18/3/10
A new Haitian feature film, watched on tape for work, directed by Raoul Peck who has spent most of his life in exile in Congo, France, Germany, the United States but was briefly minister of culture in the mid-1990s under the current president, Rene Preval.
A thinly-disguised portrait of Jean-Bertrand Aristide, the "slum priest" who was elected Haiti's president in 1991, deposed within a year, exiled, returned to power in 1993 with American muscle, and then stood down at the end of his term in 1996 (Preval, who'd been his prime minister, was elected his successor). In 2000 he was re-elected, but again deposed in 2004.
Like Aristide the film's protagonist, Jean de Dieu, has succumbed to megalomania and an inability to grasp that, despite his democratic mandate, he has lost the support of the people. He presides over an incorrigibly corrupt and violent regime (and society) like all of Haiti's previous rulers.
Shot in the Citadelle Laferriere, a magnificent cloud-shrouded mountain-top fortress built by an early 19th century Haitian dictator, Henri Christophe, and now by the look of it a luxury hotel. Our hero (Zinedine Soualem, convincingly mad, self-pitying and megalomaniac by turns) is about to be deposed. He has a little daughter and a beautiful trophy wife (Sonia Rolland, a former Miss France). Down in the city the television shows scenes of rioting. It is independence day and he has prepared a lunatic speech ("Shalom", "Haiti uber alles", "I love you all"). Foreign dignitaries are ringing up one by one to cancel their attendance at the ceremony.
In the morning he gets out of bed and steps on a broken glass, so spends the entire film limping. In one of the castle's dungeons he keeps fierce dogs, and an opposition journalist who is tortured and ultimately taken out and necklaced, but not before he's been dressed in one of the leader's suits (and daubed with TV make-up) and brought up to have lunch at a table for two with our hero.
Based, I gather, on a Russian film about Hitler's last hours called Moloch. Well-shot, well-enough acted, full of really black humour, a nightmare picture of personal and political collapse, but shot in an increasingly disjointed and impressionistic style.
Showing posts with label haiti. Show all posts
Showing posts with label haiti. Show all posts
Monday, 22 March 2010
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
CREOLE CHOIR OF CUBA
27/8/09, St George's (Edinburgh Fringe)
Six women and four men from Cuba perform songs about Haiti ("the world's first black republic", but also "poor Haiti") in creole.
The women were matronly, two of them older and smaller than the others (one indeed was distinctly wizened); the men included one with an incredible bass voice (at one stage I thought there was a double bass hidden somewhere behind the stage). Everyone got to do at least one solo.
The music was African/European, but the harmonies not a patch on the South African ensembles to which some reviewers/previewers compare this one.
They wore long gold coloured, striped or patterned robes in the case of the ladies, and Hawaiian shirts for the lads.
The 11th member of the cast was a narrator in long trunks, white patterned body paint and a big straw hat, brandishing a paddle.
There was some audience interaction: clapping, shaking hands and so forth. The singing and accompanying percussion was amplified but at the end they came down without microphones and exited singing via the audience, which was sweet.
Most of the time you had no idea what they were singing about, which didn't help, though the narrator (speaking English) was helpful. At one point we were told many had escaped from Haiti to Cuba, the island of sugar. Cue a shout of pure Castroite joy.
Six women and four men from Cuba perform songs about Haiti ("the world's first black republic", but also "poor Haiti") in creole.
The women were matronly, two of them older and smaller than the others (one indeed was distinctly wizened); the men included one with an incredible bass voice (at one stage I thought there was a double bass hidden somewhere behind the stage). Everyone got to do at least one solo.
The music was African/European, but the harmonies not a patch on the South African ensembles to which some reviewers/previewers compare this one.
They wore long gold coloured, striped or patterned robes in the case of the ladies, and Hawaiian shirts for the lads.
The 11th member of the cast was a narrator in long trunks, white patterned body paint and a big straw hat, brandishing a paddle.
There was some audience interaction: clapping, shaking hands and so forth. The singing and accompanying percussion was amplified but at the end they came down without microphones and exited singing via the audience, which was sweet.
Most of the time you had no idea what they were singing about, which didn't help, though the narrator (speaking English) was helpful. At one point we were told many had escaped from Haiti to Cuba, the island of sugar. Cue a shout of pure Castroite joy.
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