Country: Chad
Director: Mahamat-Saleh Haroun
Time: 1 hour and 36 minutes
What It Evokes: Musings on forgiveness, reconciliation, and identities over time
Where Can I Get It: Criterion (free w/subscription) and Amazon (free w/subscription)
Chad has long been plagued by violence, the combination of (among other things) political fissures between its Muslim north and Christian south, the knock-on effects of the instability and adventurism of its neighbors Libya and Sudan (and, when convenient, its former colonizer France), and, according to Transparency International, some of the world’s worst corruption. Mahamat-Saleh Haroun’s Daratt takes place in the wake of a ceasefire in the country’s long civil war (in real life, it turned out to be temporary). The film opens with Atima and his grandfather listening to a radio news broadcast announcing that the national Truth and Reconciliation commission has declared a general amnesty after the apprehension of two hundred war criminals. Not included in the judicial proceedings (and thus free) remains the killer of Atima’s father. This quickly sets up our plot as Atima travels to N’Djamena, Chad’s capital, with gun in tow in order to locate the killer and seek revenge, spurred on by his blind grandfather’s quest for retributive justice. Unsurprisingly, Nassara, the killer, turns out to be more complicated. He has a young and pregnant wife—Atima’s own father died just prior to his birth—and, eventually, offers Atima a job in his bakery. Slowly, an uneven father-son relationship unfurls.
Haroun’s film departs from its allegorical confines (and somewhat contrived plot structure) through the building of character, fleshing out each man’s complexities and limitations, while underscoring the false promise of two alternate sets of salvation: redemption through sacrifice and redemption through revenge. These are not easy men—they have experienced the rage and impotence and upheavals violence creates and each must live, from their different vantages, with its after-effects. As Haroun signals throughout their relationship, the reconciliation on offer can never be complete. The fury and weakness lurking beneath Atima’s incommunicable silences—his inability either to forgive or fulfill his quest for much of the film—merge with his (and our) genuine attraction to Nassara, creating a dramatic frisson between the two men, each prey to projecting their needs onto the other and, at the same time, unable to transcend the chasm separating them. After all, the viewer has not seen Nassara kill, instead we glimpse him after the event in a domestic space with his own struggles, bereft of the momentary power he once possessed over another’s life. This provokes questions over identities and their fixity: Was Nassara always this person—complex, flawed—or has he become someone different? How can Atima make sense of the poor fit between his image of evil and its more intricate instantiation? This remains one of those films where you root (hard) for one ending, knowing full well it’s impossible, yet hoping all the same you won’t be crushed by what comes. Yet, in its way, the final sequence remains beautiful, hopeful, sorrowful, and fitting. Haroun has always been a filmmaker interested in people and their ethical quandaries, with Chad’s socio-politics often functioning an as unobtrusive catalyst for more personal quandaries, allowing him to offer his characters the space and time to attempt (however successfully) the transcendence of their own frailties.
Go Down The Rabbit Hole With:
Mahamat-Saleh Haroun — A Screaming Man (2010)
Abakar Chene Massar — Le Pèlerin de Camp Nou (a.k.a. Captain Majid) (2009)