ADIFF ’24: Joe Bullet

According to hiis theme song: “He’s the man, the man who fights evil. He’s the man, the man who fights crime. He’s the man nobody can tie down.” Maybe the band credited as “Silver Threads” does not go as far as Isaac Hayes did describing John Shaft as a “sex machine” and a “bad mother,” but they clearly went for a similar vibe. Yet, this is not just another blaxploitation movie. It was the first South African-produced film featuring an all-black cast. Suppressed shortly after its 1973 premiere, it has been recently “rediscovered” (hardly forgotten, it spawned a1982 sequel) and freshly restored. Over fifty years later, Louis de Witt’s Joe Bullet returns to the big screen as a selection of the 2024 African Diaspora International Film Festival in New York.

South African must have a rough-and-tumble football tradition. considering ANC-breakaway politician Mosiuoa Lekota is still affectionately nicknamed “Terror” from his time on the pitch. However, the tactics unleashed against the Eagles club are beyond acceptable bounds. Fortunately, the Eagles president knows Joe Bullet, a very Shaft-like detective, because gangsters targeted his two best players, Jerry and Flash, trying to strong-arm them into switching to the Falcons club, right before the rematch of the Cup championship.

Obviously, Bullet must protect them, while lending a hand as a replacement for the trainer killed during the prologue. Of course, Bullet’s alpha-manliness inadvertently complicates matters when Jerry’s sort of girlfriend Beauty, the club president’s daughter, inevitably falls for the detective.

Sure, Joe Bullet is a derivative low-budget exploitation movie, but it is solidly enjoyable on those terms alone. However, it also represents some significant South African cultural history. It is recognized as the first South African film of its kind. Frankly, some reasonable, free-thinking Western viewers might be baffled by the censorship of the film, because it makes absolutely no political statements, explicit or implied. Presumably, the Apartheid government simply considered a black hero of Bullet’s strength, stature, and pride to represent a threat.

Still, lead actor Ken Gampu went on to become a trailblazing South African movie star (despite his weird open-palmed, slightly Gumpish running style). Gampu co-starred in two Golan-Globus Cannon films, King Solomon’s Mines and American Ninja 4: The Annihilation, as well as the breakout art-house hit The Gods Must Be Crazy, all which qualifies him as legendary.

TIFF ’22: The Umbrella Men

The Bo-Kaap is a neighborhood in Capetown, but it sure gives of NOLA vibes, thanks to the high concentration of pre-1850 architecture and the competitive marching jazz bands. Maintaining the jazz traditions takes hard work and it also costs money. Unfortunately, the bank is poised to foreclose on the Goema club, so they can flip it to a mobbed-up developer. To save his late father’s neighborhood institution, Jerome and his friends go where the money is in John Barker’s caper comedy, The Umbrella Men, which premiered internationally at the 2022 Toronto International Film Festival.

Jerome did not want to run the Goema or its affiliated marching band, the Umbrella Men, but everyone expects him to step up after his father’s funeral. Instead, he just wants to greet his old pal Mortimer when he is finally released from prison and then return to his life in Joburg. However, the way his father’s old gangster rival Tariq venally covets the property just rubs him the wrong way. Unfortunately, the local Bo-Kaap neighborhood bank is calling in all his father’s debts, so he decides to steal directly from them to pay-off their liens.

The heist caper that unfolds is pretty cleverly conceived in its own right, incorporating Capetown’s old tunnel system and the noonday gun fired every afternoon at twelve-sharp. Yet, it is the music, composed by Kyle Shepherd and performed by trumpeter Darren English, Buddy Wells on reeds, and the Loukmaan Adams Band that really gives the film its appealing character. Eventually, Jerome rediscovers his musical soul on both banjo and trumpet, while planning a complicated Rififi-style operation.

Lovers of New Orleans culture will really get warm fuzzies when the plot culminates during the annual Kaapse Klopse carnival, which commemorates the one day off granted to slaves during the colonial era. (It brings to mind Sundays at Congo Square, except it was 52 times more severe.) Regardless, the music is joyous and swinging. There is maybe a slight highlife-ish flavor to it, which makes it fun and distinctive.

Good Madam, on Shudder

Diane is a bit like South Africa’s version of Australia’s Patrick. She is sedentary, perhaps to the point of catatonia. Yet, she is still somehow quite demanding of Mavis, her housekeeper/caretaker. When Tsidi visits her somewhat estranged birthmother, she becomes convinced there is something sinister about Diane’s silent hold over her in Jenna Cato Bass’s Good Madam, which premieres Thursday on Shudder.

After the death of the beloved grandmother who raised her, Tsidi is forced to seek shelter with Mavis in Diane’s comfortable suburban home. Of course, Mavis insists Tsidi and her daughter Winnie must stay in a tiny servant’s room. It is questionable whether Diane registers much anymore, but Mavis still tiptoes around her. Whenever the bell mysteriously rings for her, she answers immediately.

Mavis’s subservience annoys Tsidi. She sees her mother as an uncomfortable throwback to South Africa’s past. She also always hated Diane’s house for the same reason. However, it seems even worse since she returned. Tsidi’s suspicions are further aroused by cryptic spell-like writings she discovers that seem to lead to the nightmarish visions plaguing her.

Good Madam is a low-fi, slow-burning kind of horror film, but its folk horror elements will definitely get under your skin. Frankly, some of the sorcery afoot looks to be of vaguely Egyptian origin, which adds intriguing dimensions. Bass even seems to draw parallels between the royalty of Pharoah-era Egypt and the white upper-class under Apartheid.

Indemnity, from South Africa

The uninterrupted one-party control of South African has definitely led to scandals that could provide plenty of raw material for some edgy political thrillers. Unfortunately, instead of delivering on that promise, this film mostly plays out like another competent remake Fred Cavaye’s Point Blank. (It isn’t really, but it might as well be.) Tragically, a PTSD-suffering firefighter is framed for his wife’s murder in director-screenwriter Travis Taute’s Indemnity, which releases this Friday on VOD.

Theo Abrams still blames himself for the deaths of his colleagues after a call went down badly. Of course, he wants to get back to firefighting, but his experimental shrink won’t clear him, because he isn’t ready to face his pain (or some such New Agey-Star Trek V kind of sentiment). What happens next isn’t going to help.

After waking up next to his murdered wife, Abrams is nearly killed himself by a plant in the back of his police van. Suddenly he is on the run, being chased by a team of killers, who leave a trail of bodies in their wake. Naturally, the stupid cops, Det. Rene Williamson and Gen. Alan Shard, assume he did it all. However, if he can locate the Deep Throat-esque source, who contacted his now-late wife the day-before, maybe Abrams can start putting together the pieces.

Slight “spoiler:” it turns out the shadowy government conspiracy mastermind is out to counter China’s influence on the African continent. Seriously, it is the person opposed the super-power committing genocide against the Muslim Uyghurs in Xinjiang, stifling democratic dissent in Hong Kong, and crushing the ancient Tibetan language and culture who is the bad guy in Taute’s screenplay. That’s pretty lame, bordering on offensive (especially if you happen to be Uyghur, Tibetan, Mongolian, or a Falun Dafa practitioner).

The whole Fugitive-Wrong Man innocent-man-chased-by-misguided-cops business is competent enough, but hardly original. Much has been made of the stunts. Again, it is all very nice, but nothing that would blow you away.

Fried Barry, on Shudder

He is sort of like John Carpenter’s Star Man, but with way more heroin. An alien temporarily takes over the body of a Capetown junkie and for those unfortunate enough to know the titular character, the change is a considerable improvement. The visitor is about to learn all about the sex, drugs, and violence our world has to offer in Ryan Kruger’s Fried Barry, which premieres tomorrow on Shudder.

Barry does not care about his put-upon wife or his little boy. His only interest is his next fix. Years of self-neglect have taken an obvious toll, but for some reason, an alien explorer chooses to abduct and posses his body. An hour later, the alien-controlled Barry has sexual encounters with a prostitute and a clubbing woman, who shouldn’t have wanted to touch him with a twenty-foot pole. He seems to have alien magnetism. He also has healing powers. However, communication remains a challenge for him, which leads to all kinds of misunderstandings with Capetown’s seedier denizens.

Kruger’s aesthetic makes Joe Begos’s Bliss look like a Merchant-Ivory production. It gets exhausting to watch him pile on the body horror and nearly Troma-level of gore. Yet, despite its one-trick nature, it is easy to see why Shudder acquired the film. You really have to be impressed by Kruger’s willingness to wade (and revel) in the muck. Likewise, Gary Green is rather remarkable playing the guileless new Barry, in varying degrees of stoned and battered. It really is a performance that compares to Jeff Bridges in Star Man.

ADIFF ’20: Back of the Moon

Badman ("Bra Max") is a Sophiatown gangster who wants to be a Robin Hood. Unfortunately, his gang, “The Vipers,” wants to double-down on being a gang. This inevitably leads to conflict at a most inopportune time in Angus Gibson’s Back of the Moon, which screens virtually as part of the 2020 NY African Diaspora International Film Festival.

Badman is a gangster in the James Cagney-Angels with Dirty Faces tradition, who serves as the guardian of Kidonkey, a brainy orphan and generally tries to peacefully coexist with the Gerty Street neighborhood. Unfortunately, it is slated to be forcibly demolished by the Apartheid authorities, after this fateful night. Badman was already considering mounting a futile last stand against the cops, before “Ghost,” his chief rival and lieutenant in the Vipers started challenging his authority. Things come to a head when Ghost and his cronies abduct Eve Msomi, the vocalist at the Back of the Moon club.

Msomi is scheduled to leave South Africa for the London production of a jazz musical that sounds a lot like King Kong, the show that launched Miriam Makeba’s international career (which happened to be about an ill-fated boxer). Off stage, Msomi has been seeing “Strike,” an up-and-coming fighter, who frequently abuses her. Of course, saving the grateful Msomi from Ghost inevitably earns Badman Strike’s wrath as well.

Gibson (who co-directed the Jonathan Demme-produced, Oscar-nominated Mandela documentary) pulled off a Roger Corman-worthy feat when he successfully wrapped Moon using temp sets that had been constructed for a TV show his company was producing. They definitely look convincingly like 1950s back-alleys. The noir atmosphere is heavy and evocative. However, the limited locations make the film feel a bit stagey (but that’s not the end of the world).

In fact, Gibson’s intimate stage turns out to be an effective showcase for Richard Lukunku, who burns up the screen as Badman. He personifies “dangerous charisma.” Frankly, there are times he portrays the gangster with uncomfortable brutishness. Yet, he is also keenly seductive and sensitive in his scenes with Moneoa Moshesh (as Msomi). She is a fine torch singer, but Lukunku outshines her on-screen.

Fantasia ’19: 8

Even without a great deal of knowledge regarding South African folklore, a mysterious stranger wearing a long duster coat and a wide brimmed hat still rings all kinds of archetypal bells for most of us. When he blows back into town bad things are likely to happen, as they do in Harold Holscher’s 8, which had its world premiere at the 2019 Fantasia International Film Festival.

It has been quite the rough patch for William Zeil’s family. Having declared bankruptcy, he was forced to move back to his late father’s ramshackle farm, with his wife Sarah, and their niece Mary, whom they have just adopted, after the untimely death of her parents. Yet, they are still probably doing better than the nearest township. For years, an ancient evil has preyed on their souls, using their former shaman as the instrument of its will.

Lazarus is that man with the very film noir outfit. He too has recently returned to the hardscrabble region, setting off waves of panic. However, he is handy with his hands, so Zeil obliviously takes him on as a temp farmhand, despite his wife’s objections. Her reservations are mostly rooted in fear and prejudice, but she happens to be right in this case. Lazarus’s real goal is to win Mary’s trust for sinister reasons involving the thing in his over-sized satchel.

It is definitely true Lazarus is all kinds of bad news, but there is more to him than your standard horror movie bogeyman. Having made a Faustian bargain during a moment of sudden and complete despair, Lazarus is now a remorseful monster, who regrets each soul he is forced to take. In some ways, he is a throwback to Lon Chaney Jr.’s angst-ridden Wolfman, which makes the use of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake—so memorable as the theme to the original Universal Dracula and Mummy movies—as a recurring motif in 8 so appropriate.

Without a doubt, Tshamo Sebe’s performance as Lazarus and his character’s relationship with Mary are the most interesting aspects of 8. On the other hand, her adoptive Zeil parents are both rather clumsy and spectacularly unintuitive stereotypes. Even more problematically, the monster in the bag is more likely to inspire laughter than nightmares. Frankly, that could have been a case where less would have been more.

Still, steely Sebe is quite a force to behold. He covers quite a bit of ground, projecting pathos and supernatural malignancy. David Pienaar’s cinematography also impresses, conveying the isolation of the region, as well as a musty, redolent sense of decay. Recommended for horror fans in the mood for something more atmospheric, 8 should ride a wave of buzz on the festival circuit, after its premiere at this year’s Fantasia.

Fantasia ’18: Number 37

In Hitchcock’s Rear Window, Jimmy Stewart played a photojournalist recuperating from a broken leg suffered while on an exotic assignment. Randal Hendricks is not quite as dashing. He was paralyzed from the waist down when a drug deal went sour. Rather shortsightedly, he funded his ill-advised foray into the narcotics trade with a vig from a loan shark. Yes, there will also be a murder committed in the opposite building during the early going of Nosipho Dumisa’s Number 37 (trailer here), which screened during the 2018 Fantasia International Film Festival.

The wheelchair-bound Hendricks only has himself to blame, but he never seems to learn. Instead, he cooks up ever more reckless schemes to compensate for each disaster. His girlfriend Pam Ismael has not thrown him out yet, but she really should. His self-pity and passive aggression are not very pleasant to live with. He is not even grateful when she gives him a pair of binoculars to help pass the time. Of course, he soon takes to voyeurism, so he happens to witness the murder of a corrupt cop in the apartment across the grubby courtyard.

Instead of calling the despised police, he hatches a plan with his slacker pal Warren to extort 100 grand from the sinister “Lawyer” to pay back the just as evil Emmie. Unfortunately, Warren is not the sort of accomplice who inspires confidence. Likewise, it is unwise to antagonize a cat like Lawyer. Yet, Hendricks remains convinced this is his only play.

Dumisa proudly wears her Hitchcock influences on her sleeve, but she substitutes grittiness and moodiness for the wit and elegance of Rear Window. It is safe to say Ismael’s frocks can’t compare to Grace Kelly’s wardrobe. Nevertheless, she quite dexterously piles up one darned thing after another on poor luckless Hendricks and the long-suffering Ismael. In fact, she unleashes a veritable perfect storm of criminal mayhem down the stretch.

Irshaad Ally is all kinds of intense as the intensely exasperating Hendricks. However, Monique Rockman really sets the hook as the naïve and vulnerable Ismael. Viewers will want to kill Ephram Gordon’s recklessly irresponsible Warren themselves, while David Manuel and Danny Ross seem like they are in a pitched battle to out-do each other’s creepy malevolence as Lawyer and Emmie, respectively.

Unlike Stewart’s well-appointed bachelor pad, Ismael’s apartment is dark and uncomfortably claustrophobic. It is the sort of thriller location that automatically creates tension. Frankly, Dumisa might overdo the naturalism for viewers seeking pure suspense escapism, but nobody can say it doesn’t reflect the street-level realities of contemporary South Africa. Recommended for fans of scrappy, hard-edged thrillers, Number 37 had its Canadian premiere at this year’s Fantasia.

ADIFF ’17: The Chemo Club

For two aging former models living in South Africa on their pensions, inflation is way more depressing than liver spots. That assumes they can still access their pension, but a sleazy fund manager has secretly raided small accounts like theirs, to cover-up his other financial shenanigans (by the way, pensioners suffers the exact same consequences when central banks engage in loose money inflation, but you won’t find a lot of screenwriters out there who really understand monetary policy). Regardless, Lulu Fredericks and Faith Moloi want their money back, so they will steal it themselves in Thandi Brewer’s The Chemo Club (trailer here), which screens during this year’s African Diaspora International Film Festival in New York.

In the swinging sixties, Fredericks portrayed Tessa, the action sex-goddess in a series of photo-designed comics books and Moloi was the model for the Pam Grier-esque “Her.” Those were the days. Currently, Moloi works part-time sweeping floors at the hospital where Fredericks just received her fatal cancer diagnosis. Fredericks wants to live out her remaining six months in style, but her pension has mysteriously vanished. Same for Moloi, who is the sole support of her unemployed daughter and entitled grandchildren.

Obviously, Grant Roberts, the odious public face of Trusted Corp is up to no good, but nobody seems to care. Therefore, the only logical course of action is to knock over the joint. Somehow, the brassy Fredericks convinces the more passive Moloi to go along with her scheme. Fanboy Sivu will go along with the caper for the sake of his pop culture thesis. They will also recruit their former photographer and lover, Gerhard, because they obviously need an eighty-year-old with a monocle. Periodically, we watch their comic book alter ego battling villainy, in ways that parallel their ebbing fortunes.

Clearly, Chemo Club is heavily derived from Going in Style and the pre-Kate & Allie Jane Curtain-Susan Saint James vehicle How to Beat the High Cost of Living, which is still the much funnier film, even though it has at least one joke that would cause apoplexy in the current climate. In contrast, Chemo Club is a tame comedy about oldsters doing it for themselves, which barely registers more edge than the embarrassingly slapsticky Love Punch.

Still, Brümilda van Rensburg, the Grand Dame of South African television, has plenty of regal presence as Fredericks. However, she does not develop much chemistry with either Lilian Dube’s Moloi or Tobie Cronje’s Gerhard. At times, Cronje is almost criminally shticky, but Rea Rangaka is probably an even worse offender as Sivu. Yet, somehow Shoki Mokgapa maintains her dignity as Roberts’ innocent assistant, whom Sivu crushes on hard.

It is interesting to see unpretentious popular cinema from other countries, but Chemo Club just doesn’t travel that well (unlike energetically likable South African exports, like Hear Me Move and White Wedding). The comedy is about as broad as it gets and caper fans will feel short-changed by the lack of tick-tock caper details. Best saved for unfussy fans of Marigold Hotels, The Chemo Club screens this Sunday (11/26) and Monday (11/27) at Teachers College, Columbia, as part of the 2017 ADIFF.

ADIFF ’15: Hear Me Move

It is like a South African Step Up film, but its moves combine hip hop dancing and sbujwa. That would be the latest form of South African street dancing, as of about a year ago. It evolved out of pantsula, the relatively old school style that Muzi’s late, disgraced father made his international reputation dancing. Spikiri toured America, but his involvement with drugs killed the legendary dancer shortly after his return. As a result, the high school student promised his domineering mother he would never dance like his father. However, Muzi has his father’s feet and they will not be denied indefinitely in Scottnes L. Smith’s Hear Me Move (trailer here), which screens during the 2015 African Diaspora International Film Festival in New York.

Muzi knows he is a dancer but he has never joined a crew, out of deference to his mother. As a solo performer, opportunities are limited, but he still has to deal with the challenges that come from being Spikiri’s son. However, his father’s old promoter “Shoes” recognizes his potential, inviting his to join the crew he manages, Sbujwa Nation. This does not sit well with some members, particularly their featured dancer Prince. In fact, Prince will soon leave to form his own upstart crew, Ambition.

As Muzi struggles to adapt to the demands of ensemble dancing, Shoes starts to level with him. There is indeed a reason why Prince so resents him. He is the illegitimate son Spikiri never acknowledged. Revelations like that mess with Muzi’s head, but Khanyi helps keep him sort of grounded. She might even be a potential romantic interest if Muzi can get his act together, but that is going to take a bit of time.

As dance movies go, Fidel Namisi’s screenplay makes Make Your Move and Born to Dance look like they were written by Paddy Chayefsky. Seriously, the business with old man Spikiri is just eye-rollingly melodramatic. However, the dancing is suitably dynamic and often very well framed by Smith, who almost always shows us the entire crew in full frame rather than self-defeating close-ups.

The cast is also appealingly young and energetic, particularly Bontle Modiselle, who makes a credible bid for movie stardom as the down-to-earth Khanyi. Mbuso Kgarebe also has the right sort of dangerous charisma for Prince, but the Nyaniso Dzedze just sort of survives as the excessively angst-ridden Muzi.

There is no denying the attractiveness of Hear Me Move’s cast and routines, but the Sbujwa-hip hop synthesis are not as distinctive as the wildly cool taiko drumming fusions choreographed by the awesome Yako Miyamoto for Make Your Move. Still, it has enough of a local spin to appeal to those who appreciate South African street dancing. Honestly, it is rather fun in a slightly cheesy way. Recommended accordingly for dance movie fans, Hear Me Move screens this Wednesday (12/9) at the Bow Tie Chelsea and Friday (12/11) at the MIST Harlem, as part of the special focus on South African cinema at this year’s ADIFF.

ADIFF ’15: Impunity

This fugitive couple is sort of like a South African version of Breathless’s Belmondo and Seberg, but the country’s thorny race relations and persistent corruption will further complicate their crime spree. Once they start, they might as well go all in. At least that is how the very white Echo and Derren see it in Jyoti Mistry’s Impunity (trailer here), which screens during the 2015 African Diaspora International Film Festival in New York.

Echo is not a nymph, but Derren is maybe slightly narcissistic. Nevertheless, they might have made a nice couple together. Unfortunately, before the waitress has a chance to accompany the waiting customer home after last call, she is sexually attacked by the bar’s sleazy owner. Derren helps Echo kill him before he can finish, at which point the die is cast. Despite the justification of their actions, neither Echo nor Derren considers the possibility of justice. Instead, they light off together, living in the moment as outlaw lovers.

Although their first killing was a case of self-defense, their subsequent crimes become increasingly problematic. Echo’s immediate codependency will lead to destabilizing fits of jealousy, not wholly unlike the kind that fueled Fabrice du Welz’s Alleluia. Both are also apparently irresistible to South Africa’s multitude of races. A case in point being the government minister’s daughter, who died a grisly death after propositioning Derren. Her murder will put Pretoria police fixer Dingande Fakude on their trail. Reluctantly, local Indian copper Naveed Khan will assist his investigation, even though he openly questions Fakude’s motives and intentions.

There is a reason why “slow down and start from the beginning” is such good advice for over-heated storytellers. Striving for artistic pretension, Mistry fractures her narrative timeline, but the cinematic results fall maddeningly flat. With little reason for each flashforward and backwards, exasperated viewers will wonder why on earth they are being shown these scenes, in this order. The periodic cutaways to surveillance footage of brutal unrelated crimes also feel like old hat and are not particularly germane to the film from a thematic standpoint. Such self-conscious busyness is a shame, because there is a kernel of something buried within the film.

In its depiction of systemic government corruption and still corrosive racial attitudes, Impunity might have been a more inclusive companion film to the J.M. Coetzee adaptation Disgrace. The evolving dynamic between Fakude and Khan is particularly engaging and ultimately rewarding. It provides a Dos Passos like survey of South African society, from privileged white gated communities to still marginalized townships. However, Mistry’s structural and stylistic gimmicks repeatedly take the audience out of the picture.

Nevertheless, Alex McGregor and Bjorn Steinbach deserve all kinds of credit for their fierce commitment as Echo and Derren, respectively. Their intensity helps sell their reckless slide into outright sociopathic behavior. Desmond Dube and Vaneshran Arumugam also develop terrific chemistry together, without overplaying the odd couple buddy cop refrain. There are some impressive performances buttressing Impunity, but editors Melissa Parry and Khalid Shamis apparently were not allowed to give it a more logical shape.

To its credit, Impunity does not let anyone off the hook. Some might therefore find it significant solely for its social criticism. As cinema, it is rather frustrating. Still, it is an interesting film to dissect and analyze. For patrons looking for a potentially divisive film to debate, Impunity screens this Sunday (12/6) at MIST Harlem and Monday (12/7) at the Bow Tie Chelsea, as part of the special focus on South African cinema at this year’s ADIFF.

ADIFF ’12: Hopeville

Hopeville is the sort of town that will drive you to drink.  It is probably not the place for a recovering alcoholic granted provisional custody of his estranged son, but Amos Manyoni does not have a lot of options in John Trengove’s Hopeville (trailer here), an original feature film adaptation of the popular South African miniseries, which screens as part of the 2012 African Diaspora International Film Festival in New York.

Pools play in important role in the life of Manyoni’s son Themba.  He was a champion swimmer, but his mother tragically died in an accident en route to one of his meets.  Clean and sober for over a year, Manyoni regains his parental rights, as long as he adheres to three conditions: stay away from alcohol, hold down a steady job, and provide Themba access to a pool.  Hopeville sounds perfect.  He has a gig lined up there with the municipal government and there is a pool, except not really.

Drained and in a state of disrepair, the pool now serves as a garbage dump.  The corrupt Mayor and his council cronies are planning to develop it into a booze drive through, but they are reluctant to tell Manyoni their plans forthrightly.  Instead, they do their best to secretly undermine his efforts to single-handedly fix up the pool.  Much to their frustration though, Manyoni’s work begins to inspire the depressed town.

Hopeville is the sort of film tailor-made for feel-good festival play.  There is redemption, family values, spirited old folks, and triumph over adversity.  Manyoni even develops a romance with Fikile, the mayor’s ice cream vendor mistress, but it is decidedly chaste—just an odd kiss and a bit of handholding.

Of course, you cannot spell “Hopeville” without “evil.”  That might be too strong a term, but Desmond Dube’s venal mayor is definitely a pointed portrayal of post-apartheid political opportunists.  Yet, by and large, Hopeville is about inclusion and multi-racial community.

Themba Ndada is painfully earnest but still reasonably down to earth and credible as Manyoni.  While there are all kinds of manipulation going on, viewers will still find themselves caring about his trials and tribulations.  While Dube plays the mayor like a caricature of graft, Hopeville boasts several appealingly colorful supporting turns, including Jonathan Pienaar as the Fred, the not as bad as he looks barkeep.

On one hand, Hopeville is competently produced, likable, and well-intentioned.  It is also predictable and sentimental.  Sometimes, that is all rather comforting.  Recommended for patrons in the mood for reassuringly inspirational cinema or interested in contemporary South African film, Hopeville screens this Saturday (11/24) and the following Thursday (12/6) as part of the ADIFF in New York.

Schmitz’s Life, Above All

Surely, the fall of Apartheid heralded a golden age for South Africa, right? Not exactly. In fact, the rhetoric and policies of several ANC administrations has been quite problematic, particularly with regards to the country’s AIDS epidemic. The resulting stigma surrounding the disease makes a tragic situation so much worse for the resilient young protagonist of Oliver Schmitz’s Life, Above All (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York at Film Forum.

Chanda’s mother Lillian ought to have more energy. Everyone pretends it is nerves or some such ailment, but this is just willful denial. Everyone realizes what she has and understands she more than likely contracted it from Chanda’s absentee stepfather Jonah, who is now determined to drink and sin his way into the grave. Unfortunately, AIDS does not work that way.

In Chanda’s hardscrabble village outside Joburg, AIDS is not the only social pathology to contend with. Prostitution is considered the only means of survival for her shockingly young looking best friend Esther. Of course, this also involves the very real and present danger of infection.

Above is a blistering indictment of the superstitious prejudice and misogyny rampant in South African townships that forces patients into seclusion rather seeking life prolonging treatment, or at least a relatively comfortable death. Yet, despite the film’s palpable anger, it never lobs cheap shots at the church. In fact, Sunday services are presented as a rare moment of peace for Chanda.

Khomotso Manyaka’s fully dimensional portrayal of Chanda could well become iconic in South Africa. Despite the courage and tenacity she projects every step of the way, the audience remains keenly aware she is still just a vulnerable young girl. Yet, for pure hard-won pathos, Keabaka Makanyane’s Esther might even outdo her.

Re-emerging from years spent working in German television (in prestigious capacities), Oliver Schmitz returns to the sort of topical cinematic naturalism that made his breakout film Mapantsula the toast of the international festival circuit. Yet, that earlier work was very much a product of its era. In contrast, Above has a Dickensian quality that should hold up over time.

Perhaps the film’s ultimate conclusion may strike some viewers as a bit too pat and convenient. However, at this point Chanda the character has earned a break and most in the audience will probably be happy to allow it to her. Overall, Above paints an uncompromising picture of contemporary South Africa, redeemed only by the defiance of its young cast and characters. A heavy, engrossing film, Above is definitely recommended when it opens this Friday (7/15) at Film Forum.

South Africa at AFA: Katrina

Consider it the South African equivalent of Night of the Quarter Moon, the camp classic which featured a supposedly bi-racial Julie London passing for white. Of course, skin pigment was always of paramount importance in Apartheid-era South Africa, with the mixed race population (so-called “coloureds”) having somewhat different legal status than blacks and whites. Separate not being equal, many tried to pass for white, like the title character of Jans Rautenbach’s Katrina, which screens during the United We Stand: South African Cinema during Apartheid retrospective currently underway at the Anthology Film Archives.

Catherine Winters’ son will soon return from medical school in London. She would like to see him go back, for reasons she has difficulty explaining. The recently reassigned Anglican Father Alec Trevellan assiduously courts her, but again she is at a loss for words when he proposes. The truth is pretty simple, but definitely heavy. She is actually Katrina September, a bi-racial woman from a hardscrabble provincial village. Only one man knows the truth, her brother Adam September, a mercurial advocate of self-sufficiency and empowerment for his people, who holds little love for the anti-Apartheid revolutionaries.

Despite the hot-buttons racial issues, the film seems to share frère September’s disinterest in politics. Aside from his testy exchange with a Tutu like activist, the subject of Apartheid is never broached. Yet the hyper-racial environment is inescapable. Indeed, it is what drives Katrina’s drama.

Like Julie London, the Ali MacGraw-looking Jill Kirkland was also a singer, who scored a medium-sized hit with Katrina’s theme song. Not only does she look right in the part, she projects the perfect brittle vulnerability. Joe Stewardson also handles Trevellan’s angst-binges relatively convincingly, but it is Don Leonard who supplies the film’s heart as Kimberly Jacobs, a sort of unofficial “community organizer” from Winters/September’s former village. While he initially appears somewhat buffoonish, the slow revelation of his character’s depth and pain really gives the film its poignancy.

Released in 1969, Katrina has that garish 1970’s-era color that (so appropriately in this case) plays havoc with skin tones. Indeed, Leonards’ Jacobs looks whiter than this year’s Academy Awards. Yet, that underscores the arbitrary nature of such concerns.

Essentially, Katrina is an unrepentant melodrama with a social issue angle to give it added snob appeal. Though necessarily tragic, it is arguably the most entertaining film of the United We Stand retrospective, in an old-fashioned popcorn kind of way. A tricky film to pigeon-hole but definitely well worth seeing, Katrina screens this Saturday (4/9) and Wednesday (4/13) at Anthology Film Archives.

South Africa at AFA: Mapantsula

“Panic” is hardly a revolutionary role model. He is a thief and a professional snitch, but finds himself radicalized in spite of himself in Oliver Schmitz’s Mapantsula (trailer here), which was duly banned under Apartheid, making it a fitting selection for the United We Stand: South African Cinema during Apartheid retrospective currently underway at the Anthology Film Archives.

Mapantsula had two screenplays: the shooting script co-written by Schmitz (a native white South African) and lead actor Thomas Mogotlane and the dummy version shown to the state censors. They were both stories about a small time gangster (or mapantsula), but there the similarities end. The formerly footloose Panic has been rounded-up with group of politicals. As usual, he is expected to rat out his cellmates, but this time events do not follow their regular course. In Schmitz’s split time frame, the audience also witnesses the not particularly edifying events that led Panic to that holding cell.

Frankly, the Panic of a few days prior to his arrest exhibits nearly sociopathic traits. He is cool enough to rob a white business man at knife point and then brazenly count his take in front of the man. It is never political though. Rather, it is simply an act of unrepentant self-interest. Indeed, he regularly sells out his colleagues and shamelessly sponges off his miserable girlfriend Pat. When his spiteful behavior even gets her fired from her domestic employment, it hardly registers with the hustler. However, Schmitz and Mogotlane clearly suggest Panic’s hardboiled everyman-for-himself attitude is ultimately untenable for black South African living under Apartheid.

Arguably, Mogotlane succeeds too well creating a portrait of a remorseless street tough, making it difficult to feel much during his later ordeals. It almost seems like a case of karma being what it is. Still, there is no denying the intensity of his performance. It really represents rather brave work, both in terms of the guerilla style of the production shoot and the unsympathetic nature of his on-screen character.

After extensive television work in Germany, Schmitz returned to feature filmmaking with Life, Above All, which was shortlisted for this year’s best foreign language Oscar. Still, his international reputation largely rests on Mapantsula, which is probably best appreciated within the context of a retrospective like United We Stand. Mogotlane vividly brings Panic to life as a flesh-and-blood individual (albeit a decidedly problematic one) and the funky soundtrack by the Ouens adds a considerable spark. However, certain sequences do not hold together well, particularly during Panic’s interrogations. As a grim depiction of humanity, Mapantsula is certainly representative of dissident South African cinema of the Apartheid era. It screens today (4/7) and Sunday (4/10) as the United retrospective begins at the Anthology Film Archives.

South Africa at AFA: Saturday Night at the Palace

The owner of the Palace roadhouse is a crusty old codger, but maybe a decent sort at heart. Ordinarily, September is quite happy slinging burgers for him there, but not tonight. It has nothing to do with his boss though, but where they live: South Africa. Based on co-star Paul Slabolepszy’s stage play, director-cinematographer Robert Davies’ Saturday Night at the Palace screens this Thursday when the United We Stand: South African Cinema during Apartheid retrospective kicks off at Anthology Film Archives.

September is as straight as they come, which his boss respects. He trusts the hardworking father of seven to close his burger joint. He even gives him paid vacation and a bonus for his yearly visit home. Unfortunately, September will have no back-up to deal with Vince and Forsie, two drunken white trash losers, nursing their very different resentments.

The nakedly racist Vince is particularly bad news. Recently cut by his semi-pro football team, Vince specializes in wearing out his welcome. His socially awkward friend Forsie is supposed to tell his brutish pal he has been expelled from their crash pad, but he has trouble finding the words. Stopping at the Palace after closing, Forsie tries to have it out with the hulking Aryan, but Vince is more interested in hassling the profoundly vulnerable September.

While Palace spends about fifteen minutes on exposition that was probably quickly dispensed with on stage, it quickly hits its stride once it brings the three leads come together in that isolated location. Though there is nary anything explicitly political about the story or dialogue, we understand it only works as a thriller because of the perversities of South Africa’s legal system at the time. The simple truth is September never has the option of calling the cops on his unwelcome customers, because the law would never side with him on principle. The dubious state of his work permits only increases the precariousness of his position.

Equal parts thriller and tragedy, Palace is marked by an unremitting naturalism. Still, it is possible to read an allegorical level into the film. Vince easily represents the hardcore Apartheid Nationalists, but Forsie could be seen as a stand-in for the white liberals too timid to stand up for what they knew was right.

Clint Howard lookalike Bill Flynn and the very blond Slabolepszy are quite convincing as Forsie and Vince, respectively. Between the two of them, convey everything ugly that is distinctly human. However, the film is probably most notable for the work of the celebrated South African actor John Kani, who brings genuine dignity and intensity to a somewhat one-dimensional victim role.

Given its credentials, it is strange Palace is not more frequently featured in repertory screenings. It is certainly on the right side of history, but it also works quite well just as cinema. It is a solid choice to launch the United series this Thursday (4/7) at AFA.

South Africa at AFA: Land Apart

It is not hard to see why cinematographer Sven Persson’s feature docu-hybrid ran afoul of state censors during Apartheid. Frankly, it is difficult to understand how it was produced in the first place. Simultaneously angry and eccentric, the Swedish-born South African-naturalized Persson’s Land Apart is a truly odd time capsule of South African in the 1970’s, which screens during the Anthology Film Archives’ upcoming United We Stand: South African Cinema during Apartheid retrospective.

Gary Miller is a fictional nightclub singer, who wants to set the world straight on his South African homeland after feeling stung by European criticism during a recent tour. Brian is a white liberal “researcher,” who in turn, wants to set the crooner straight. In between their politically charged verbal sparring, Brian gives Miller a vaguely Marxian history of South Africa and the development of Apartheid. An established nature filmmaker who worked with Ivan (Daktari) Tors, Persson periodically cuts away to scenes of indigenous wildlife. He also includes generous talking head interviews with political figures, both black and white, from across the political spectrum, including advocates of Apartheid, who not surprisingly come across quite poorly.

Apart was only previously released in a print completely butchered by the government censors. Considering how much they must have had to cut, it must have been more of a short subject than a feature. Perhaps they kept the explanation of the Afrikaners’ tenacious battlefield fighting techniques during the Boers Wars and a few of the unconvincing defenses of Apartheid from various government mouthpieces.

While the dramatic framing device increasingly approaches outright camp, the soundtrack has some groovy funkiness that will prick up many discerning ears. In his rarely seen director’s cut, Persson displays a subversive visual sensibility, juxtaposing scenes of jackals scavenging dead flesh with unvarnished images of township life. Clearly, Apartheid is now a settled controversy, but Apart’s Cliff Note history of South Africa will still likely be informative for many viewers. Dated to be sure, but still strangely engaging, Apart is definitely worth checking out next Sunday (4/10) and the following Thursday (4/14), while the United We Stand series begins this Friday (4/7) at AFA.

Road Comedy: White Wedding

When Elvis and Ayanda tie the knot, it will not just be a wedding. It will be a microcosm of contemporary South Africa. The groom is Zulu, the bride is Xhosa, and the best man Tswana. There might even be some Afrikaner guests, who will be surprised as anyone to be there. However, Elvis has to get there in time for it to happen. Naturally, events conspire against him in Jann Turner’s road comedy White Wedding (trailer here), South Africa’s official 2009 submission for best foreign language Oscar consideration, which opens this Friday in New York.

Elvis is earnestly devoted to Ayanda, but for some reason he entrusts his safe arrival to Tumi, his aging playboy best man. Unfortunately, a run-in with a jealous ex sets in motion a string of complications that have them hopelessly lost and perilously late. It hardly helps Elvis’s stress level when Tumi insists on picking up Rose, a very white British hitchhiker. When they breakdown in a less than inviting Afrikaner community things look bad, but remember, this is a melting pot comedy.

Indeed, Wedding is a refreshing departure from many recent South African film exports, which tend to be either highly politicized or grittily violent. Instead, it offers a vision of middle class diversity and harmony. Frankly, it is kind of sad Wedding’s style of inclusive light comedy has been so scarce in South African cinema, but its domestic box office success should spawn a welcome new trend. Of course, the “get-me-to-the-church-on-time” storyline is about as predictable as one would expect, but Turner’s execution is rather crisp, never letting the film wallow in sentimentality.

A veteran of South African television, Turner is the daughter of the late anti-apartheid activist Rick Turner and the step-daughter of executive producer and best-selling novelist Ken Follett, who has unusually prominent billing for an EP. (Oddly, both Follett and Rick Turner’s most famous books happened to be titled The Eye of the Needle.) Still, Wedding was definitely a multiracial effort, co-written with Turner’s two principal actors Kenneth Nkosi and Rapulana Seiphemo, with whom she worked on a South African soap opera in the late 1990’s.

There is indeed a nice sense of rapport between Nkosi and Seiphemo. The former is appropriately earnest as the harried groom, while the latter is credibly rakish as the best man. In fact, Nkosi has some effective scenes chewing him out for his responsibility and commitment issues. Turner also handles the budding attraction between Tumi and Rose (played by an engaging Jodie Whittaker) quite deftly, acknowledging its significance but not belaboring the racial issues.

Despite some game performances, it is hard to be shocked by Wedding’s compulsively feel-good conclusion. Of course, most people do not really go to the movies to be surprised. They want that happy ending. Endearing in its way, Wedding opens this Friday (9/3) in New York at the AMC Village 7 and Empire 25.

BIFF: Shorts

Film festivals are just about the only venue left for short films, aside from the occasional theatrical round-up of the year’s Oscar nominated shorts. Last week, BIFF held up its end with an extensive selection of shorts, which varied widely in every discernable measure. Three were particularly memorable, again for very different reasons.

The best single film of the festival had a mere thirteen minute running time, but each minute counted. In German director Jochen Alexander Freydank’s Toyland (Spielzeugland), an Aryan mother cannot bring herself to explain to her young son that his Jewish best friend will be imminently transported to a concentration camp. Instead, she tells him that friend is going to Toyland. Naturally, her son wants to go too, as the mother’s white lie leads to complications she had not foreseen. It is difficult to reveal much of the story given its brevity, but it well earns the emotional payoff of its elegant conclusion.

Toyland handles the subject of the Holocaust with respect and dignity. Unfortunately, The River of Copsa Mica, simply uses WWII and the Holocaust as window dressing for an allegory about environmental pollution and the military-industrial complex. Making a statement on current controversies is perfectly legitimate, but using such a significant event as a rhetorical device borders on the offensive.

Thabo Wolfaardt’s surprisingly intense Joburg (trailer here), though certainly self-contained, would be the one short film of the festival that most cries out to be expanded into a full feature. Filmed entirely in Johannesburg, it effectively captures the danger and squalor of the city. Tshepo, a newspaper hawker desperate to pay for his brother’s medicine and overdue rent, carjacks a pregnant woman having a very bad night. The relationship between these two characters is deftly handled, leading viewers to speculate about further dealings between them.

The best short films require the discipline of the short story and the imagery of poetry. Making a really good one is hard, but Toyland and Joburg are excellent examples.