I hate to speak in broad terms but it’s an unfortunate truth that many pieces of world cinema do not translate well for American audiences. I say this not to insult either element. Directors from around the globe are wise to make pictures that reflect and highlight their unique culture. Likewise, American viewers who seek out these pieces are typically an intelligent audience with legitimate interest in both cinema as a medium and culture as a whole. In some cases, even despite cultural differences, the cinema of a nation or region gains a healthy following stateside. Such has been the case with Japanese cinema for the better part of the last 50 years.
I’ve noted in other reviews that Japanese cinema in particular has the distinction of portraying an Eastern communal ethos that doesn’t necessarily comport with Western audiences’ mentality. Yet, many of Japan’s finest directors and films are held in a notably high regard by American movie lovers. I’m not quite sure that this will ever be the case with African cinema. Despite serving as a breathtaking location for any number of European and American pictures, as a comparative newcomer to the medium Africa has yet to produce for itself a movement that has captured international acclaim. That is not to say that the potential is not there, or that success in the U.S. marketplace is the only barometer of good cinema. (Indeed, a strong case could be made to the contrary of that latter argument.) My point is that portrayals of African culture, particularly tribal culture, have a steep hill to climb in regard to wooing American audiences. I do not blame racism for this challenge. Ardent racists aren’t exactly the world cinema crowd in the first place. I blame National Geographic. I believe that these perennial purveyors of exotic images have subconsciously trained viewers to look down on cultures different from their own by portraying these images with elements of shock. Thus we are puzzled and even offended by what we see. I think that this is partially the case with Souleymane Cisse’s Yeelen (1987).
The film is the story of Mali tribesman Niankoro (Issiaka Kane), a young man determined to confront his estranged father about the curse he has laid upon him. He must leave the home and the village of his mother and go on a spiritual journey to discover the mysteries of nature. Only through this knowledge will he be able to overcome his father’s use of dark magic. On his journey he is aided by two elder mentors; his uncle, a blind mystic, and the king of the region whom he quickly befriends. He lifts a curse for the great ruler, but they part ways after Niankoro sleeps with his youngest wife. The woman is given to him as a companion.
When the uncle feels that Niankoro has reached the seventh level of consciousness, he bestows upon him his battle totem. The intricate carving with a gemstone prism will serve as his primary weapon in his paternal confrontation. Before he departs for the battle, he relinquishes his cloak to his new wife so that she might give it to the child she now carries. This final confrontation is one of the oddest climaxes I can recall. The father stands across from the son in an open plain of desert. Each man thrusts his totem into the earth and allows the light from the prism to blind the other. Once the screen is completely washed out with light (the brightness of the title), we see neither father nor son again, leading to a confusing if not incoherent conclusion.
I believe I suffered here from a lack of understanding of the Mali culture. The film does not make any attempt to convey such elements to its audience, I would assume, because it was not made for Americans and Europeans. Cisse’s intended viewers are likely well versed in the idiosyncrasies herein. To them this is not a “life in Africa” picture, but simply a movie about their own being, and their own past. What’s unfortunate is that all audiences cannot view the film in that context. As a reviewer I can only draw from my own experience with the picture, which was toiling and troublesome.
Because of the cultural differences and innate stoicism of these characters, I never related to their struggles or triumphs. I saw them not as characters but as figures in an educational film, as Yeelen is shot in a way that too often begs for the accompaniment of a British voiceover. Okay, perhaps I’ve been too hard on National Geographic here, but the film does fail to take full advantage of the beautiful landscape in which it is set. Instead it opts for medium shots that are as flat as the characters that fill them. The film’s two most compelling characters, the father and the king, share but one scene together which I’m afraid is the movie’s high water mark.
I look forward to a strong African film movement, as that continent is still almost completely undiscovered in this respect. However, I’m not so sure that a film like Yeelen should be the blueprint for anyone’s entre into that potential cinematic revelation. Too often it looks like an educational piece while divulging no cultural education. This middle of the road approach rarely results in a film that stands the test of time.
Language: Bambara
Runtime: 105 Minutes
Available through Netflix.com
Grade: 1 Hat Off
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