Chocolat

Unfortunately, because of US viewers' tendency to shun subtitles, this movie has not received the distribution nor attention it merits. Its subtle themes of belonging, identity, racial relations and especially how colonialism harms all parties, transcend the obvious dramatic tensions, the nostalgic memories of the protaganiste's childhood, and the exoticism of her relationship with her parents' "houseboy," perhaps the only "real" human she knows. We won't even look at her mother's relationship with this elegant man. There! i hope i've given you enough of a hook to take it in, whether you speak French or like subtitles or not. I challenge you to be as brave, strong and aware as La P'tite.

I think this movie would be more enjoyable if everyone thought of it as a picture of colonial Africa in the 50's and 60's rather than as a story. Because there is no real story here. Just one vignette on top of another like little points of light that don't mean much until you have enough to paint a picture. The first time I saw Chocolat I didn't really "get it" until having thought about it for a few days. Then I realized there were lots of things to "get", including the end of colonialism which was but around the corner, just no plot. Anyway, it's one of my all-time favorite movies. The scene at the airport with the brief shower and beautiful music was sheer poetry. If you like "exciting" movies, don't watch this--you'll be bored to tears. But, for some of you..., you can thank me later for recommending it to you.

A lovely comedy-drama that seems like a gorgeous, sunlit, Orientalist-like tourism into an unfathomable Africa, and an elaborate, irrelevant exercise in Merchant-Ivory-style historical reconstruction, but is actually a quietly disturbing examination of the effects of colonialism. Being French, the focus is one the microcosmic - it's not vast historical truths that are enacted, but the inability of a beautiful white woman to act on sexual stirrings for her black servant. The film's surface elegance conceals remarkable disruptions in point of view and a storytelling style so elliptical you might even miss the point if you're not careful. CHOCOLAT is also a wonderful coming-of-age film that refuses the easy moral progress typical of the genre. The lengthy coda could have been shorter, though.

Elusive, introspective memories of a childhood in colonial Africa are recalled through the eyes of a self-possessed young girl with the telltale name France. In her calm, observant demeanor she is, herself, almost African, and likewise the film is beautiful and aloof in a way that speaks volumes with a minimum of words. Nothing is ever made explicit, least of all the suppressed attraction between France's young mother, left in charge of a remote homestead while her husband is away on business, and the handsome native houseboy who suffers his servitude with a proud but uneasy forbearance. Writer director Claire Denis shows a strong affinity for the landscapes and people of her adopted continent, maintaining a beguiling ambiguity about who exactly has the upper hand: the French masters or the passive, patient native servants.

Set in the Cameroons in West Africa in the 1950s, Claire Denis' Chocolat is a beautifully photographed and emotionally resonant tone poem that depicts the effects of a dying colonialism on a young family during the last years of French rule. The theme is similar to the recent Nowhere in Africa, though the films are vastly different in scope and emphasis. The film is told from the perspective of an adult returning to her childhood home in a foreign country. France Dalens (Mireille Perrier), a young woman traveling through Cameroon, recalls her childhood when her father (Francois Cluzet) was a government official in the French Cameroons and she had a loving friendship with the brooding manservant, Protée (Isaach de Bankolé). The heart of the film, however, revolves around France's mother Aimée (Giulia Boschi) and her love/hate relationship with Protée that is seething with unspoken sexual tension.

The household is divided into public and private spaces. The white families rooms are private and off limits to all except Protée who works in the house while the servants are forced to eat and shower outdoors, exposing their naked bronze bodies to the white family's gazes. It becomes clear when her husband Marc (François Cluzet) goes away on business that Aimée and Protée are sexually attracted to each other but the rules of society prevent it from being openly acknowledged. In one telling sequence, she invites him into her bedroom to help her put on her dress and the two stare at each other's image in the mirror with a defiant longing in their eyes, knowing that any interaction is taboo.

The young France (Cecile Ducasse) also forms a bond with the manservant, feeding him from her plate while he shows her how to eat crushed ants and carries her on his shoulders in walks beneath the nocturnal sky. In spite of their bond, the true nature of their master-servant relationship is apparent when France commands Protée to interrupt his conversation with a teacher and immediately take her home, and when Protée stands beside her at the dinner table, waiting for her next command. When a plane loses its propeller and is forced to land in the nearby mountains, the crew and passengers must move into the compound until a replacement part can be located. Each visitor shows their disdain for the Africans, one, a wealthy owner of a coffee plantation brings leftover food from the kitchen to his black mistress hiding in his room. Another, Luc (Jean-Claude Adelin), an arrogant white Frenchman, upsets the racial balance when he uses the outside shower, eats with the servants, and taunts Aimée about her attraction to Protée leading her to a final emotional confrontation with the manservant.

Chocolat is loosely autobiographical, adapted from the childhood memories of the director, and is slowly paced and as mysterious as the brooding isolation of the land on which it is filmed. Denis makes her point about the effects of colonialism without preaching or romanticizing the characters. There are no victims or oppressors, no simplistic good guys. Protée is a servant but he is also a protector as when he stands guard over the bed where Aimée and her daughter sleep to protect them from a rampaging hyena. It is a sad fact that Protée is treated as a boy and not as a man, but Bankolé imbues his character with such dignity and stature that it lessens the pain. Because of its pace, Western audiences may have to work hard to fully appreciate the film and Denis does not, in Roger Ebert's phrase, "coach our emotions". The truth of Chocolat lies in the gestures and glances that touch the silent longing of our heart.