The Senegalese director Ousmane Sembène is probably the most well-known African director outside of his home continent. Beginning to work in the early 1960s—the decade in which some African countries began declaring independence from their colonial occupiers, and in which African artists could now comment upon their countries' own turbulent colonial histories with greater freedom—Sembène made the first feature film released by a sub-Saharan African director, Black Girl (La noire de...), in 1966. Two years later, in 1968, Sembène would release Mandabi, the first movie that was entirely spoken in Wolof, one of Senegal's major dialects (and Sembène's mother tongue). Throughout his career, he made provocative, didactic, progressive, proudly Senegalese works that criticized the new African bourgeoisie, grappled with the polyvalent and troubling colonial history of Senegal (and numerous northern African nations), and commented upon social woes such as the oppression of women and religious intolerance in a society well-known for the oft-contentious cohabitation of Christianity and Islam.There are many reasons for Sembène's comparative prominence among African directors. Some of these reasons are controversial and are common among some African directors, such as the co-funding of some projects by European production companies (which provides films with a more pervasive distribution outlet in Europe and overseas) and Sembène's progressive critiques of some facets of Senegalese culture, which would likely be sympathized with by the majority of Western viewers who would be interested in exploring African film. More importantly, though, Sembène is probably the best-known African filmmaker internationally because he is one of the best, at least at what he is trying to accomplish. Among African directors who repeatedly comment upon the sociocultural states and political histories of their countries, Sembène is likely the most impassioned, creative, unique, and compassionate. It would be foolish to claim that his forward-thinking social commentaries are pandering to liberal Western audiences who support the films' critiques of traditional Senegalese culture, for it is obvious through Sembène's use of numerous Senegalese cultural and artistic traditions (among them the employment of a griot character to comment upon the events in his stories, or evocative observations of modern Dakar's vibrant and eclectic cultural community, or the use of Senegalese dialects rather than French) that the director deeply embraces his homeland and employs a uniquely Senegalese cinema to criticize the country's injustices.
Following Sembène's death in June 2007 at the age of eighty-four (he completed his final film, Mooladé, only three years prior), there was a mild growth in interest in the director's filmography. In the United States since then, retrospectives of Sembène have been popping up at film festivals and specialty movie houses. And while many African directors' films have yet to be released on DVD in this country in any fashion, six of Sembène's films are fairly readily available (although what I see as his greatest film—Ceddo (1977)—still is not).
A few days ago in Minneapolis, as part of their eight-film series paying tribute to Ousmane Sembène, the Walker Art Center played his 2000 film Faat Kiné (which is available on DVD). It is the eighth film that I've seen by him, and I would count it as one of his three masterpieces (along with Ceddo and Xala [1975]). It is most remarkable, perhaps, for its general air of joy and optimism, although there are considerable amounts of pain and tragedy to be had as well. The emotional climax of Faat Kiné features a rousing speech by a young high-school graduate who has already been preemptively elected as President of the Society of West African Nations by a Senegalese youth club; hearing him speak, and uninhibitedly ridicule the Senegalese bourgeoisie who drastically mishandled the country's newfound independence in the 1960s, we leave the theater feeling that, in the hands of a politician like this, the future for Senegal (and other African nations) may not be destined to flounder like so many people seem to think.
Lest we conclude that Sembène offers us a false sense of hope in Faat Kiné, though, the director makes sure to remind us that a system of restrictive patriarchy and religious intolerance is still very much in place in Senegal. The movie concerns a woman named Faat Kiné, a single mother of two who owns her own gas station in Dakar. Her first child, Aby, was conceived during a fling with a high school professor who subsequently refused to provide for their daughter and, furthermore, denied Faat Kiné her high school baccalaureate (a feat which is basically necessary in modern Senegal in order to land a self-sustaining job). The father of her second child, a son named Djip, was a petty gambler who stole Faat Kiné's life savings only to be imprisoned in France. Faat Kiné's father, shamed that his daughter has become an unwed mother, tries to burn his daughter (quite possibly to kill her), but, in a surreal and nightmarish scene, inadvertently torches his wife instead. (A grisly close-up in the following scene shows us Faat Kiné's mother's still-scarred flesh. Rather than seeming self-consciously shocking, this jump cut from a flashback to the present day fully makes us recognize the sacrifices made for Faat Kiné by her mother, and correlatively by Faat Kiné for her own children—perhaps the movie's predominant theme.)
Amongst so much tragedy and heartache, Faat Kiné has persevered and has managed to provide a solid future for her children. Having been lucky enough to land her gas station job in high school, she has climbed to the top of the ladder there, earning derisive stares from male customers but the respect and admiration of her friends and employees. (In one amusing scene, as Faat Kiné and a former lover argue in her office, her assistant manager eavesdrops nearby as he meticulously restocks the office—ready to protect his boss, though he is well aware that she can protect herself quite sufficiently.) In one surprisingly frank scene, Faat Kiné's mother confesses that, although she would protect her to the death, she wished for a time that Faat Kiné would die, so that she would not have to experience the pain and oppression to which she would certainly be subjected. But immediately after this confession, her mother commends Faat Kiné for doing what she herself could not do—providing her children with a promising future and teaching them that individualism and self-reliance are more valuable assets than depending on others to survive. Implicit within this interaction—and voiced explicitly later in the film—is the suggestion that this life lesson of self-reliance is something that was not widely accepted in the first decade of Senegal's independence, and that it has taken new generations of younger Senegalese people to recognize their own patriotism and independence. One of Sembène's most hopeful themes here is that the youth of Senegal's urban areas may be able to remedy the mistakes made by the country's first two generations during independence, a theme which is all the more remarkable considering that Sembène was 67 when he made the film, and that old age is traditionally revered in Senegalese society. (The young politician that I brought up before—who, not coincidentally, is Faat Kiné's son Djip—reminds us that this reverence is only appropriate if it is deserved.)
Individualism and selfhood are two of the recurring themes in Faat Kiné, then, but one of Sembène's most impressive feats is in wedding these ideals to a sweet portrayal of intimacy and budding romance. While the movie is subversive and clever, it is also cheerfully generic and didactic, which should not be perceived as criticisms here. In an attempt to reach as wide an audience as possible, many sociopolitical filmmakers in northern African countries inject their themes into light and breezy romantic comedies. They hope to entertain and instruct. Sembène has often eschewed straightforward generic elements from his films; though often funny, movies like Mandabi (1968), Xala, Ceddo, and Camp de Thiaroye (1987) disregard romantic subplots and zippy dialogue in order to deliver their social commentaries as forcefully as possible. Faat Kiné, then, may be Sembène's most entertaining and fast-moving film, a movie that provides vibrant romantic comedy while addressing pertinent issues in modern Senegalese life. Understandably, Faat Kiné has discarded the notion that she needs a man in her life; after having been horribly abused, on two different occasions, by the father of her children, she has decided that she can be happier, more successful, and a better mother without the companionship of a husband. Not that she hasn't been sexually active; one altercation is between Faat Kiné and a male gigolo that she used to pay for sex, and several dialogue scenes between her and her female friends offer frank discussions of condom usage and the threat of AIDS. The gender roles, which are so extensively reversed in Faat Kiné, are subverted here as well: Faat Kiné uses men to satisfy herself sexually but then shuns their companionship, in a manner all too often practiced by the men in her society.
But the end of the movie—one of the best endings to any movie I can think of in recent memory—shows us that Faat Kiné is still looking for love and, only after considerable reticence, is willing to give in to it. Having been hardened by life for so long and forced to depend only on herself, Faat Kiné is ultimately reminded that intimacy and companionship are possible. Her own children, self-reliant and progressive though they are, struggle to find Faat Kiné a man throughout the film—they believe, despite all of her declarations to the opposite, that a husband will make her happier. The end of the movie wisely offers no guarantee of marriage or even a lasting monogamous relationship, but it does have Faat Kiné ultimately relinquishing herself to desire, letting her armor down just momentarily for the companionship that she's been resisting. This allows for a laugh-out-loud moment towards the end of the movie: after her girlfriends try to convince Faat Kiné to take an eligible suitor home with her, she proudly says, “You're too late, I already screwed him at the toilet.” But the final image, coyly sexual, is more sweet than vulgar: Faat Kiné reclines and beckons smilingly to the man before her; in close-up, her toes begin to wiggle as their affair consummates itself offscreen. Remarkable for portraying a group of women who are proudly, independently, and intelligently sexual (even one married woman, who mocks her husband for losing his erection immediately after she suggests using a condom), Faat Kiné is both wise and joyful, pragmatic and romantic; it may be a more agile balancing act than Sembène has ever accomplished (or, perhaps, attempted).
If the movie portrays a harshly patriarchal society yet ends by relishing the sight of a group of empowered women, it also laments the religious intolerance of modern Dakar, yet ends by offering a hopeful reconciliation between Christians and Muslims. Implicit references towards religious intolerance pop up frequently throughout the film—for example, when a Muslim customer at Faat Kiné's gas station asks an attendant if they have a prayer area, then glowers at the helpful employee because he's wearing a crucifix around his neck. The conflict between the two religions is a common theme in Sembène's cinema, particularly in Ceddo, which was heavily censored in Senegal due to its purported anti-Muslim sentiment. (That movie features a bizarre and fascinating interlude that suddenly flashes forward centuries to modern Dakar—it may be the most abstract and metaphorical moment in any of the director's films.) This antagonism is also referenced in Faat Kiné, when several of her possible suitors are deemed unworthy because they are Muslim while Faat Kiné is Christian. But at the end of the movie, as Djip and one of his friends smilingly observe Faat Kiné and her newfound paramour dancing intimately, they plot to reconcile their union by providing a marriage for them. Djip, a Christian, claims that he won't allow Faat Kiné's marriage to take place in a mosque; his friend, a Muslim, says he can't have the marriage take place in a church. There's a moment of awkward silence. Then they smile at each other, and say, simultaneously, “At City Hall!,” and shake on it blithely. The moment is didactic, even cheesy, but shamelessly so; Sembène poses troublesome questions but offers possible and inspiring answers, which is arguably a more effective tool for social activism than simply providing embittered social commentary and leaving it at that.
Speaking of didacticism: Faat Kiné may be Sembène's most straightforwardly didactic film. This is coming from a director who ended Mandabi with a series of superimpositions of relevant dialogue from the entire film, and has a postman say, quite literally, to the main character, “You are the future of Senegal!” But this brand of didacticism is not, in my opinion, a detractor. Sembène has said quite explicitly in interviews that he wants his movies to be a form of night school for his viewers; he wants to leave absolutely no ambiguity as to what he's trying to say and he wants to suggest possible avenues that audiences may take after the movie is over. So while I do appreciate movies that are mired in ambiguity, mysteriousness, abstraction, and are open to interpretation, I just as equally respect movies that work towards political and social activism in as direct and emphatic a way as possible. With Faat Kiné, we always know exactly what Sembène is trying to tell us: the Senegalese bourgeoisie and its country's leaders mishandled the first decades of independence by disregarding self-reliance and depending upon their colonial occupiers (who continued to occupy); this political oversight can be reflected in modern Senegal's patriarchal system, which suggests that single women must find a man to provide for them instead of relying upon themselves; but in order to thrive, Senegal must, in the future, rely upon its youth and its women to provide eclectic democratic voices to their society, and it must find a way for Christians and Muslims to coexist peacefully in urban areas. It's impossible to walk away from Faat Kiné without recognizing these ideas, some of which are voiced directly. It's not the only kind of socially-commited filmmaking (a more cryptic movie can inspire outrage and change—say, the Dardennes' Rosetta, for example), but it is an effective style that Sembène has mastered throughout his decades of impassioned filmmaking. So while it's a shame that so many excellent African filmmakers remain mostly unnoticed in this country and overseas, Sembène's prominence cannot possibly be viewed as unfortunate, especially when it makes available a film as funny, powerful, unique, and humane as Faat Kiné.
