relationship work. Inspired by William Shakespeare ‘s song “O Mistress Mine” and performed by Caleb Eberhardt of the hip hop/jazz duo Quincy Vidal, Olive hopes to use its unique method of storytelling to explore the themes of betrayal, infidelity, heartbreak and chance encounters.

The most striking element of the movie is its visual style. The movie solely relies on using Black and White as its primary colours. The film also boasts great cinematography from Eric Branco as we get great shots of the city of Philadelphia and various rooms that serve as a backdrop for the troubled relationships.

The film’s minimalist approach works extremely well. The movie utilizes a soothing and emotionally powerful rendition of Shakespeare’s song ‘O Mistress Mine’ performed by Caleb Eberhardt. The song helps drive the story and effectively highlights the themes the movie focuses on. The actors effectively convey raw emotion on the screen as the movie has limited dialogue and focuses on the characters’ expressions and their actions to tell the tale.

Although there were moments when the movie stutters, Olive is a fascinating short film backed by a stellar performance from its cast; impressive visual style and great music.

The 2016 Lights, Camera, Africa!!! film festival has come and gone. But we have saved some of the memories. See below for photos.

Music Makes the People … Live

By Laure Kessler

This remake of Prince’s film “Purple Rain”, pays tribute to the Touareg passion for the electric guitar. Filmed in Tamatchek language, the title translates to “Rain The Colour of blue with a little red in it” because there is no literal translation of the word “Purple” in Tamatchek.

Thankfully music is universal and does not need any translation—as this film itself shows.

We follow the journey of Mdou Moctar, a Nigerien guitarist, arriving in Agadez full of passion and new songs, trying to make it in the Touareg guitar musical scene while encountering obstacles like every other artist.

With his purple robe and motorcycle of the same colour, Mdou Moctar is transporting us all film long, at the sound of Nigerien music. Last stop: a brilliant scene of a musical competition between him and a most renowned Nigerien guitarist, taking place at the Alliance Française of Agadez.

Add a love story, some funny scenes featuring the jealousy of other musicians, some struggle with family relations, and you find yourself before an original film that shows how the music life in Niger is, the struggle of an artist, and the importance of music for so many people in this part of the world.

Importance is Not Enough

By Ifeoluwa Nihinlola

The burden of telling important stories usually burns in ways that tempt creatives to turn them without paying attention to the form. This is even more complicated if the important story is one of pain. In the process of emphasizing the importance, in ensuring the audience gets the emotions, the work is prone to turning into a cane in a teacher’s hand, beating the lesson into the student: it doesn’t work. This is the story of Udoka Oyeka’s short film No Good Turn.

No Good Turn is a film about the aftermath of a Boko Haram attack on a market, mosque and police station. Mutilated bodies dripping with blood are dragged through injured people, an image of gore that attacks the senses. Or it would if this were a different time, less saturated by images of war and pain delivered to our palms.

Oyeka’s film tries to make the audience closer to the war by offering a more human side to the war, but if the image of a village of corpses laid down dark and shrunk, or of parents crying on national TV holding up images of their kidnapped daughters isn’t potent enough to jolt imaginations in ways that preclude selective amnesia, then a film that explores the same subject is already starting with a handicap.

A doctor reaching for the bottle of wine, a policeman brandishing a gun in the face of the hospital staff in a torn uniform, same policeman getting a call from his daughter just as he’s about to make a decision in the height of emotions, all scenes that seem shot with the intention of eliciting an emotional response from the viewer but don’t quite manage to do so. The moment the camera pans from doctor to image of doctor’s wife on his table borders on being tacky.

Bi Kidude: Old Enchantress

By Ifeoluwa Nihinlola

Andy Jones’ I Shot Bi Kikude is split in two by an examination of how Bi Kikude went missing after the appearance of her brother on national television.

Before that, the documentary is about the making of Jones’ debut feature film, As Old As My Tongue, which is also about the woman described at the time as the world’s oldest pop star.  Andy, starting from the very end of her life, flashes back to enthusiastically narrate how the Zanzibari star enchanted him, and in doing so enchants us who watch her.

These early scenes contain Bi Kidude singing, rehearsing, travelling the world with people around her, shaking hands, waving at her fans and interacting with young people with her cracking wit.

When one of them asks how old she is, she says he’s too young to be her grandson, but warns him that she would take him down if she has too, so he shouldn’t see her as a weak old woman. She grips his hand firmly to show him how strong she is. She’s laughing, singing, and alive in the atmosphere she has created after her own likeness: freedom.

“I drink, I smoke, I sing,” she says. She gives life to the trite expression free spirit, moving around the world like a genuine superstar who has managed to escape the solitude of fame. Then she disappears, presumably kidnapped by her nephew Baraka, who appeared on national television accusing her handlers of mismanaging her funds.

His accusation is particularly directed at Yusuf Mahmoud, the director of the Sauti Za Busara festival, who is miffed at Baraka’s statement and tries to describe him as an opportunistic family member. After interviewing many of Bi Kidude’s known associates, Andy Jones finally finds her in custody of Baraka, who then explains his reasons for taking her into hiding and how it was in good faith. Bi Kidude is shown frail, the jowls on her face enhanced, and lacking her characteristic verve.

Later, Bi Kidude makes a final appearance at the Busara festival where she sings feebly to an ecstatic crowd and does a shimmy and is clearly full of joy.

In watching Baraka, and Yusuf, and even Andy speak about her and for her, of what they think is good and bad for her, one feels a sadness at the suspension of the agency of a woman whose life had been about being free to sing.

Iquo B. Essien, who spoke via Skype after her short film “New York, I Love You”