Die Schwarze aus Dakar

"La Noire de..."--better translated as "The Black Girl/Woman de...," retaining the French preposition with its ambiguous connotations, either meaning "of" or "from" or "belonging to"--is credited as the first sub-Saharan African feature film to receive international acclaim. Its author, Sembène Ousmane is likewise considered the "father of African cinema." Indeed, Senegal had only recently declared independence from French colonial rule in 1960, and, reportedly, before that Africans in French colonies were prohibited from making their own movies. One assumes this ban existed because the authorities feared such a thoroughly anti-colonialist picture being presented as in "Black Girl" and even more so that it be artfully composed. For, despite clocking in at under an hour (although originally a bit longer), Ousmane's film tenders a taut thesis, subtly adorned in art and while still managing a shamefully shocking end and strikingly symbolic epilogue.

If this were simply postcolonial social commentary, as admirable as that message may be, it would be easy to write off "Black Girl," which is what the French Film Bureau did in rejecting to produce it (although, they later purchased the rights to (or not to) distribute it). It's the crafting of the message that makes this a great film, though. I especially love the use of the mask here--a piece of African art much like the film itself that serves as a source of contention for its control, within and without the film. At first, while in Dakar, Diouana, the protagonist, offers the mask as a gift to her employers, for which they place it beside other pieces of African art decorating their villa. Back in their high-rise apartment in France, however, the mask hangs alone on the white family's wall, with the only apparent other they take back with them from Senegal to France being Diouana. When the boy who originally possessed the mask regains it, he shadows one of Diouana's employers, the man, as if haunting him with the history of colonialism while simultaneously deporting him from a newly free nation.

The precision of the black-and-white cinematography is worth remarking upon here, too. With a minimalist aesthetic reflecting its low budget and the influence of the French New Wave, it may be easy to miss how well the photography reinforces the social commentary. Jonathan Rosenbaum (see his book, "Movies as Politics"), for one, reiterates what another film critic, Lieve Spass, says regarding the black-and-white dichotomy of the picture in everything from the dots on Diouana's dress, the food they consume (white rice and milk, black coffee and "Black and White" whisky), to, most dramatically, Diouana in the white bathtub. There's also the dark mask on the apartment's white wall, the black void Diouana stares out at from that apartment, in addition to the obvious pigmentation. When the white French woman looks over a crowd of black women waiting for work as maids, the visual connotation to a slave market isn't lost. Nor is it when Diouana is mistreated by those she serves in France: the shrewish madame treating her as inferior, the mostly indifferent monsieur, kissed by a stranger who doesn't bother with a request or introduction after remarking that he's never kissed a black woman before, overhearing another guest suppose that Diouana instinctually, "like an animal," understands commands in the French language (one may be forgiven for thinking it was the two centuries of French colonial rule that explains the people of Senegal knowing French--heck, the Normans only controlled England for half a century a millennium ago, and there remain thousands of French cognates in the English language to this day, but I digress).

It rather goes without saying that this is an economical picture, although, again reportedly, originally the film included a color sequence. In addition to the photography, however, there's the sparsity of story and dialogue, which I admire, notwithstanding that some Westerners seem to be put off by it. Regardless, relying on Diouana's internal narration is effective in focusing the narrative and getting the point across--that the dream and promises that led her to France becomes alienated from her confined reality, which she compares to being treated like a prisoner and slave, as others cast her as a racial, supposedly inferior "other." Her illiteracy along with her general muteness compounds her alienation, as wrenchingly detailed in the scene involving a letter supposedly from her mother. The general English translation of the title is rather suiting in this regard, to simply label her and the film as the "Black Girl," to not even question from whence she belongs--her identity simply stated and assumed, as her employers and the colonizers would have it. The film returns her voice, if only for the spectator, and likewise the identity of postcolonial Africa.

Not exactly a cheery story and a pretty simple one as well, but the important thing is the perspective, which is that of a Senegalese maid (Mbissine Thérèse Diop) working for a white couple in France, as told by a Senegalese director (Ousmane Sembène). By using simple narration to reveal the maid's thoughts, he ensures that viewers will see her as a person, not as a dumb servant or as an object of pity, as differing extremes might. It seems so incredibly basic and obvious, but it's this recognition of humanity that's powerful, and unfortunately still such a relevant message today. Despite the obvious ways a story like this might go, Sembène is restrained in what he shows us, and a part of the film's strength is that there are moments when we can easily imagine worse with such a gap in power and wealth.

Over her new boyfriend's concerns, the young lady comes to France after having worked for the couple in Dakar. He's a little too grabby with his hands in one scene, but as he stands in front of a Patrice Lumumba 'Uhuru' poster in another, is correct in warning her that she may be treated like a slave in France. When she gets there she soon finds herself bored with being confined to mundane tasks in a small home, disappointed for having been deceived about what she would be doing there, lonely because of her isolation, and weary of being so openly spoken down to and angrily ordered around. In other words her reaction is what any intelligent person's reaction would be, but her employers don't see it that way. They think she's just lazy, and attribute her quietness with ignorance, casually likening her to an animal. When they entertain their friends, another way they take away her humanity is by speaking about her as if she's not there, and by critically sizing her up as some kind of exotic thing.

I loved the scenes in Senegal, and wished there had been more. I also liked the aspects of quiet dignity in poverty, and the brilliant ending scene. It is so pitch perfect that the initial response of white guilt is to turn to money, instead of empathizing or trying to understand. It might have been better fleshed out, but it's a very good movie as it is.

In Senegal, you've been waiting for a chance, to find a job that will improve your circumstance, then you find one you enjoy, look after a girl, and two boys, for a family who originate from France. When the people then move back, to their homeland, you're summoned to join them, and lend a hand, now you're cook, cleaner and servant, a skivvy slave, toiling emigrant, no illusion of the one who's in command. You endure abuse, and the constant criticism, but your boss is so devoid of altruism, there's no escape, there's no away out, inside you scream and shriek and shout, the only option that remains, involves incision.

The print I saw was a bit erratic and grainy, and included one jumpy sequence in color, whereas the rest was in black and white. This is the deceptively simple story of a woman from Senegal who joins a French family in France to be their nanny touches on many cultural, colonial, racial, and emotional issues, and if you look for easy answers, or answers at all, you'll be disappointed. There's a bit of French New Wave to the film, though it's really mostly African, featuring Senegalese music on the soundtrack. The only real flaw I see is that the story is told rather sketchily, with little in the way of clues as to the timing. Do the events take place over the course of a few days or weeks? The ending comes up so quickly that it feels a little forced, though not entirely unexpected.

Black Girl presents an allegory for European colonialism in Africa through the lens of a Senegalese woman who secures a job in France. Sembene makes careful directorial choices to emphasize the contrasts between Senegal and France and the divide between Diouana's expectations for France and the reality. One of these choices is the use of nonlinear time - the film opens with her arrival in France and shows her interactions with Madame, then goes back in time to when she secured the job in Senegal. The striking difference between these two times is Diouana's attitude. In Senegal, when she is offered the job she is overjoyed at the opportunity, especially since it involves taking care of kids. However, when she gets there, she doesn't see the kids, is told to do all the work around the house, and is berated by Madame for being lazy. Seeing Diouana's frustrating situation is more resonant in only realizing afterwards how excited she was for the job going in. Her body language is a world apart, as in France she never smiles and has no energy but in Senegal was beaming when she got the job, and was so excited to see what France was like. I also like Sembene's choice to have her inner monologue as narration, as that further serves to put the audience inside Diouana's head. Her perspective is essential to understanding the way she is completely devastated by her experience, and from the first scenes of the film we are put in her point of view as we look out the window onto France through her eyes. Madame presented it as a great opportunity for her to make money and do what she enjoys - be with children - but then doesn't give her what she promised and by the time she does, her condescension and demands have sucked all the life from Diouana. You can interpret the symbolism of the film in many ways, and mine may change, but my impression now is that the film symbolizes the way Europe seemed to offer to help African countries but really just exploited them for all their resources, denied them the opportunity promised to give the next generation a better life, and then saw it as a surprising, random, unfortunate event when the countries are even worse off. The exploitation element is made explicit by Diouana's narration at the end, where she talks about being done being a slave. The mask is another interesting symbol in the film, one of African culture. We see how Diouana shares it with the family initially but they then appropriate it and treat it as their own, and at the end of the film Monsieur is haunted by it as the legacy of his sins. Really smart and well layered, and with a poignant ending, Black Girl is an excellent allegory.