Moolaadé (2004)

It was in 1954 that François Truffaut published his Une certaine tendance du cinéma français in the influential film magazine Cahiers du Cinéma, which was followed by André Bazin's De la politique des auteurs a year later, key essays among several in which their contemporary French cinema was being criticized in that periodical for producing "soulless", commercial films, put together by directors who were satisfied in being mere metteurs-en-scène (stage-setters) instead of true auteurs, due to their shooting movies without imprinting any personal style to their work. Despite actually being a reaction to the way French government allocated funds for film financing, prioritizing directors with a track record of box office hits in detriment of newcomers, the idea that a film is the reflection of the creative vision of its director would be formalized by Andrew Sarris in his 1962 essay Notes on the Auteur Theory. Greatly influenced by his French counterparts, in his article Sarris stressed that interior meaning can be extrapolated from "the tension between a director's personality and his material" and that, consequently, one cannot judge the quality of a movie without considering it as a fragment of its director's entire body of work. Even though such idea was not widely accepted by his peers (most notably by Pauline Kael), and even downplayed by Sarris himself in later years (by stating that "auteurism is and always has been more of a tendency than a theory"), that it finds a perfect example in Ousmane Sembène's oeuvre is an undeniable fact.

It is the day of the purification ritual for a group of girls in a small town in the countryside of Burkina Faso, a ceremony, believed by the townsfolk to be required by Islam, in which their genitals will be irreparably mutilated. As such practice has been carried out in that village for centuries, its inhabitants go on with their daily duties as if it were a day like any other. All of a sudden, some of the girls to be "purified" are seen running into Collé's (Fatoumata Coulibaly) house. They have come to ask her for protection, since she is known in the area for not having allowed her only daughter to take part in that ritual. She then invokes the moolaadé, an ancient tribal protection spell which forbids anyone intending harm to the girls to cross her threshold. As a girl who has not been purified will never find a husband in the village, their mothers insist on the ceremony, pleading to the elders' council to force Collé to end the moolaadé. The council sides with them, reaching the conclusion that the women's radio is to blame for Collé's reactionary behavior, which leads to their decision of confiscating all radios in town, thus effectively severing all communication links the women had with the outside world. Collé's husband, Ciré (Rasmané Ouédraogo), after being censured by his brother for not being able to control her, demands the end of the protection spell, and, in a desperate attempt of coercing his wife into obeying him, flogs her publicly. Taking advantage of the public commotion, the mother of one of the girls under Collé's protection manages to reclaim her daughter, promptly taking her to be "purified"; that girl dies shortly after the ritual is completed. With the period of purification over, and the moolaadé with it, the girls Collé protected are reunited with their mothers, while the one who lured her daughter into a what turned out to be a fatal trap cries hopelessly. Moved by that scene, the women at last unite against the ritual, forcing the "purifiers" to drop their knives. Upon marching to the main square, they witness their husbands burning their radios, which irates them even more, empowering Collé to confront the village men, who are not moved by her words; the village chief's son, Ibrahima (Théophile Sowié), nevertheless, educated in Paris, decides to side with them in spite of his father's pleas: in a subsequent shot, we then see the egg which had been atop of their mosque for hundreds of years has been replaced by a brand new TV antenna.

Collé (Fatoumata Coulibaly) ties some strings of yarn
to her
house's threshold, indicating the
beginning of the moolaadé

A novelist turned the first Sub-Saharan movie director, Ousmane Sembène's lifetime work focused on denouncing the numerous hardships faced by the African people, while also harshly criticizing the post-independence African society, deemed by him corrupt, over-reliant on foreign aid and conniving with neocolonialism. In the process, however, he was the first to introduce us to a world we had only seen through the stereotypical eyes of Western cinema, where Africans are still mainly depicted as either undifferentiated, cannon-fodder savages (e.g. King Kong - 2005) or bloodthirsty warlords (see The Last King of Scotland - 2006), always seen through the eyes of a "civilized" white protagonist audiences can identify with. The common people in Black Africa, though, as seen through Sembène's eyes, form a multifaceted society that, although disfigured by colonial exploitation, is capable enough to be able to stand on its own feet without foreign help. According to him, foreign subsidies are in reality meant to "kill proud men by supplying their every need, which, in the long run, crushes their dignity and turns them into slaves and beggars" (theme he explored in Mandabi - 1968 - and Guelwaar - 1992), or even worse, into caricatures of themselves that would swindle their own people (again addressed Mandabi, as well as in Xala - 1975). He also persistently exposes the inconsistencies in the patriarchal African society, in which, as a result of imposed Islamic values, women have their importance greatly diminished while also being completely relied upon to keep that society working. He advocates, hence, that it is up to the women to change the status quo by reclaiming the power they once had: in Emitaï (1971), it is a group of Diola women that lead the rebellion against the French; in Ceddo (1977), it is Princess Dior Yacine that puts an end to the Iman's forced conversions; in Moolaadé, it is thanks to Collé's rebellion that the women gather the courage needed to put an end to female genital mutilations. Far from being technical masterpieces, daring to take risks in stylish, revolutionary approaches to cinema or storytelling, his movies focus on plausible stories of real people, aimed at awaking the flame of social change in African audiences, and whose merit rests on being excellent empathy-generating machines, "allowing us to understand a little bit more about different hopes, aspirations, dreams and fears of civilizations far different than our own", and that is exactly what good cinema ought to be.

Ciré (Rasmané Ouédraogo) drops his wife's radio
on the pile
at the town square, overlooked by the
mosque and the anthill
believed to hold the soul
of the first victim of the moolaadé

Moolaadé is the second movie in a trilogy aimed at honoring what Sembène called the Heroism in daily life, small victories by the common people over their daily struggles, to which "no nation gives any medals". This was a project he started with 2001's Faat Kiné and intended to finish with The Brotherhood of Rats, never produced due to his death in 2007. It feels, nonetheless, as if it was meant to be a thematic sequel to Ceddo (1977), a movie dealing with the introduction of Islamism into 19th century Senegal, forced upon the people with no respect for their traditions, reason why it was faced with great resistance. Islam would ultimately be embraced by great part of the Sub-Saharan population, but only after a process of syncretism in which it embraced many traits of the already existing African religions, leading to the conflict at the core of Moolaadé: there is only one God, Mohammed is His prophet and Islam is the law of the land, but no one dares to violate the ancient protection spell cast by Collé. The equality of standing between both ancient and Muslim beliefs is represented here by both a giant anthill, believed to hold the soul of the first victim of the moolaadé, and a mosque, whose architecture seems to have been inspired by that same anthill, standing side by side in the most prestigious site of the village. Furthermore, to stress the importance of education as a means to break away from oppression, Sembène grants the women's radios, their sole source of information about the world beyond their village, equal standing to both the venerated mosque and anthill by having them piled up in front of those religious sites. In a continuation of his theme of irony in the patriarchal Sub-Saharan society, Sembène makes us witness the paradox that, even though it is the men who require the purification ritual to be performed, it is the women who are made to enforce it, something  Mark Robson's The Inn of the Sixth Happiness (1958) had briefly touched upon in the context of the foot binding practice carried out in countryside China. The theme of breaking up with tradition, akin to Keisuke Kinoshita's Ballad of Narayama (1958), also abounds in Moolaadé, but, unlike Kinoshita, who explores the psychological devastation of carrying on with those practices, Sembène celebrates the courage needed to challenge the status quo, in hopes of inspiring the masses to do so.

Ciré whipping Collé at the village main square, trying
to force
her to utter the word that would
put an end to the moolaadé

By watching the existing films in Sembène's "Heroism in daily life" trilogy, one can't help but wonder whether it was not meant to celebrate the strength of African women instead. In spite of their patriarchal societies, where "a husband has unlimited powers", both Faat Kiné and Collé are able to find their own voice, standing their grounds despite overwhelming opposition, being rewarded at the end for their resilience, the former by succeeding in both her career and her family, and the latter by putting an end to a centuries-old custom. Fatoumata Coulibaly, she herself circumcised, plays Collé with great passion, truly standing out in a horrific sex scene, in which she nearly bites her finger off in an attempt to distract herself from the unbearable pain caused by her botched circumcision, all while her husband not even looks at her, merely toppling to the side after having finished "using" her. It is only then, when we see her bathing in the following morning, her face as if she had just left a torture chamber, that we can fully understand the reason why she did not allow her daughter to be purified. Watching the movie for a second time, hearing her husband tell her she was his "preferred wife" (meaning she is the wife with whom he shares his bed the most often) sent a chill down my spine -- the reaction, presumably, its director intended.

Due to extremely limited budgets, Sembène was known for filming on location, often working with nonprofessional actors, and keeping his stories simple, almost parabolic, so that they could better resonate with the common people of Africa, main target audience for this movies. While good points can be made in favor of those approaches, he definitely should have spent a little more time in the writing room for Moolaadé, though, to iron out a couple of scenes with some quite expository dialog... Back to my initial point, however, Sembène was a strong believer that the younger generation was capable of restoring Africa to her former glory, undoing their fathers mistakes if, and only if, they could learn from the past (Emitaï - 1971 - and Ceddo - 1977), are not dazzled by Europe's deceitful limelights (Black girl - 1966), are willing to work hard (unlike in Mandabi - 1968), do not trust their former colonizers (Camp de Thiaroye - 1987 - and Guelwaar - 1992) and do not betray their own (Xala - 1975). Unfortunately for this auteur, nonetheless, the ones most in need of his work, the ones he actually worked for, are extremely unlikely to even know him, thanks in great part to governments that fear his oeuvre will instigate the masses to rise against political and religious oppression. Fortunately, it seems those efforts have been in vain: change has already started in Black Africa thanks to the new generation of Liberian women. Sembène would be proud.

Summarizing it:

Liked	Didn't like
An inside view of a world we don't get to see very often	Some expository dialogue

Fatoumata Coulibaly's brief sex scene is long enough to make you cringe:

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Great Movie review by Roger Ebert here.

If you liked this movie, then maybe try watching Sembène's Guelwaar (1992) -- if you can get your hands on it, that is...

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