The cinema of Sub-Saharan Africa is dominated by the continent’s Francophone west; a region that has benefited from a strong film culture and a long history of French institutional funding. Look across to the east and south (South Africa itself excluded), and the offerings become sparse to non-existent. And yet, the best African film I have seen emerges not from Mali or Senegal, but Ethiopia: Haile Gerima’s 1976 masterpiece Harvest: 3000 Years (Mirt Sost Shi Amit).
In the child’s dreams, the sound of the tide transforms into one of stampeding hooves in a cattle pen; a memory of a formative trauma that has left him crippled. This is the first post-credits sequence of Raymond Rajaonarivelo’s When the Stars Meet the Sea (Quand les étoiles rencontrent la mer, 1996), an at-times uneven but often impressive film that marks my first encounter with the cinema of Madagascar.
Since my teenage years, I’ve had a passion for film – particularly those films emerging from outside the Hollywood mainstream. And yet, for all my declared interest in world cinema, my tastes have been fairly predictable in their own way. A cursory look at the country-of-origin column in my list of favourite films will show that I’m seeing a lot of work from Europe and North America, a little from Asia and scarcely anything from Africa or Latin America.
When I was 16, I started keeping a list of my favourite films. Since then, I’ve continued to update and recalibrate this list on a regular basis, adding the latest films I’ve seen and altering movies’ positions as they rise or fall in my estimations. I try to take as neutral an approach as possible when it comes to such matters as a title’s critical acclaim or place in a given canon; this is all about how much I, as a subjective viewer, enjoy or admire each film.
(Updated to June 2018)
People who aren’t interested in sport may have only taken (at most) a passing interest in the Essendon supplements scandal that’s plagued the AFL for the last four years. If one is at all interested in philosophy, however, the recent judgement in Switzerland is worth taking a look at, as it has serious implications on how we think about criminal culpability, personal responsibility and power.
Humanism seems to attract some reactionary connotations nowadays. This is not without good reason: it’s a term of self-identification that has been claimed by many on the right – from Andrew Bolt to anti-feminists in the blogosphere. The reason that this term may appeal to some of these people is the same reason that it is increasingly rejected by many on the left: that it reflects an (at best) apolitical denial of privilege or class, and a refusal to join the struggle of those who are denied these advantages.
Written by Jan Svankmajer (from Marlowe, Grabbe and Goethe). Read by Andrew Sachs.
Scene 1: An actor’s dressing room. Seated in front of a mirror, wearing a false beard, costume and make-up, protagonist reads from a script.
Faust: Alas, philosophy I have explored,
as well as medicine and law;
add to these, regrettably,
my studies in theology.
Yet here I sit, a foolish bore,
no wiser than I was before.
No dog can live like this;
knowledge gained is far from bliss.
So I resolve my soul to free
through blackest magic and dark alchemy.
The first thing you notice about Clouds of Sils Maria is that it looks different. There’s a sense of urgency here that’s not even close to being justified by the narrative – well, in the sense that there is a narrative; this being one of those rare, refreshing films for which it can be said, for decent stretches of its running time, “nothing happens” – and it’s an urgency that can be located most obviously in its transitions and in its occasional bouts of double exposure.
For Young Earth Creationists, a passage in the Book of Job is sufficient proof that dinosaurs and humans co-existed: a 34-verse description of a mythical, Loch Nessque sea creature whose comparative strength demonstrates man’s weakness and vulnerability (and thus, by extension, necessary submission before God). Its function is that of many of the allegorical works comprising the Hebrew Old Testament: a reminder to the reader to “know their place”; a reminder carved into the ruins of the Tower of Babel and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Continue reading