Cabo Negro

 

Writer/director Abdellah Taïa

CABO NEGRO           B                                                                                                         France  Morocco  (76 mi)  2024  d: Abdellah Taïa

This has a kind of Waiting for Godot vibe, as two young queer students from Casablanca, best friends Soundouss and Jaâfar (Oumaïma Barid and Youness Beyej), arrive at a luxury villa in Cabo Negro, a beachside community in northern Morocco, while awaiting the arrival of an older American from New York, Jonathan, who is renting the villa for the month of August and lent them the keys, yet never arrives.  While there are indications Jonathan and Jaâfar are former lovers, Soundouss is also excited about the arrival of her girlfriend Soumaya who remained behind in Casablanca, sending her inflamed messages, where expectations are high that they will spend a carefree month in the sun, swimming on the beach, living a comfortable life, where the idyllic setting offers a reprieve from surrounding social and political upheavals.  This beautiful locale has the makings of your typical Éric Rohmer film, who set many of his films along the sunny shores of summer beach holidays, where the sensual atmosphere and youthful carefree vibe became a staple of French cinema, though the Moroccan director has chosen an altogether different path, choosing a minimalist, near documentary approach with quiet observation, and while the film’s languid sensuality is undeniable, it’s difficult to comprehend the motivations behind the character’s actions.  Born in Salé just outside Rabat, Abdellah Taïa is the first Moroccan writer to live openly and unapologetically gay, eloquently writing a coming out confession to his family (Homosexuality Explained to My Mother), publishing several novels ('A Country for Dying' Review: A Fresco of Departures, Real ...), while currently living in Paris and writing in French, where any notion of home remains elusive, as back home he is viewed as a “traitor,” with Morocco’s biggest-selling newspaper denouncing him, while also attacked by other Moroccan writers, journalists, and politicians, with many suggesting he should be stoned.  Realizing at an early age that words were used to denounce the LGBTQ community, making them feel dirty and despised, where families often cast out these children as misfits from society, and for that reason he is wary of how language is used to portray gay people, who remain extremely vulnerable to acts of violence, as gays are routinely demonized as evil by religious and political entities, making them ashamed of who they are.  There’s an expression from the American South, “Watch the dog that carries the bone,” in other words watch the messenger.  Growing up, the director felt he was all alone, with no one in the world able to identify what he was going through, leaving him isolated and alone, where he had to navigate his way through troubled waters in a society that offers no refuge, only hateful rejection.  Offering a very low-key sense of what it is like to be queer in Morocco, and still be a practicing Muslim, his goal is to make cinema accessible to those same LGBTQ youth growing up today, offering them inclusive avenues they may not have felt or known about, yet it’s clear this is a man on a mission.  Taïa was present at the screening and he’s an unusually gifted speaker, highly intelligent and emotionally compelling, where his command of language in both mediums is thought-provoking.

Largely due to the director’s mistrust for how language can misconstrue reality, this is more of a moody, atmospheric film filled with deeper meaning, with very little dialogue and long silent pauses, where the scale of the film remains small, and the plot purposefully oblique, allowing viewers to recognize other aspects of storytelling, where that initial euphoria turns mysteriously dark and melancholic, growing more circumspect as Jonathan avoids all attempts at contact, refusing to answer his phone, and remains completely out of touch, while Soumaya has similarly distanced herself from Soundouss, leaving her down in the dumps.  This strange turn of events leaves them both perplexed and dismayed, suddenly finding themselves unable to pay the rent or buy food, as if stranded on an island with no provisions, yet rather than return home they decide to stay and make the best of it, walking to the beach each day, soaking up the sun, and just enjoying the simple pleasures of living.  But Taïa throws in a few wrinkles we haven’t seen before, as hiding in the forested path to the ocean is a group of Africans awaiting their chance to be smuggled across the sea into Europe, where direct eye contact is made, but no words are actually spoken.  Similarly, when a lone stranger follows them, rather than turn him away, they actually offer him food and a safe place to sleep for a night, discovering he’s just been released from 3-years in prison for a crime he never committed.  When they run out of food, they both stand along a wall at night waiting to be picked up by random strangers for paid sexual hookups, a social realist reflection of early Fellini films, expressing a harsh reality that exists side-by-side with their upscale accommodations.  Making things even more disruptive, the villa owner arrives unannounced in an angry mood, where he’s not pleased to see they are not Jonathan, who apparently has a history of renting the villa each summer.  Nonetheless, they treat him with respect, offer him sweetened tea the way he likes, but he’s aloof and standoffish with them, believing they are misfits and undesirables, eventually giving them an ultimatum to leave, but only after he orders Soundouss into one of the empty rooms where he rapes her, giving them three more days, which is like a dark cloud hanging over their heads.  This beguiling feature is a clever examination of upended expectations, homophobia and sex tourism, and an ambiguously sexy vacation thriller, reckoning with queerness within the prism of Arabic and Muslim culture, as Taïa adds artistic rigor to confront age-old beliefs while maintaining a compassionate gaze for all his characters, where the end result displays an unexpected intensity.  

As Jaâfar is paying respects to his father’s nearby grave, another man, Mounir (Julian Compan), runs into him asking for help, as he’s searching for his grandmother’s grave, but he’s French and can’t read Arabic.  He’s invited back to the villa afterwards, where we learn he was rejected by his family for being gay, and despite his grandmother’s prolonged illness, they wouldn’t allow him to see her before she died.  Yet his grandmother was everything to him, as she fully embraced who he was with no reservations, and made him feel loved.  This heartrending story allows the viewing audience to understand the true meaning of the word “tolerance.”  It’s important to understand the director’s motives here, as he’s targeting the LGBTQ youth in Morocco who have no desire to run away to Los Angeles to find freedom, but want to find a way to live in their own country, as difficult as that may seem under strict Islamic laws that view homosexuality as a punishable offense that may lead to prison terms or even death (The Islamic State's Views on Homosexuality).  Even in this idyllic setting, these kids need to navigate their way through a difficult path, as Morocco is no longer the gay and lesbian paradise of the 1970’s, home to Jean Genet (and William S. Burroughs in the 50’s) and a regular destination of Rainer Werner Fassbinder, but is a country that criminalizes and persecutes the LGBTQ community, and while disheartened, they don’t lose faith or change their values to reflect the harshness inflicted upon them.  Instead they freely reach out to others, making a celebratory feast of couscous and invite a group of African exiles awaiting safe passage, people who would never be invited into a villa like this, as it caters to a wealthy white elite with plenty of money to spread around.  These communal experiences are the heart of the film, like dancing with strangers, as they offer ways to live their lives freely accepting the differences in others, who are nonetheless embraced, with no lectures or self-absorbed tirades to make themselves feel good, but simply because it’s the right thing to do, creating a world filled with fleeting interactions and temporary connections, embracing the cultural Moroccan messages without the divisive rhetoric.  Taïa got the idea for the film by following an Instagram account of two young gay Moroccans, only to notice that over time the girl goes mysteriously missing, yet he notices they exhibit powerful signs of a vibrant new iGeneration trying to express themselves, despite the aggressive government response of denunciation, living for the moment day by day with a sense of longing and hope, yet openly thriving outside established rules.  This gave him the framework for a story, where he could add his own fictional embellishments, creating LGBTQ protagonists whose voices blend together forming a unique stream-of-conscious mix, deciding they can no longer wait for societies to change, instead creating a safe sanctuary through their own bonds of solidarity amongst themselves, sharing meals and their own loving experiences, offering a sense of grace even while there are turbulent forces around them fomenting social and political violence.    

Mistress Dispeller

 

Director Elizabeth Lo

The director on the set

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MISTRESS DISPELLER            C+                                                                                           China  USA  (94 mi)  2024  d: Elizabeth Lo

Everyone agreed to participate both at the beginning and end of production, as their understanding of the film and mistress dispeller’s role evolved over time.                                    —opening title card 

Teacher Wang taught me a lot.  About love, and other things.  She said, “Look, you are going through this, this difficulty, and we should film it, so more women, more people, can face their families and learn how to handle a situation like this…”  I want more people to know that love doesn’t come easy, especially for people at our age.  Don’t give up so easily.                              —Mrs. Li

While the premise of this documentary is interesting, where the latest Chinese phenomena is hiring someone to officially drive philandering husbands away from their mistresses and back to the fold of the family, yet this one-note subject matter quickly grows tiring, as little is actually learned in this rather light-hearted exposé.  Easily what works best are the operatic inclusions of Puccini musical excerpts, Gianni Schicchi: O, mio babbino caro YouTube (2:22) and Madame Butterfly: Humming Chorus YouTube (3:05), which are emotionally powerful, but most of the film falls flat, despite some rather absurd stabs at humor, as nothing is ever explored in-depth, remaining superficially on the surface for the entire film, so not much is actually learned, though the absence of emotional outbursts or angry confrontations does make the detached, cinéma vérité style more plausible.  One character (Mrs. Li) even acknowledges at one point that she might have acted differently if the camera had not been there.  While the psychological intent makes more sense in theory, attempting to steer the various parties in certain directions, the reality is never satisfying, as we see no evidence of what is proposed.  This is a very ambiguous film, leaving viewers a bit perplexed, shining little light on this unusual profession.  While the culture on display is Chinese, filmed with actual participants in China, the approach feels more American, arising out of the Sundance Institute Producer’s Program, so it’s a bit of a mixed bag.  While a few scenes feel scripted, like bringing in the film crew on camera during a particularly pertinent moment, the fact that this is a straightforward documentary with so little dramatic impact just makes it harder to take seriously, where a differently edited or fictionalized version of tonal shifts might have been more compelling, throwing in scenarios that were simply missing from what we see onscreen, where the quiet lyricism of filmmaker Hong Sang-soo comes to mind.  For instance, we learn next to nothing about the marital relationship or their family, which seems to exist in a vacuum, so viewers gain little insight as to why this relationship needs to be saved, though separation is not an option due to the wealth the husband brings.  The marriage is not close, exhibiting little intimacy, where instead of any romantic connection, love is bound up with sacrifice, duty, and what’s left unspoken, so there’s no reason to suspect that will change in the future, despite the intervention, so in the end they seem no better off. 

Born and raised in Hong Kong, the director graduated from the NYU Tisch School of the Arts, with a Masters in Fine Arts from Stanford University, having been exposed as a youth to pop culture and movie ideals of romance, which drastically differs from the world of China portrayed in this film.  Up until now she has primarily been a director of shorts, making one earlier feature, STRAY (2020), an uncompromising social realist film that offers a dog’s-eye view of Istanbul, inviting viewers into their immersive world, continually providing the spatial point of view of stray dogs on the street.  This, on the other hand, is all about a philosophical concept, a social theory, which the filmmaker attempts to bring to life, with varying degrees of success.  Filmed over the course of two years, where Lo is not just the director, but also the cinematographer and co-editor on the film, the actual subjects feel authentic enough, where the problem is we just never learn very much about them, feeling more like strangers both in the beginning and at the end of the picture.  As we drop into their lives, there’s no real examination of cheating husbands, or this unconventional profession, so we’re left with what we see onscreen, which shows people going through the mundane aspects of their lives, more often bored with their routines, as what they’ve grown accustomed to is the emptiness of their existence, where the promise of middle class comforts has not brought any of them happiness.  Shifting our sympathies between the husband, wife, and mistress, often using a static camera position, the film uses a crisis of infidelity to explore the ways emotion, pragmatism, and cultural norms collide to shape romantic relationships in contemporary China, often involving secrecy and shame, though a more interesting and largely untold aspect is exploring how women navigate Chinese society.  At the center of the story is Teacher Wang (Wang Zhenxi), whose undercover presence attempts to influence the various participants, the middle aged marital couple, Mr. and Mrs. Li, along with the younger mistress Fei Fei, who is attractive, though more economically challenged, yet she confidently expects Mr. Li will choose her in the end, and may have even thought she was the central figure of the shooting, openly expressing a deep longing for love and commitment.  When Mrs. Li suspects her husband’s inexplicable absences are not just due to extended business meetings, she hires the dispeller to save her marriage, as in her grown-up child’s eyes they have the “perfect” family. 

Presumably documenting all sides of the love triangle, neither Mr. Li nor his mistress exhibit any signs of guilt or regret, finding nothing morally wrong with their behavior, while Mrs. Li is simply angry and indignant, yet neither she nor her husband have the capacity to speak about this issue with each other, so it simply festers over time, revealing episodic glimpses of a disintegrating marriage, including tense bickering at the dinner table, or paranoia surrounding cellphone usage, where they are not at all averse to intercepting texts and messages.  While this may be a sociographic reflection of a society undergoing cultural shifts from rigid social norms, it’s hard to get past the element of romantic resignation, the examination of a love story without any signs of love, though Mrs. Li claims that they were once the envy of their friends (who we never see).  Viewers may be a bit skeptical about this so-called profession, where many may be inclined to believe it exists along the same wavelength as psychic readings, where there is little scientific evidence to offer credibility.  Apparently this extramarital industry has only blossomed in the last ten years in China, largely due to rising rates of adultery, along with a growing economy, creating rapidly expanding middle and upper classes and a rising divorce rate, leaving people with options that never existed before, where technology and shifting values play a huge role in reshaping modern ideas on love and marriage.  By holding shots on faces for unconventionally long durations, one can gauge the levels of loneliness and regret that lie under the surface, as people struggle with their shortcomings, yet it’s hard to believe Mr. Li would confess his infidelity to a complete stranger, “With my wife it’s real life, with Fei Fei it’s like being in the sun,” or allow this dispeller, disguised as a distant friend of the family, into his inner sanctum, where that absurdity reaches comic heights by the end.  But it all feels more like people gossiping endlessly about their frustrations in life, as the marital problems are never approached directly, feeling more like a manipulative con job, where professional credentials are produced to take money from wealthy families, presuming they’ll be happy about the outcome.  By the end, however, there is simply no evidence that anyone is happy except the dispeller, who does not come cheap, paid in the tens of thousands for her services, who is the only one who has profited from the experience.  Inexplicably, despite the shortcomings, this film won the Best Documentary at the Chicago Film Festival 2024, Festival Award Winners - Cinema Chicago.