December 10, 2015
Abderrahmane Sissako’s
The films takes places Timbuktu ,
which is located in central Mali .
According to Wikipedia, the area fell under the control of the Islamic rebel
group Ansar Dine in April 2012 and immediately began enforcing sharia law. Timbuktu works as a documentation of the
conditions at the time, but also as a view into what is probably going on in
other areas of the world that have come under the control of similar groups,
though perhaps to a much lesser degree.
The film could easily have focused on one family during
these difficult times, but instead it elects not to limit itself to such a
centralized narrative. Instead, it steps back and shows viewers daily life from
multiple points of view. We see the perspectives of the area’s longtime
residents, in particular, a cattle herder (Ibrahim Ahmed aka Pino) who lives with his wife and
daughter outside the main town; we see the area’s spiritual leader, whose calm
in the face of tyranny is truly amazing to behold; and we also see the
occupiers, men who stalk the city from morning to night seeking to enforce
their particular brand of religion.
It could be said that the film is divided into three parts.
In the first segment, we see daily life in Timbuktu , with its never-ending pronouncements
of new rules, the constant presence of guns, and its eerily quiet streets. It
is as if all the joy has been stolen from people’s lives, and there are several
moments in this part of the film when I actually worried about the safety of
characters who had obviously reached their breaking point.
In the second part, we see the inconsistencies of the
rebels. Many of them are young men who had normal lives before they committed
themselves to jihad, and in many cases, we see that they are unable to completely
let go of their prior interests. Many of the scenes in this part of the film
are filled the kind of sadness that comes from seeing people whose biggest delight
has been withheld from them. In one particularly moving scene, a former
musician is asked to denounce the music form that he connected with all his
youth, yet all he can do is stare at the camera in silence, his eyes displaying
the kind of melancholy that comes from having to deny a part of yourself. In
another scene, a character dances to a piece of classical music that plays only
his head, and it seems obvious that in another life he would have made a living
on the grandest of stages.
To me, it was this part of the film that was the most
interesting, for it expands the audience’s view of the kind of character that
is all too often pigeonholed or presented in the blandest or cruelest manner
imaginable. Here, we’re given a chance to see an enemy as multifaceted, and
this evokes pity for what they once were and could possibly have been and scorn
for what they have become. It’s eye-opening to say the least. In the film’s
finale, the full horror of the situation is made clear, and hardly anyone is
untouched by violence.
Some of the film’s storylines are a tad too predictable, yet
what the film occasionally lacks in originality is more than made up for in
emotion and complexity. I correctly predicted that a character would find
himself sentenced to death, yet I did not predict the emotion with which he
would speak of his child or the conflicted feelings that would cross the face
of one of his oppressors. Under different circumstances, it is easy to imagine
them as close friends. The film also has a slightly awkward ending, one that
relies too much on symbolism and only became clear to me upon further reflection.
This seemed unnecessary, yet did nothing to diminish the power of those final
moments. In the end, Timbuktu
3 and a half stars
*Timbuktu
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