Here is a chilling portrait of how a heavily armed culture destroys an entirely outgunned traditional society.
In WWII-era Senegal, the spear-wielding, barefoot Diola people are being rubbed out of existence by French military thugs bearing firearms.
Draft-age men are being shipped out to Europe to fight the "white man's war." Women balancing baskets on their heads perform the back-breaking work of agriculture -- "rice is a woman's sweat" -- but must yield their crop to the war machine.
Meanwhile, under a sacred tree where sacrifices are offered to the gods, village elders pass gourds full of palm wine as they wrestle with the impossibilities of their position. Where are ancient deities now that the French wield 20th-century firepower? The elders face an implacable truth -- if they give up their sons and their food staple, their way of life will cease to exist.
One chief wants to challenge the French overlords -- at least then, they will die as men. If only in their thoughts, others favor appeasement: "It's better to be a living lamb than a dead lion."
This drama plays out in a terrain of billowing ground dust and thatch-roofed huts whose slatted doors couldn't bar one of the roosters that perpetually crows -- much less a soldier barreling in with a bayonet. Overseeing it all, posted in the earthen square, are posters bearing the portrait of Marechal Petain.
The viewer comes to see that slavery, which thrived for centuries in this part of the world, never really went away. The chains disappeared, but the people remained desperately unfree.
Director Ousmane Bembene, whom I'd never heard of, creates an amazing, filmed-on-location portrait here of the evils of colonialism. We cringe to observe how the French, with few weapons, turn the unarmed into pawns. A teenager tries to flee conscription? Aucun problème! Hold his aged father at gunpoint, under a relentless sun, in the square. It's just a matter of time before the boy submits to service, and an overseer snarls, "You think you're smart? I'll castrate you myself!"
The Diola do what they can to sustain their spirits. A drumbeat communicates that chief Djemcho has died on the fighting plain. ("Why didn't you believe in our gods?") Womenfolk, forced to sit in the sun until their give up their rice, want to fight back, but know resistance is futile. It's only when a child falls to gunfire that they rise up to bury him according to tradition. If they must die in order to perform this sacred rite, then so it must be.
Apparently cast almost entirely by non-actors, this is an amazing work of art from Bembene, who believed that film should be a "school of history," and "we shouldn't be afraid of our faults and our errors," according to Alicia Malone, who announced the movie on TCM. "Films could help people to question and challenge the world around them."
"Emitai" has certainly left me questioning the legacy of colonialism. What a horrific blight on humanity!
In WWII-era Senegal, the spear-wielding, barefoot Diola people are being rubbed out of existence by French military thugs bearing firearms.
Draft-age men are being shipped out to Europe to fight the "white man's war." Women balancing baskets on their heads perform the back-breaking work of agriculture -- "rice is a woman's sweat" -- but must yield their crop to the war machine.
Meanwhile, under a sacred tree where sacrifices are offered to the gods, village elders pass gourds full of palm wine as they wrestle with the impossibilities of their position. Where are ancient deities now that the French wield 20th-century firepower? The elders face an implacable truth -- if they give up their sons and their food staple, their way of life will cease to exist.
One chief wants to challenge the French overlords -- at least then, they will die as men. If only in their thoughts, others favor appeasement: "It's better to be a living lamb than a dead lion."
This drama plays out in a terrain of billowing ground dust and thatch-roofed huts whose slatted doors couldn't bar one of the roosters that perpetually crows -- much less a soldier barreling in with a bayonet. Overseeing it all, posted in the earthen square, are posters bearing the portrait of Marechal Petain.
The viewer comes to see that slavery, which thrived for centuries in this part of the world, never really went away. The chains disappeared, but the people remained desperately unfree.
Director Ousmane Bembene, whom I'd never heard of, creates an amazing, filmed-on-location portrait here of the evils of colonialism. We cringe to observe how the French, with few weapons, turn the unarmed into pawns. A teenager tries to flee conscription? Aucun problème! Hold his aged father at gunpoint, under a relentless sun, in the square. It's just a matter of time before the boy submits to service, and an overseer snarls, "You think you're smart? I'll castrate you myself!"
The Diola do what they can to sustain their spirits. A drumbeat communicates that chief Djemcho has died on the fighting plain. ("Why didn't you believe in our gods?") Womenfolk, forced to sit in the sun until their give up their rice, want to fight back, but know resistance is futile. It's only when a child falls to gunfire that they rise up to bury him according to tradition. If they must die in order to perform this sacred rite, then so it must be.
Apparently cast almost entirely by non-actors, this is an amazing work of art from Bembene, who believed that film should be a "school of history," and "we shouldn't be afraid of our faults and our errors," according to Alicia Malone, who announced the movie on TCM. "Films could help people to question and challenge the world around them."
"Emitai" has certainly left me questioning the legacy of colonialism. What a horrific blight on humanity!