Film festivals may rise and fall on the strength of their headlining selections, but the depth of a festival’s curation is what makes the difference. While films like Anora, Emilia Perez, Blitz, and Saturday Night bring the buzz (and lord knows they should all be seen), the true value of a fest can be found in the screening rooms you stumble into just because a film looks interesting.
Last night, I discovered Demba. I had actually seen the film a couple of days before the kickoff of the Virginia Film Festival on October 29 on my TV at home, thanks to the festival’s organizers who asked me to moderate a post-screening discussion with producer Maba Ba. I admired the film greatly on my first viewing and was happy to take on the task. However, the second viewing in the Violet Crown Theater made me fall in love with the film. No matter how large your screen at home, there is nothing like seeing a film in a movie house. Watching Demba in widescreen splendor was a comparably revelatory experience.
So, what is Demba, you might ask? While a basic description doesn’t do the film justice, I’ll get it out of the way now. The film takes place in Senegal, where a man named Demba is unraveling a year and a half after losing his wife, Awa, and then finds out he will be made redundant at his job logging birth certificates when the city’s mayor decides to digitize all of the records on file. Demba says early on in the film, “I am not useless.” His changing world argues otherwise.
Demba has been carrying his grief like many men do: in a head full of denial. He swears he’s fine, but his behavior (mostly sullen but with painful outbursts) is evident to all those around him. The city’s mayor purports to be his friend but is taking his job away. His estranged son Baijjo comes back into his life to try to help and finds a father so buried under his grief that he doesn’t notice that his son is grieving too. He’s a young man who has lost his mother and could use his father’s strength. Demba has only bitterness that is leading to madness.
This is a quiet film that is more interested in character than plot. Demba is reeling from his inability to find acceptance and is afraid of becoming a man of no importance. Fighting grief is a losing battle. You can’t go over, under, or around it. The only way out is through. And you can’t run, you have to walk. Anyone who has lost a loved one can probably relate. It’s also true that men (especially those of Demba’s age, pushing up against sixty) are not good at grieving. Men have been taught that tears are weak and that to be strong means to ignore what’s going on in your heart and mind. Demba is also a man who thinks of himself as what he does for a living, and with that stripped away amidst his grief, he is left adrift..
Director Mamadou Dia paces the film slowly but confidently. Dia understands that Demba’s suffering is grueling, and moving the film at a higher speed would not be appropriate. There are scattered moments of humor in this somber film, and there is also great wisdom. Demba says it well when he tells a boy who claims to be bored: “Being bored hurts less than being lonely.” As played by Ben Mbow, whose eyes tell you everything that Demba’s mouth can seldom speak, Demba is terribly lonely. Not even his good memories of his wife bring him comfort. There’s a real trick to making a sad film that is not depressing. The film’s final minutes, almost hallucinatory, reach such a high level of artistic expression that one can’t help but see the beauty in this man’s agonizing life. And that beauty carries the day.
There may be unclear or confusing moments for those unfamiliar with Senegalese culture (like myself). Dia’s film is full of culture, and there is much to be learned from watching it, but it’s not a “lesson” about the people or how they live. During the film’s remarkable climax, I didn’t know until Ba told me and the audience that Demba’s parade-like walk at the end is about trying to trick death out of taking you away before you are ready to go. The men wear wigs and dresses to confuse that which would control their fate. Still, it is Demba’s choice to make. Does he want to live, or is he ready to transition?
The film’s final image takes place on the ocean’s shore, bathed in the golden light of a new morning. The question of Demba’s decision to heal or pass on is left open-ended. There is no wrong answer, only your personal interpretation. What an unusually bold choice.
Lou Reed once sang, “There’s a bit of magic in everything and then some loss to even things out.”
I’m not sure if Demba would believe that things even out, but I do know there is plenty of magic in the telling of his story.
