In the Presence of Absence
Faouzi Bensaïdi's A Thousand Months carries an air of beauty in the presence of absence, says KUNAL D'SOUZA.
SET DURING THE Ramadan of 1981 in Morocco, Amina, the wife of a political prisoner, following her husband's arrest comes with her seven-year old son, Mehdi, to live with her father-in-law in his village. The story largely revolves around Mehdi, who being the teacher's pet in the local primary school, is given the special responsibility and privilege of attending to the teacher's chair, carrying it with him home and back to school each day.
This is a story, above all, about dealing with absence. Under the autocratic reign of Sultan Hassan II, which lasted four decades from the early sixties, Morocco was politically still semi-feudal, and pro-change political movements and dissent, especially those against the monarchy, were repressed by the banning of certain left-wing (and other) groups, with several arrests and "disappearances" ensuing. The film, rather than attempting to give any documentary treatment to the underlying causal politics, chooses to focus more on the implications, by giving humanistic consideration to an affected family and their coping with their situation.
The beautiful narrative of the film is not presented to the audience, packaged in a finely engineered plot structure, an all too common feature of commercial western cinema. This is not to say that there isn't a plot structure. In fact, in this respect, this is very much a film with conventional sensibilities. (Kiarostami, this is not). However, the crafting of the narrative is sophisticated enough for the plot to not appear forced. Rather, one is invited to be a fly on the wall and be party to the intentions of the characters that propel the narrative, thereby allowing a story to emerge and make itself apparent. The skill with which Bensaïdi, in his feature film début, executes this is one of the films key strengths(1). The spectator is invited to clandestinely observe Amina and her father-in-law protect Mehdi from the truth by telling him that his father is in fact away working in France. We are party to their late night discussions on the future, the prison sentence, on making ends meet, on keeping appearances. We are party to Amina's heroic strength, as well as her more private resentments about her husband having prioritized his sense of civic responsibility over family obligations and her insecurities about Mehdi's and her own future. We observe the father-in-law, with his land confiscated, trying to support the family by selling furniture, trying to balance his commiserations for his daughter-in-law with his loyalty to his son and need to preserve social respectability under adverse circumstances. We finally follow little Mehdi with his chair, to school, throwing stones at birds over the cliffs, dealing with being teacher's pet around classmates, and fulfilling the responsibilities that come with his special status by delivering love letters on behalf of his teacher.
We are also in this film, made party to the context within which this is all placed. The visual beauty, social customs, tribulations, idiosyncrasies and contradictions of life in this village in the Moroccan Atlases, give this film an eloquent Middle-Eastern/North African cinematic poeticism. This beautiful and very accessible film is definitely worth keeping an eye out for.
SET DURING THE Ramadan of 1981 in Morocco, Amina, the wife of a political prisoner, following her husband's arrest comes with her seven-year old son, Mehdi, to live with her father-in-law in his village. The story largely revolves around Mehdi, who being the teacher's pet in the local primary school, is given the special responsibility and privilege of attending to the teacher's chair, carrying it with him home and back to school each day.
This is a story, above all, about dealing with absence. Under the autocratic reign of Sultan Hassan II, which lasted four decades from the early sixties, Morocco was politically still semi-feudal, and pro-change political movements and dissent, especially those against the monarchy, were repressed by the banning of certain left-wing (and other) groups, with several arrests and "disappearances" ensuing. The film, rather than attempting to give any documentary treatment to the underlying causal politics, chooses to focus more on the implications, by giving humanistic consideration to an affected family and their coping with their situation.
The beautiful narrative of the film is not presented to the audience, packaged in a finely engineered plot structure, an all too common feature of commercial western cinema. This is not to say that there isn't a plot structure. In fact, in this respect, this is very much a film with conventional sensibilities. (Kiarostami, this is not). However, the crafting of the narrative is sophisticated enough for the plot to not appear forced. Rather, one is invited to be a fly on the wall and be party to the intentions of the characters that propel the narrative, thereby allowing a story to emerge and make itself apparent. The skill with which Bensaïdi, in his feature film début, executes this is one of the films key strengths(1). The spectator is invited to clandestinely observe Amina and her father-in-law protect Mehdi from the truth by telling him that his father is in fact away working in France. We are party to their late night discussions on the future, the prison sentence, on making ends meet, on keeping appearances. We are party to Amina's heroic strength, as well as her more private resentments about her husband having prioritized his sense of civic responsibility over family obligations and her insecurities about Mehdi's and her own future. We observe the father-in-law, with his land confiscated, trying to support the family by selling furniture, trying to balance his commiserations for his daughter-in-law with his loyalty to his son and need to preserve social respectability under adverse circumstances. We finally follow little Mehdi with his chair, to school, throwing stones at birds over the cliffs, dealing with being teacher's pet around classmates, and fulfilling the responsibilities that come with his special status by delivering love letters on behalf of his teacher.
We are also in this film, made party to the context within which this is all placed. The visual beauty, social customs, tribulations, idiosyncrasies and contradictions of life in this village in the Moroccan Atlases, give this film an eloquent Middle-Eastern/North African cinematic poeticism. This beautiful and very accessible film is definitely worth keeping an eye out for.
» A Thousand Months
Faouzi Bensaïdi | Morocco/France/Belgium | 2003 | 124 min | Featuring: Fouad Labied, Nezha Rahil, Mohammed Majd. In Arabic with English subtitles.
(1) [rant] I regard Hollywood to be mostly unsuccessful in "character studies". There are exceptions of course (besides which I consider Cronenberg to be no more -Hollywood- than I consider P.A. Backer to be Bollywood), but for most part, in my view, character development involves a narrative driven, above all, by the motivations of its characters. The requirements placed on the narrative by a rigid plot structure compromises this. There needless to say is necessarily a trade-off, as both are to some extent essential for most films. The artistry lies in optimizing this trade-off. Hollywood, being a manufacturer of cinema that sees itself as primarily diversionary, has a tendency to, even in films that are supposedly character evaluations, assume of its audience a minimal interest in the characters beyond what is necessary to develop the plot. That is the characters exist for the plot, even in a genre that by its very definition, requires the plot to exist to facilitate character development. [/rant]
Originally published in: Lumière 4, Winter 2004, ISSN 1176-4082
Faouzi Bensaïdi | Morocco/France/Belgium | 2003 | 124 min | Featuring: Fouad Labied, Nezha Rahil, Mohammed Majd. In Arabic with English subtitles.
(1) [rant] I regard Hollywood to be mostly unsuccessful in "character studies". There are exceptions of course (besides which I consider Cronenberg to be no more -Hollywood- than I consider P.A. Backer to be Bollywood), but for most part, in my view, character development involves a narrative driven, above all, by the motivations of its characters. The requirements placed on the narrative by a rigid plot structure compromises this. There needless to say is necessarily a trade-off, as both are to some extent essential for most films. The artistry lies in optimizing this trade-off. Hollywood, being a manufacturer of cinema that sees itself as primarily diversionary, has a tendency to, even in films that are supposedly character evaluations, assume of its audience a minimal interest in the characters beyond what is necessary to develop the plot. That is the characters exist for the plot, even in a genre that by its very definition, requires the plot to exist to facilitate character development. [/rant]
Originally published in: Lumière 4, Winter 2004, ISSN 1176-4082
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