Moffie

I'd read the book which is atmospheric and weirdly compelling, if also slight and ultimately unsatisfying. But books with sparse narratives often make the best films (eg. Bridges of Madison County) so I was ready to give Moffie another go. The film is also atmospheric and offers some confronting insights into the apartheid years and South African army culture. Beyond that, it is less compelling than the book, and even more unsatisfying. There's a fatal lack of narrative drive and no real attempt to flesh out key characters - acutely observed in the book, but only roughly sketched in the film. Our guide through two years of national service is Nicholas van der Swart, a sensitive young man, struggling to come to terms with his homosexuality and experiencing the first pangs of serious attraction. In the novel both his inner and outward struggle is moving and eventually devastating. But on film Nicholas appears frustratingly passive and considerably less heroic. Kai Luke Brummer makes an attractive Nick, but the role is almost entirely reactive, which makes for a somewhat lame hero. Perhaps Moffie is the film that that book deserved - faithful and true. But it still feels like a missed opportunity.

Reading many of the reviews here, I can't help feel that many have misunderstood the point of the film.

This film is not an exploration into apartheid times, nor the war. It's also not thematic around homosexuality.

Instead, the film is a reflection on masculinity and herd mentality. Of three sensitive men, forced to join the army and having to come to terms with their new environment.

I've avoided spoilers in this review, deliberately. However I would say many reviewers here seem to like conclusive endings, or happy endings. This film will not give you that.

This film will take you on a journey of aggression, submission, romance and friendship.

A wonderful film.

'Moffie' is one of those films where a boy joins the military, goes through the random humiliations of basic training and Becomes A Man.

Conscripted into the South African military during the dying days of the apartheid era, Nick Van der Swart (Kai Luke Brummer) arrives at a training camp run by sadistic officers whose vocabulary appears to consist mainly of the word 'f***' (with an occasional 'c***' tossed in for variety). The next several months feature route marches, bullying in the barracks and the eating of vomit. There is also a tentative, platonic homosexual relationship with fellow recruit Stassen (Ryan de Villiers) - very dangerous as homosexuality is illegal. And always in the future lurks a posting to fight communist rebels on the border with Angola.

While the basic premise is not, of course, new, what makes this film different are the South African setting and the homosexual element (which, contrary to some publicity, is merely a part of the story rather than being the whole). As Nick, Brummer is a heartthrob in the making and I also found Matthew Vey, who plays Nick's cynical friend Michael, appealing. Hilton Pelser as the sergeant must have needed throat sweets to cope with all the bellowing he is required to do, but is also given a moment of awkward vulnerabilty. It might, perhaps, have been nice if de Villiers was given more to play with as regards his character; for such a pivotal role Stassen is curiously one-note, reduced pretty much to noble suffering. But that is not a major difficulty; this film is well worth watching. Seen at the London Film Festival 2019.

This South African film would appear to tread a well-worn path; and it's certainly true that the military training (and also war itself) is hell genre is one that can often feel over-familiar. Many of the tropes we know well are there, but this stands out for a couple of reasons. Telling the story of the white male experience of conscription in apartheid South Africa is an under-explored context in cinema; and to do so from a South African, coloured director makes this all the more striking. Also served by a disciplined running-time, the film manages to examine a particularly (Afrikaans) brand of white South African toxic masculinity with an unflinching but compassionate eye. That the legacy of this still haunts South Africans of all ages and races makes this all the more important. The title is an Afrikaans slang word used to offensively denigrate gay people, and it's this territory that the film specifically deals with; it's often a hard watch, but never relentlessly so and never excessive. Though it is very much rooted in the local context, it will work well for viewers no matter their nationality. This film suffered from an abbreviated cinema release due to lockdown, and deserves a wider audience.

As extraordinary and as hauntingly beautiful as Skoonheid (Oliver Hermanus's second film) was, I could only recommend it to die-hard cinephiles, and still then I included a warning. It all builds up to a crushing scene which traumatised this rather thick-skinned reviewer. It attests to the power of the film. Moffie, even more extraordinary and more hauntingly beautiful than Skoonheid, is not Skoonheid. Everyone should see it. No warning necessary.

The first few frames - in 4:3 format, flawlessly colour-treated and styled, shot on a perfect location - immediately places you in what is unmistakably the 80s, in apartheid South Africa. Everything is beautiful though, from the brooding landscapes, the wind in the grass, the dreamy lighting, to the underwater shots and the young men. The beauty does not, however, lull you into a false sense of safety, because as the cello music builds from a whimper to a scream, you know what lies underneath the water's surface. You fully understand the threat posed to this gentle boy. So, you wait for it to come tumbling down. Whether it does or not, I will not say.

Along the way, there are brutal scenes of war, anger, toxic masculinity and blind nationalism. There are also tender moments of sharing a sleeping bag, singing "Sugarman" and a desperate wink when words fail. It is these tender moments that make the brutal moments more bearable, but also so much more brutal.

I am leaving this review unfinished, for if I describe the wordless, aching scene between Brand and Nicholas, a scene that represents the brilliance of this film, I will give away too much and spoil it for you. The only other thing I will say, is that Skoonheid dealt with repressing the desire and anger of one man. Moffie deals with repressing and brutalising a whole generation.