southafrica

Rough Aunties
Editor’s Note: I’ve decided to begin posting some reviews of films screening at Hot Docs 2009 early, hope­fully helping anyone attending make some decisions about what to see. Rough Aunties is screening on Tuesday May 5 at 6:30pm at the Bloor Cinema and Wednesday May 6 at 11:00am at the Isabel Bader Theatre.

Rough Aunties (Director: Kim Longinotto): The line between work and home is very thin indeed for the women of Operation Bobbi Bear in Durban, South Africa. This mul­tiracial group invest­igate the most hor­rific cases of child sexual and phys­ical abuse, providing coun­seling and making sure the per­pet­rators are pro­sec­uted, even in the face of bur­eau­cratic indif­fer­ence. Some of the testi­mony is extremely hard to listen to, but these women have heard it all, and con­tinue to come to work, even when their own home lives become chaotic.

In fact, a good por­tion of the film is ded­ic­ated to some of the tra­gedies that befall two of the “rough aunties” and it drives home the fact that these women are just as vul­ner­able as the fam­ilies they serve. Many of them have come out of situ­ations where they were raped and beaten, and they bring their own pain to work every day. Though it’s not clear from the film, the organization’s founder Jackie Branfield, though white, did not grow up in the priv­ileged envir­on­ment that one might sus­pect. In fact, though the organ­iz­a­tion is made up of both blacks and whites, it’s a thor­oughly blue-collar group, where the women have often had to struggle to raise their chil­dren by themselves.

If there is any weak­nesss in the film itself, it’s that some of the details are left out. We’re sort of thrown in mid-story and there isn’t a lot of con­text around where the organ­iz­a­tion came from and the full scope of the work it does. While that makes the story emo­tion­ally involving, it leaves out a lot of inform­a­tion that might make the char­ac­ters even more inter­esting. I think it would also have been helpful to place the seem­ingly common prac­tice of child rape into a cul­tural con­text. In AIDS-ravaged South Africa, there is a rampant (if ludicrous) belief that having sex with a virgin (even a child or a baby) will cure the dis­ease. Of course, you can see how this can create a hor­rific epi­demic of sexual abuse; and yet, no men­tion of this is made in the film.

This lack of con­text also makes it appear that these women are fighting a losing battle. It would have been inter­esting to con­nect their work with some of the other work being done to address the AIDS crisis in South Africa. Also, Operation Bobbi Bear has achieved some remark­able legal vic­tories, including the ability for rape vic­tims to access post-exposure pro­phy­laxis HIV med­ic­a­tion that can cut the risk of infec­tion by up to 80%. Some of this good news would have been wel­come after seeing some of the things these cour­ageous women face on a daily basis.

Official site of the film

A clip from the film

7/10(7/10)

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We Are Together (Thina Simunye)

We Are Together (Thina Simunye) (Director: Paul Taylor, UK, 2006): It would be pretty hard to make a bad film from such prom­ising material, and I’m glad to say that dir­ector Paul Taylor has not made a bad film, though he takes us through some pretty grim territory.

12-year-old Slindile Moya lives with sev­eral of her sib­lings at the Agape orphanage in South Africa. Both of her par­ents have died from AIDS, and her older sib­lings can’t afford to care for the younger ones at home any­more. What holds this incred­ibly close-knit family together is music. The younger ones sing in a choir at the orphanage, and when the whole family is together, they are always singing.

When a chance comes for the choir to record a CD and go on a fund-raising tour for the orphanage, the chil­dren are incred­ibly excited, but when the trip falls through and Slindile’s older brother suc­cumbs to AIDS, our hearts break with her. But as usual, the music pulls everyone through, and they finish the CD anyway, hoping for other oppor­tun­ities. There are a few more twists and turns in the story that I won’t share, but through it all, Slindile keeps singing and smiling.

It might appear that it was easy to make this film. These are incred­ibly beau­tiful chil­dren making aston­ishing music, and if you just left a camera rolling, you’d get a good film. But dir­ector Taylor takes us into some incred­ibly intimate places and lingers there, let­ting the full emo­tional impact of these children’s lives take hold of the audience.

As with Born Into Brothels, the film has led the film­makers to become involved in a char­it­able pro­ject, and I recom­mend that you buy a CD of the gor­geous music of the Children of Agape, which will go to sup­port the children’s edu­ca­tion costs.

Unfortunately for us, the film premiered last night at the Tribeca Film Festival in New York, and so the dir­ector was there with 14 of the chil­dren. Here in Toronto, we had one of the pro­du­cers, Pauline Von Moltke, who was gra­cious enough to con­duct a Q&A. Unfortunately, my recording wasn’t very good, so I’m not going to post it.

Official site for the film

9/10(9/10)

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The Big Sellout (Der Grosse Ausverkauf)

The Big Sellout (Der Grosse Ausverkauf) (Director: Florian Opitz, Germany, 2006): Beautifully shot on film, The Big Sellout is yet another strong polit­ical doc­u­mentary, this one on the theme of privat­iz­a­tion. Since privat­iz­a­tion is a key­stone of neo­lib­eral eco­nomic policy all over the world, the film takes us to sev­eral dif­ferent loc­ales to see its effects on real people. What we dis­cover is that the effort by mul­tina­tional cor­por­a­tions to turn the neces­sities of life (health­care, elec­tri­city, even water) into com­mod­ities is having a dev­ast­ating effect on the people of the devel­oping world.

In the Philippines, Minda spends all of her time trying to scrape money together for dia­lysis treat­ments for her teen­aged son. In South Africa, Bongani is part of a group of skilled act­iv­ists who restore elec­trical ser­vice to those whose power has been cut off for non-payment. In Bolivia, Rosa is a grand­mother who stood up to the face­less cor­por­a­tion that was attempting to privatize her city’s water supply. And in England, Simon the train driver details the breakup of British Rail and the decline of rail ser­vice in that country.

In every case, privat­iz­a­tion was the cul­prit, but to be fair, Opitz attempts to engage with the eco­nom­ists at the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund who often impose privat­iz­a­tion as a pre­con­di­tion for lending to devel­oping nations. Surprisingly for the dir­ector, he gets very little cooper­a­tion from these shadowy bodies, who are ostens­ibly required to be trans­parent and account­able to their member nations. The one eco­nomist he does inter­view is Joseph Stiglitz, former Chief Economist of the World Bank who now dis­agrees with the rush to privatize everything, and who has become an opponent of most of the eco­nomic policies of globalization.

I was reminded when watching this film of sev­eral other strong anti-globalization doc­u­ment­aries of recent years, including The Take, The Corporation, and even The Yes Men. The Big Sellout adds some heartrending per­sonal stories from sev­eral corners of the world, and it’s clear that privat­iz­a­tion is really only helping those with too much money make even more of it. Without having to pay lip ser­vice to the demo­cratic ideals of national gov­ern­ments, cor­por­a­tions are con­cerned with just one thing: the pur­suit of profits. The profits may come, but the human costs should be tal­lied against them.

The only weak­ness in the film may be that I was left won­dering what I could pos­sibly do, in my com­fort­able First World life, to combat this creeping sick­ness. The film’s German web site has some edu­ca­tional mater­ials, so I hope these get trans­lated for the English site soon.

Here is the Q&A with pro­ducer Florian Opitz from after the screening:

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Duration: 12:37

Official site for the film

9/10(9/10)

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His Big White Self

His Big White Self (UK, 2006, Director: Nick Broomfield, 94 minutes): I’m a bit sheepish to admit that this is the first Nick Broomfield doc­u­mentary that I’ve seen. From what I’ve heard, Broomfield was one of the first doc­u­mentary film­makers to insert him­self into the nar­rative, and like Michael Moore, he can some­times be more of a dis­trac­tion than necessary.

This film is a com­panion piece to his 1991 film The Leader, His Driver, and the Driver’s Wife, which was a por­trait of South African white suprem­acist leader Eugene Terreblanche. It would be a good idea to see that film first, I think, since this film refers to many events from the earlier film. In the 1990s, after the col­lapse of apartheid, Terreblanche’s group, the Afrikaner Resistance Movement (the Afrikaans acronym is AWB), was respons­ible for a rash of bomb­ings that killed sev­eral people. His fol­lowers also viol­ently dis­rupted gath­er­ings of the ANC and other polit­ical oppon­ents, and even­tu­ally, Terreblanche faced prison time for some of these crimes (as well as for some more per­sonal mis­deeds, like assault and attempted murder). Ridiculously, he serves only three years in prison, and Broomfield returns in 2004 just as he is being released, hoping to inter­view him again.

As a side note, in the first film, he never sits for a formal inter­view and Broomfield is reduced to chasing him around trying to pro­voke con­front­a­tions. In the same vein, this time Terreblanche refuses to meet the film crew for an inter­view (and in fact is pro­hib­ited from con­ducting polit­ical inter­views as part of his parole), so Broomfield ends up dis­guising him­self and pre­tending to be seeking an inter­view regarding a book of poetry Terreblanche has coming out. While these scenes are both funny and tense, it means the “inter­view” itself is pretty devoid of mean­ingful state­ments from The Leader.

Most of the inter­esting inter­views are with the Driver of the first film, J.P. Meyer. An affable man now into his six­ties, J.P. seems to really like Broomfield. But just when the audi­ence is warming to him, he spouts some racist non­sense. Men like Meyer are piti­able even in their hatred. Desperate to hold onto their white priv­ilege, and cloaking it in reli­gious lan­guage, they’re now growing old as bitter men.

His Big White Self

Terreblanche is a fas­cin­ating char­acter. A fiery orator who has based much of his move­ment and man­ner­isms on the German National Socialist (Nazi) Party, he con­stantly paints him­self as a victim, and even though mel­lower now, is still con­vinced that his cause is right.

The film was hugely enjoy­able but slighly flawed for two reasons. First, it really can’t be judged apart from the first film, which I haven’t seen (and which doesn’t appear to be widely avail­able; it’s not even on DVD here in North America). Secondly, Broomfield’s dis­com­fort is played mostly for laughs. The AWB at the zenith of its power had half a mil­lion mem­bers out of a white pop­u­la­tion of four mil­lion. Even with some of their car­toonish fas­cist pos­turing, they were a dan­gerous and violent group. Even though Broomfield speaks of receiving death threats after the first film, you don’t get the sense of danger in this one. Perhaps the AWB’s power really has dis­ap­peared. But when you see how little has changed in some parts of the coun­tryside, you’re left feeling not so sure.

Visit the director’s web site

More on the film from England’s Channel 4

Transcript of a webchat con­ducted after the film aired on England’s Channel 4

8/10(8/10)

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The Swenkas

The Swenkas (Denmark, 2004, Director: Jeppe Rønde, 72 minutes): This film was really unlike any other doc­u­mentary I’ve ever seen. The Swenkas are a group of about 20 Zulu men who gather each weekend to “swank”: they dress up in fancy suits and jew­ellery and com­pete before a judge to see who is the most stylish. Sort of a “Lord of the Bling” (ooh, couldn’t resist!). But it’s more than just fun for them. Swanking rep­res­ents self-respect, and these men emphasize cer­tain values such as clean­li­ness and sobriety. It’s as if the old adage “Clothes make the man” has come to life. Even though some may think these men are spending far too much money on their clothes, it seems to have given them the pride they need to be suc­cessful in life. Certainly no one in their fam­ilies com­plains. Besides, some­times they com­pete for large sums of money (or even, now and then, a cow.)

The reason the film stands out is the way it has been crafted. Director Rønde uses the framing device of a fic­tional nar­rator, an old Zulu vag­a­bond who tells us a bit about the group, but also sets up the dra­matic arc of the story: the leader of the Swenkas has just died, and his son is grieving and thinking about abandoning the group. This storyline gives the film the feeling of a fic­tional film, and at times it’s hard to believe that the whole thing isn’t care­fully scripted.

The dir­ector explained after­wards that he never told the par­ti­cipants what to say, but that since Zulu cul­ture is built around storytelling and the Swenkas were all used to per­forming, each par­ti­cipant had no trouble “per­forming” in the film. But they really were working through a dif­fi­cult time in the life of their group.

The result is a beau­ti­fully shot, and even more beau­ti­fully edited film that feels more like a fable. The recur­ring themes are hope and the rela­tion­ship between fathers and sons. The dir­ector actu­ally told us that this film is the second in a tri­logy about faith, hope and love, and I found myself really eager to see the other films. A standard doc­u­mentary approach, with inter­views and such, would have made an inter­esting film. Jeppe Rønde’s unorthodox approach has given us a tran­scendent one.

More inform­a­tion on the film here.

10/10(10/10)

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