On April 1, 2012, the National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad (MNLA) and the Al Qaeda linked Ansar Dine, took over Timbuktu in the African country of Mali, and placed it under Sharia law. Director Abderrahmane Sissako was born in his mother's country of Mauritania, but spent most of his life in Mali, his father's place of birth. Sissako's main goal in "Timbuktu," is to expose both the harsh rule of the Jihadists along with their hypocrisy.
Sissako begins his story with images of Africa animist statutes being machine-gunned (off screen) by the newly minted oppressors of Timbuktu. Sissako's Jihadists are not simply one-dimensional villains. The leader of the lot, Abdelkrim, hails from Libya and must utilize an interpreter to communicate his harsh vision of Islam. Despite his puritanical orders, Abdelkrim is not averse to talking shop about soccer (which is banned in the city) as well as smoking cigarettes.
Abdelkrim soon realizes that his local conscripts aren't as enthusiastic about Jihad than he is. He attempts to coach one of his local soldiers to fashion a propaganda message before a video camera but the young man just doesn't seem to be able to say things like he means it.
While the Jihadists drive around in SUV's with machine guns slung over their shoulders, the administration of Sharia law proceeds at a snail's pace. This is probably due to the slow paced nature of life in that part of the world to begin with. I was expecting brutal large scale massacres along the lines of ISIS in Syria or Iraq, but most of the jihadists' violent actions are selective: a woman receives lashes for singing and a couple is stoned to death for committing adultery.
Sissako doesn't focus a great deal of time in fleshing out his victims, although a couple of his characters hit the mark: the odd but interesting Haitian female shaman who isn't afraid to thumb her nose at her oppressors as well as a local Iman who attempts to reason with the jihadists over one of their soldiers taking a young girl as his bride against her wishes.
Sissako's main character who constitutes the main part of the narrative is Kidane, a local herder who lives out in the countryside with his wife and daughter. As A. O. Scott argues, "He is a symbol of decency and tolerance, of everything the extremists want to destroy, precisely because he is an intriguing, fully rendered individual." I'm not sure if I agree with Mr. Scott that Kidane is "full rendered," as Mr. Sissako goes out of his way to emphasize the character's saintliness a little too often (yes we do come to realize that Kidane's daughter does mean just about everything to him).
Kidane does have an Achilles heel and Sissako perhaps suggests that Kihane's thirst for revenge may be endemic in the culture. After a local fisherman kills one of his prize cows, Kihane goes to "talk" to him, carrying a gun (his wife warns him not to carry the gun, but he ignores her). Sure enough, the argument between the two turns into a killing-whether the shot that was fired occurred during the struggle or was intentional-is unclear. Kihane ends up before the Jihadi court but probably would have ended up in the same situation, no matter who was administering justice.
Some critics have suggested that Sissako's style is akin to Brecht. Certainly a good part of his strategy is to make his audience aware of social injustice and exploitation in a part of the world most westerners are not familiar with. If some of his characters seem a bit sketchy, that's because Sissako has fashioned more of a fable than docudrama. Under the veneer of Sissako's tragic landscape, the clarion call for freedom continues to resonate.
Sissako begins his story with images of Africa animist statutes being machine-gunned (off screen) by the newly minted oppressors of Timbuktu. Sissako's Jihadists are not simply one-dimensional villains. The leader of the lot, Abdelkrim, hails from Libya and must utilize an interpreter to communicate his harsh vision of Islam. Despite his puritanical orders, Abdelkrim is not averse to talking shop about soccer (which is banned in the city) as well as smoking cigarettes.
Abdelkrim soon realizes that his local conscripts aren't as enthusiastic about Jihad than he is. He attempts to coach one of his local soldiers to fashion a propaganda message before a video camera but the young man just doesn't seem to be able to say things like he means it.
While the Jihadists drive around in SUV's with machine guns slung over their shoulders, the administration of Sharia law proceeds at a snail's pace. This is probably due to the slow paced nature of life in that part of the world to begin with. I was expecting brutal large scale massacres along the lines of ISIS in Syria or Iraq, but most of the jihadists' violent actions are selective: a woman receives lashes for singing and a couple is stoned to death for committing adultery.
Sissako doesn't focus a great deal of time in fleshing out his victims, although a couple of his characters hit the mark: the odd but interesting Haitian female shaman who isn't afraid to thumb her nose at her oppressors as well as a local Iman who attempts to reason with the jihadists over one of their soldiers taking a young girl as his bride against her wishes.
Sissako's main character who constitutes the main part of the narrative is Kidane, a local herder who lives out in the countryside with his wife and daughter. As A. O. Scott argues, "He is a symbol of decency and tolerance, of everything the extremists want to destroy, precisely because he is an intriguing, fully rendered individual." I'm not sure if I agree with Mr. Scott that Kidane is "full rendered," as Mr. Sissako goes out of his way to emphasize the character's saintliness a little too often (yes we do come to realize that Kidane's daughter does mean just about everything to him).
Kidane does have an Achilles heel and Sissako perhaps suggests that Kihane's thirst for revenge may be endemic in the culture. After a local fisherman kills one of his prize cows, Kihane goes to "talk" to him, carrying a gun (his wife warns him not to carry the gun, but he ignores her). Sure enough, the argument between the two turns into a killing-whether the shot that was fired occurred during the struggle or was intentional-is unclear. Kihane ends up before the Jihadi court but probably would have ended up in the same situation, no matter who was administering justice.
Some critics have suggested that Sissako's style is akin to Brecht. Certainly a good part of his strategy is to make his audience aware of social injustice and exploitation in a part of the world most westerners are not familiar with. If some of his characters seem a bit sketchy, that's because Sissako has fashioned more of a fable than docudrama. Under the veneer of Sissako's tragic landscape, the clarion call for freedom continues to resonate.