Chez Jolie Coiffure

Director Rosine Mbakam (left) alongside Sabine

CHEZ JOLIE COIFFURE         B               

Belgium  (70 mi)  2018  d: Rosine Mbakam

Cameroon and Belgium are fused together in this film about a charismatic hairdresser named Sabine, an undocumented émigré from Cameroon who runs a hair salon in a shopping mall in Matongé, the African quarters in Brussels, where her effervescent personality drives this picture, as she is blatantly honest, gets into everyone’s business, flirts prodigiously, hands out essential support information to other African émigré’s, where her shop is an epicenter of social services, which includes a myriad of expansive hair styling (Africaine, Europèanne, Americaine), which she effortlessly performs while carrying on a running conversation with the camera which is planted directly in the center of her shop, Jolie Coiffure Salon, often referring to the director by her first name Rosine.  While the size of the shop is tiny, the dazzling array of angles used is expanded exponentially by the use of mirrors, where it’s hard to tell if you’re seeing the actual shot or the reflection in the mirror.  Sabine is a larger-than-life character in every respect, unabashedly unafraid to throw her curves around, wearing skirts and blouses so tight that it’s a wonder she can actually fit it all underneath, as her full-figured body is hard to contain.  She is such a healthy presence onscreen that viewers will take to her instantly, while Rosine helps with the braiding or around the shop, with other hairdressers recruited when many hands are needed, all working simultaneously with a patient customer enduring it all, which includes eating while she’s working on someone’s hair.  Apparently addicted to eating gizzards, she constantly flirts with a man who sells them, earning a daily smile and an assault of criticisms when he arrives emptyhanded, teasing him relentlessly, but over time we come to realize she’s friends with his wife, who runs off temporarily during the middle of the picture, which leaves him heartbroken, where she’s seen consoling him, offering advice, and just being a good friend in a time of need.  There is literally nothing this woman can’t do, as she is constantly the focus of attention throughout the film, where it would be hard to find a more generous subject. 

Over time we learn her story, which began with a recruitment agency in Cameroon for a housekeeper in Lebanon, which was her most dreadful experience as they keep your passport so you can’t leave, feeling imprisoned, treated like a slave, eventually escaping to Syria, then Greece, traveling mostly by foot before finally arriving in Belgium, where her request for asylum has repeatedly been denied, making her subject to the frequent immigration raids in her neighborhood, quickly shutting off the lights and disappearing, basically hiding from the authorities.  Rosine allows her camera to continue to run in the darkness, as shouts of commotion can be heard offscreen as arrests are made, suggestive of what could be happening.  The police routinely patrol with dogs, randomly rounding up undocumented immigrants who are either imprisoned or exported across the border.  The pervasive feeling of fear followed by relief is shared among the many who face similar circumstances, who are seen commiserating in Sabine’s shop afterwards, which becomes a safe space, each sharing their own story of woe, yet fortunate they evaded the trap this time.  Sabine also spends her time organizing a network to support fellow Cameroon émigrés by raising money, recruiting new members, informing them of their rights, and helping people who need work and a place to stay, particularly mothers with children, even welcoming people into her home, which may simply be the loft above the shop, often teaching these young girls the art of braiding or weaving hair, adding hair extensions, or various degrees of colorization, routinely seen giving work to other girls who just arrived.  Yet there is also down time when there are no customers, with Sabine staring silently out the window lost in her own thoughts, occasionally looking down in the dumps, but in no time she’s back to her bubbly disposition.

Despite repeated warnings to avoid Lebanon, African émigré’s continue to come, even members of Sabine’s family, desperate to try something new, as their economic opportunities are so bleak.  Sadly she receives a phone call from her younger brother needing immediate cash, finding himself in dire straits.  While she’s always willing to lend a helping hand, there’s only so much one can do, as she needs to stay current on her own rent.  One of the amusing sidelines is the attention she receives from the gazes of white tourists walking by who literally stop and stare, literally gawking, making them feel like zoo animals on display, as if they have never seen a black person before, particularly one who flaunts her body, wears a blond wig, and plays Afro-pop music all day long, seen singing along at one point when the lyrics reference the power of God.  Sabine has no patience for these groups of tourists, instructing them to move along, as this is literally her home, a tenuous one at that, so easily taken away, where her job is to make the best of the situation, feeling like she’s happier here, as she’s working while also regularly providing a service to others, not really wanting to return back home where opportunities are so few.  The personal is interwoven with the political, where the film becomes a collection of shared stories, many of them harrowing, with the camera never leaving the shop, placing viewers in a similar situation of feeling trapped, never allowed to leave the premises, where the world outside is a potential danger zone that exhibits very little sympathy or understanding for people in Sabine’s situation, feeling instead the wrath of a xenophobic rage.   With this film, released alongside Mbakam’s THE TWO FACES OF A BAMILÉKÉ WOMAN (2016), it’s an interesting exploration of African women both at home and abroad, where they’re never really welcomed or accepted on either continent, where their only protection is to form a community of like-minded women to support one another, with the film enlarging their small community networks to an international stage, bringing to light the continuing strife and oppression that exists in a post-colonial world.

Ghost Tropic

Director Bas Devos

Filming on the streets with Saadia Bentaïeb

GHOST TROPIC           B                

Belgium  Netherlands  (85 mi)  2019  d: Bas Devos

But if suddenly, a stranger appearing from nowhere were to enter this room, what would he see, what would he hear?  And would he feel anything by being here?

―whispered opening question

A unique film experience premiering at Director’s Fortnight at Cannes, a small film that envisions things differently, eschewing any formal narrative, but simply evolving out of circumstances, falling asleep on the last running subway train at night, waking up at the end with no money to get home, as we watch a middle-aged woman take a nocturnal journey through time, making her way on foot as she traverses the city of Brussels one night, becoming that rare film that doesn’t reveal what it’s about, as there’s no real storyline, just chance encounters, allowing viewers the luxury to contemplate for themselves their own thoughts on what they’re watching.  Something along the lines of the Chantal Akerman film TOUTE UNE NUIT (1982), who according to the director is the most famous director from Belgium, where her influence is unmistakable, as the film unravels at its own pace, becoming an observation piece filled with minute details, yet by the time it’s over, viewers are intimately familiar with Khadija, Saadia Bentaïeb from 2017 Top Ten List #8 BPM (Beats Per Minute (120 battements par minute), a quiet and humble Muslim woman who works as an afterhours cleaning lady for some nameless corporate entity.  Shot on 16mm by Grimm Vandekerckhove, the static opening shot of a living room held for several minutes holds little interest, yet the duration allows us to notice the darkening night, making viewers acutely aware of the passing time.  The empty streets have a glow about them, wet from the cool night air, she wears an overcoat as we hear her steps, with no traffic whatsoever to contend with, but she’ll occasionally run into someone, like a security guard allowing her inside a closed shopping mall to use a cash station after hours for a taxi, but she has insufficient funds, leaving her near broke and alone, and a long way from home.  A haunting and hypnotic journey begins in the southeast of Brussels to Molenbeek, traversing all the way across town to the Northeast.

Among her initial encounters is stopping at an old building, peeking inside through the windows before being approached by a neighbor.  Apparently she worked as a cleaning lady for a family that used to live there, but the building has been vacant for years now.  The neighbor, apparently relieved that she’s not an intruder, confesses he’s currently unhappy with his Polish cleaning lady and expresses an interest, but she’s already got a job.  The brief episode, however, accentuates the curiosity that her presence brings, quickly alleviating growing fears when encountering a total stranger in the dead of night.  As she moves further on, she grows concerned at the state of a homeless man lying inertly on an old dirty mattress on the street with his dog tethered to a pole.  When he doesn’t respond, she alerts a nearby policeman who calls the emergency paramedics who transport him to the nearest hospital.  Concerned about his welfare, and that of his dog, she sticks around until he’s taken away, with the officer suggesting the man could obtain his dog the next day so long as he remains securely tied.  In this day and age, it’s rare for anyone to demonstrate benevolence or compassion for the homeless, with city dwellers growing callous, largely because some urban areas are overwhelmed by the staggering numbers (Homelessness in Brussels continues to rise), making it difficult to choose who among the many to assist.  Nonetheless, it quietly offers a glimpse of Khadija’s values.  Taking it further, she visits a hospital to check up on him, gets scolded for arriving outside visiting hours, then knowingly sneaks up several floors, asking a nurse to find out what happened to him, disheartened at what she discovers.  Thoughts immediately turn to the dog, with an abstract illusory dreamlike sequence suggesting a release from captivity.

Quietly spare guitar interludes by Brecht Ameel are played between vignette sequences as she continues to walk through an urban landscape of dimly lit streets and storefronts, while occasionally the sounds of birds intrude, yet the film is deliberately undramatic, consisting of the kinds of characters you’re likely to meet on a day to day basis on the street but never stop for a moment and actually see them, usually walking right on by.  But Khadija’s circumstances are different, as time expands, filling the vacuum of space between the screen and the viewers, where people are constantly adjusting their views on what they’re seeing, an odyssey into the night, dense and dark, moody, but never gloomy, perhaps surprised by the openness she brings in a beautifully restrained performance of what amounts to an unscripted one woman play.  Along the way there are passing cars and dots of light that fluctuate in the night air, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that are simply fleeting images.  What we see is not the typical tourist views, away from the well-lit modern features and beautiful architecture, passing instead through well-worn working class sections of town where most all of the businesses are closed, yet a few bars with party revelers are punctuated by the floating sounds of music.  Discovering a late night gas station still open, she warms herself inside, getting a cup of tea, but they’re out of teabags, asking the store clerk to find something in the back which she happily provides.  As she’s the last and final customer, looking weary, obviously using the store as a rest stop along the way, the store clerk (Maaike Neuville) offers her a ride home in her car just after closing, a kind offer that she accepts, engaging in brief conversational small talk, when remarkably she sees her daughter on the street, asking to quickly stop, getting out, but avoids being seen, where she’s actually able to watch from a distance, observing the early flirtations of a budding relationship, with her beautiful teenage daughter (Nora Dari) unaware she’s being watched.  It’s a lovely moment, unremarkable yet poignant, as she never reveals herself, eventually finding her way back to the safety of her home.  Yet that’s not the end of the journey, as a brightened image of her daughter at the beach appears on the screen as a final thought, a break from everything that came before, but clearly at the forefront of her mind, closing on a positive note.  The final end credits are unusual, featuring the job titles for everyone involved on the film with the names missing, then one-by-one the names fill in the blanks on each passing page.