Daratt

Dry Season is an interesting little pot-boiler of human emotion. It begins with a fair degree of hatred, before moulding into a film in which its lead must attain a certain respect. It then moulds further still into a tale of specific fondness two people have for one another, before concluding with a moral set piece complete with questions raising issues to do with honour, both to those you've known your whole life and to those you've come to know and respect in the short term. The development of the agents involved in Dry Season is fascinating and the power play going on between them carries a distinct sense of menace as we await the explosion of raw, human emotion as the act of revenge is carried out.

But Dry Season is all about getting to that obligatory scene, the scene that completes the lead's goal; it's all about what happens prior to that event and the chance to engage in that event. As it happens, the film has its own clever little spin on that notion with a finale that is quite magnificent. The film begins in a small town in Chad, in which Atim (Barkai) and his grandfather overhear an announcement on the radio declaring the lack of action that will be taken against Civil War-time war criminals. From here, the film creates an interesting juxtaposition between backdrop and emotional drive for its lead; a state of war that caused the whole country to clash has already ended; but a state of war, or distinct act of aggression, within the nation between two persons, or families, is about to begin again.

During the Civil War, Atim's father was killed by a man named Nassara (Djaoro); an individual living close by in a larger town than the one Atim currently inhabits. Armed, rather ritualistically, with his father's old gun; Atim travels to this place to kill Nassarsa. Initially, Dry Season is a genre piece. It's use, and slight spin, on the revenge arc as a drive for it's narrative is interesting as this young and lonely lead travels to a new and busier place to commit amoral acts on someone we have to presume is equally amoral. It represents a pushing of the film into a realm that makes it a lot more accessible than one might initially think. But, the film realises this, and rather than become a hard-boiled and cause and effect driven piece that sees the lead rampage his way through the new town in search for his ultimate goal, it places him with the antagonistic force of the piece early on, seeing them spend time together for the rest of the film's duration.

When Atim first meets Nassara, one knows whom the other is but the other does not fit into the same scenario. It turns out Nassara is a holy man and a frequenter of a mosque. He is a man who runs a bakery and hands out bread to the children each morning in many-a notion of goodwill. He will, as will his pregnant wife, soon be a parent and whilst Atim is there purely to offer death by way of pistol, Nassara can only offer life in return by way of pieces of bread. For Atim, Nassara develops into a fatherly figure; a figure Atim never had because of said man. For Nassara, Atim becomes somewhat of a son-like figure; someone he can pass on his learnings to, employ in the bakery and generally keep in contact with by way of close proximity.

As the two spend more and more time with each other, we begin to question Atim's drive. He is this close to his goal, but he holds back. Then we realise his father was killed before he was born, and that maybe the fact that specific personal connection between father and son was never there in the first place, it will blind Atim somewhat when it comes to carrying out an act of revenge on behalf of someone Atim, essentially, never even met. We begin to wonder if Atim subscribes to the belief retribution should be carried out on general principal and we doubt if he is still willing to follow through in his mission, rendering the film far more unpredictable than we first thought after twenty or so minutes, when familiar narrative arcs and genre seemed to be the order of the day. Atim's varying emotions act as one of the more interesting elements to the film. I was genuinely unconvinced if Atim would sway either way in terms of actually killing Nassara, and additionally spent some of the time wondering what payoff, indeed what new order, would unravel if Nassara was to remain alive.

As the film enters its final third, there is a distinct shift in temperaments as these two characters shift away from their respective fatherly and son-like figures. The two seem to suddenly share a fair amount of homo-erotic scenes together, as they engage in long pauses with one another while, at other points, Nassara gazes back at Atim's sweaty body as he does his work. There is one instance in which Atim tries to apply something to the back of Nassara's head and they roll about a bit with one another on the ground before sharing a moment. The content aids in pushing the characters away from the relationship they already shared; and in one final act of might-be homo-eroticism, Atim invites Nassara back to where he initially lived so that he can be introduced to the rest of his family. But queer theory aside, Dry Season is a genuinely intriguing study of raw human emotion as opposing sides bond.

It is a film of impressions. Metaphors in the skin of easy story, covered in poetic end, enveils in bread taste and flavor, exploring , in gentle - precise way, the revenge, the talion law, the parenthood, the past, the decisions of characters. A young man looking for kill the assasin of his father. A baker giving free his bread to children, young people is the wanted one by the young man. And, starting from this point, everything is in change. The basic irtue, the gentle exploration of delicate subjects. It is not a film about Chad realities but a great portrait of universal themes . And that gives to it a special status, reminding more than presenting, old realities so familiar in their basic details.

Mahamat-Saleh Haroun's story is remarkable in it's starkness of setting - the desert of Chad - and in the manner in which it unfolds. This is a two-hander in which there is very little dialogue - one can't talk and the other won't. This creates an almost surreal element to the film, where hatred seethes through silent glares.

When the Chad Commission for Truth and Justice grants amnesty to some 200 war criminals, the elderly Gumar Abatcha gives his dead son's pistol to his orphaned grandson Atim and dispatches him to kill the murderer of Atim's father. Living far away, Nassara is a dangerous man who now ekes out a living as a baker, trying to forget his past. When Atim finds him, he insinuates himself into Nassara's life with the intent of exacting revenge. Dry Season would make an excellent companion film to Death and the Maiden (1994), Roman Polanski's thrilling film version of a play about political repression and revenge in Central America.

I find it unfortunate that we have to wait for festivals to see films like this (I saw it at the Melbourne International Film Festival). It depicts a culture we know virtually nothing about, is visually stunning and was thoroughly engaging. An excellent film.

There are a handful of films from Africa that can leap out like a big cat from the celluloid jungle and make the viewer think.

A recent example is Daratt (Dry Season), a movie from Chad, a Central African country that was initially economically weakened by the French colonial rule and later, after gaining independence, slumped into a 40-year-old civil war. The neighboring Darfur crisis and the spillover of refugees have not ameliorated the political and economic situation of this landlocked country. Imagine living in a country that is dusty and hot with the Sahara desert to its north. Imagine living in a country where two generations of its population have not encountered peace or progress but live under the constant shadow of fear and corruption. If you can empathize with the unusually inhospitable situation, you will realize the title of the film is not merely a reflection of the hot, dusty climate, but a metaphor to describe life in Chad today.

This film is a powerful mix of metaphors and fables. The atmosphere captured in the film is real. People still get their news on the radio—not on TV or by reading newspapers. People still eat freshly baked sticks of French bread. People still carry guns that often can compare with the best anywhere in the world, quite in contrast to what else is available. The younger generation includes street-smart crooks and quiet, hardworking young men yearning for normal family bonds and affection that the civil war did not allow to grow. When the young man is asked by a baker what he wants, he answers laconically—"Not charity." Today, what Chad requires is not charity as well, but honest hard work that will build the nation.

What is unreal in the film? Corruption that eats into the soul of Chad is never glimpsed save for petty thieves selling fluorescent lights stolen from semi-dark streets in the night. What the viewer sees is a baker baking fresh bread and distributing it free to young hungry boys (the entire film suggests that young girls are an endangered species!). Now why would a person do this? Is the baker so rich that charity has become his vocation? It is possible that any scene of money changing hands for the baker's bread got lopped off on the editing floor because another baker is later shown providing aggressive competition. Terror is never shown on screen save for slippers left behind by crowds that apparently fled in terror.

What are the metaphors in the film? A "blind" grandfather seeks revenge after a radio broadcast proclaims amnesty for the perpetrators of the horrors. The blind man hands a gun to his grandson, now an orphan called Atim (metaphorically meaning an orphan) to avenge the death of his parents by killing a certain individual in a far away city. This perpetrator of crimes, now a symbol of reconciliation, hard work and progress has lost his "voice" and can only speak with artificial aids. Yet he is the one with a kind heart, wanting to adopt a hardworking son, and keeps his armory of weapons well hidden.

The "good" men who seek revenge are blind. The "bad" men who seek reconciliation, normalcy and family life can't speak (metaphorically). And both men are devout Muslims. That's Chad today!

The final outcome of the film is easily played out for the viewer because of these physical constraints of the two men. The outcome is easily played out as social mores are not tampered with—the grandfather's command is seemingly obeyed. The "father's" love for the "son" is acknowledged.

It would be too simplistic to draw parallels between Daratt and Argentine/Chilean Ariel Dorfman's play "Death and the maiden", later adapted for the screen by American novelist Rafael Yglesias for Polish director Roman Polanski. Yglesais' and Polanski's ambiguous final scene in their film of the same name, where principal players exchange loaded glances, is a delight.

In total contrast, "Daratt's" final scene is not of individuals but of the dry environment, as the camera zooms out. The viewer is nudged by the director to see the larger picture of the film, not the bare story line. What Polanski and Yglesias did in an American/European film, Mahamet-Saleh Haroun has equaled with ambiguity and force rarely seen in Africa cinema. Will the dry season accept a world of reconciliation that will lead to rain (a metaphoric wet season) and prosperity for future generations indoctrinated in love and traditional values? Perhaps, yes. Perhaps, not. .

"Moolade," "U–Carmen e Khayelitsha," and "In Casablanca, angels don't fly" are three examples of mature works of recent African cinema, with its distinct African aesthetics, that transect the length and breadth of the vast continent and capture the tragedy and aspirations of its people. I am pleased to add "Dry Season" to my list of formidable African cinema.

I found this Directors first film, Abouna, utterly delightful on the second viewing, the first it dragged and I found myself checking my watch. Personally,I think there's a need to get into a different mindset for African films, they move at a much slower pace. Often, things are shown, not explained and require the viewer to work a lot harder at extracting meaning.

Darrat is no exception, there were several episodes I wondered what the point was, but they offered fascinating windows upon a society and country of which we remain in ignorance. For example, a long camera pan across a dusty street strewn with discarded plastic bags.

The characters such as the baker, unable to speak since his throat was cut, could be read as metaphors for our relationship with Africa. Does Africa and her people ever have a voice? If she speaks, are we listening? There's not much I feel I want to add to the excellent and insightful comments from previous reviewers, except I think this film can be read as that - a metaphor for African countries troubled and turbulent relations, within, between themselves and the West. The grandfathers blindness symbolises perhaps a society unable to 'see' its way forward. Or something.

A subtle, fascinating film which will repay subsequent viewings.