Wonderful time speaking at the Caribbean Cultural Center African Diaspora Institute's After Afropolitan conference at the Weeksville Heritage Center in Brooklyn. I screened my film, and was on a panel with Binyavanga Wainaina, Farai Gundan, and Zola Dube, moderated by Sean Jacobs of Africa Is a Country. An amazing experience! --AL.
Earlier today at #AfterAfropolitan at @Weeksville Heritage Center cc @AlligatorLegs @YoliZama @BinyavangaW pic.twitter.com/2fC9u8fDvE
— AFRICA IS A COUNTRY (@AfricasaCountry) February 21, 2015
The recent Sony hacking debacle and release of The Interview has got me thinking a lot about the types of narratives coming out of Hollywood.
I went online Christmas Day to see what all the fuss was about. What I watched was more or less an endless stream of slapstick, male-, and sex-centered jokes rife with gratuitous nudity and misogyny. The film's attempt to rise above that to a commentary on freedom and democratic values was ultimately destroyed, in the end, by a hailstorm of gunfire and explosions.
On the American side, according to Gawker:
Emails sent from UK Sony Pictures exec Peter Taylor to president of Sony Pictures Releasing International Steven O'Dell are particularly harsh, describing the comedy as a 'misfire,' 'unfunny and repetitive,' with 'a level of realistic violence that would be shocking in a horror movie.'"
The South Korean execs said they were offended by the strange N. Korean accents in the film and the caricaturization of leader Kim Jong-un (played by Randall Park):
The Chinese execs said that they liked how the film used a song from a Chinese artist, but that it was drowned out by the extensive ode to Katy Perry--and a level of violence would get too high a rating to draw a large enough audience.
The Dutch thought the film spun violently out of control, while the French said Seth Rogen's humor didn't "translate" to their audiences.
That The Interview was the film to bring Sony down--or, at least, exec Amy Pascal--was the biggest joke of all given how generally bad it was, according to most critics.
Whether or not the hack was really N. Korea's fault, what emerges from these emails is a sad tale about a company trying and failing to create a funny, relevant film. (I encourage anyone who wants to know more to read Leaked Emails: Sony Execs Scared of "Desperately Unfunny" Interview on Gawker.)
Reading these emails and watching The Interview, I found a blatant, cultural tone deafness at Sony and perhaps in the entire American movie industry. When you think of filmmaking as an international ecosystem, films made in Hollywood's Men's Men's Men's World don't seem economically, politically, or culturally viable for global audiences.
Year after year, film execs keep churning out the same franchise films, starving out creative diversity, and putting out work that quite frankly isn't worth what we pay to see it. All the while, they complain about running out of stories to tell (read: stories that target the 18-34 white male demographic)--when they haven't scratched 1% of narratives by people of color and women that increasingly target far more people around the world and, in my opinion, are far more culturally relevant.
Whose world does The Interview represent? Whose humor? Whose society(ies)? Even as far as satires go, it lacked the subtle nuances to attain the level of "subversive" commentary to which it aspired (although the hacks, quite ironically, started these very discussions for all the wrong reasons).
Hollywood is facing the same kind of problem as the Republican party--while the American public becomes more diverse, its most entrenched institutions become increasingly culturally tone deaf.
Thank goodness for alternative platforms that make room for more diverse stories--which Sony was also grateful for when their awful, tasteless film broke the theatrical distribution chain. But I wish that the hack and surrounding publicity didn't just serve to drive sales, with The Interview becoming Sony's highest-grossing online release ever.
These are the times when global audiences really need to demand better or, year after year, we'll be forced to watch more of the same s*it. Any company or industry that does this should, by the laws of Darwin, fail. And those of us telling more relevant stories should be ready to take up the charge. --AL.
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Check out my new Gawker essay! I submitted it on a whim, and am super excited they published it. Please comment, share, and spread the word! --AL.
"Last week, I attended a screening of Ava DuVernay's Selma about Martin Luther King, Jr. and the 1965 voting rights marches of Alabama.
Desperate for inspiration, fresh off my second rejection from Sundance Screenwriters Labs—this time, unlike last year's form letter, a lovely e-mail from the program director praising my "empathy" towards the story's characters—I took the subway uptown to the Academy Theater in Manhattan.
A light rain fell as I pushed my way into a modern building at 59th Street and Lexington Avenue, the East Coast home of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. In the lobby, a lone security guard manned the front desk while a mousy-haired woman handed attendees tickets to the post-screening dinner."
-- Iquo B. Essien, Selma and the American-ness of the Academy
At a point she records a video journal to herself, to be watched in the inevitable event that she can no longer answer a series of questions: What is the name of your oldest daughter? When is your birthday? What street do you live on?
They are innocuous bits of information that most of us take for granted until life robs us of the ability. But to someone trying to hold on to memory, they are everything. The video journal urged Alice, once she could no longer answer, to kill herself--a morbid thought, but understandable, given the circumstances.
Having watched my own mother's slow deterioration and death from cancer, the film stuck with me. (At a point, Alice even says, "I'd rather have cancer." People wear ribbons and feel sorry for you, not embarrassed that you can't remember a name or form a thought.)
Though I have spent many years exorcising the trauma--penning a memoir, Elizabeth's Daughter, about losing her and finding myself through writing--my mother's death left an indelible imprint on my psyche that remains. It is interesting to me that I chose writing, and have spent weeks and months over the past 10 (11? 12?) years in solitude trying to figure out exactly how I felt and feel about it.
It is the kind of rigorous self-analysis that begets an isolation that can be both a blessing and a curse.
To sit with sadness and write, alone, is difficult work. I find that what's missing for me, until the book is out, is a witness. Someone to hear and see what I have felt and feel. It is the thing I have wanted most out of my life that has been the most elusive, largely why I write and make films and generally try to express myself: I want to be heard.
And there is a curious silence in solitude that feels like invisibility. It is an unbearable thing. All my thoughts and ideas lying unseen on the page. Even the words I write here will hardly be seen by 10 or 20 or 30 human beings. And I imagine this is why I want to publish a book: to make a real thing. Something people can take home and flip through and ponder over, making my thoughts--and me, by extension--more real.
But I acknowledge, deep down, what I really want is for the people closest to me in my life, the people who love and care about me, to see and hear me. I suppose it is the fear of losing this that makes living on, for Alice, so unbearable. I hope that, when the book is finished, people will understand me, know my story. It is a kind of obsession now, to do what my mother could not in the time she was given.
But the point of this blog, what I really wanted to say, was that tonight, while thousands were marching for Eric Garner and bearing witness to injustice, I made a video journal. Not anything like the video blogs I have been trying (and failing) to make over the past few months (having recorded several that I ultimately deleted). I spoke to myself to witness this moment now, to honor the past, the pain, and hope for the future.
I realize now the problem with the video blog, why I have been failing, is that I am trying to make pretty what is a difficult process: writing a book and making a feature film. It is often lonely and ugly and filled with piles of rejection letters. There is no glory. And what little you might expect will inevitably fade. People may think you brilliant for a time until they move on to someone more brilliant. Or they will tell you your story is not that interesting and nobody will buy your book or pay money to sit in a theatre and watch your movie.
There are days I lie in bed and can't get up (most notably, after a pitch to an agent last year). There are days I don't have the courage or self esteem to write another word or make another phone call. There are the days when I wonder if I can apply for that most prestigious screenwriting lab another year and face the inevitable rejection. And the days when I am irrationally afraid of opening my laptop and greeting the pile of work ahead of me.
And yet you go on.
So tonight, my message is that we all must have the courage to witness ourselves--to stand in our truth and language our lives. Yes, we must witness each other's struggles, but we can and should start first with our own. Years after my mother's death, but still before the harvest, it is the only thing that has kept me sane. --AL.
P.S. Read about how Lisa Genova self-published Still Alice and turned it into a New York Times bestseller.
AISSA'S STORY won Best Student Short at AFRIFF! I was so overwhelmed, I literally cried on stage and everyone kept coming up to me afterwards saying that it got them choked up, too. I will post my speech when my good friend Ntare Mwine puts it up online. His glorious short MISSING screened too, and he was on the feature film jury. I had a wonderful time in Calabar. Will post more pics soon. --AL.
Afripop Sessions, at MoCADA museum in Brooklyn last night, put me on to an amazing soul/folk/electronic singer-guitarist, Denitia Odigie. I have a new music crush. Check out this little vid I shot of "Lay Our Burdens Down," made even more poignant by its juxtaposition to the Katrina-inspired performance video art, by Tameka Norris, playing on the back wall.
Also check out the a/wake in the water exhibit at MoCADA, curated by Erin Christovale, on display until November 30. Artists include my film colleague Danielle Lessovitz, whose short film The Earthquake deals with the aftermath of the Haitian earthquake on an immigrant family in New York City; Wanuri Kahiu's Kenyan sci-fi thriller Pumzi; and the post-global warming apocalyptic drama White. Watch a PBS interview online with White director A. Sayeeda Clarke. --AL.
My short film Aissa's Story will be screening at 3:00PM on November 11 at the Africa International Film Festival (AFRIFF) in Calabar, Nigeria.
Back in 2010, I attended the first AFRIFF as a patron, when it was just a modest gathering of film lovers and practitioners in that dusty, would-be-great-if-it-weren't-so-dry-and-congested town of Port Harcourt.
I could never have imagined then the heights the festival would grow to now, calling Tinapa Film Village in Calabar, Cross River State, home. Last year I met more Nollywood stars there than I could count (or even name), met many of my director idols (Balufu Bakupu-Kanyinda, Kunle Afolayan, and Michelle Bello among them), saw a World Cup qualifying football match, and was generally so impressed that I decided to submit my work this year.
I must also add, and it can't be understated, that Calabar is my favorite place in the world. My granny lived there most of her life until she passed away last year. Much of what made it my favorite place was sitting with her on the porch and eating fresh sugarcane from her farm, so the loss has dislocated me in a deep way that cannot be healed. But there is also something special about AFRIFF, gathering a group of truly astounding storytellers in a magical place, that is helping me make wonderful new Calabar memories and friends.
Come check it out if you plan to be there and don't forget to say hello! More info on the (truly spectacular, from a design perspective) AFRIFF website. --AL.
I'm always a bit nervous about playwrights turned screenwriters. Their first films are usually a disaster, although to be fair learning something new always takes trial and error. As someone who writes--books and screenplays--as well as directs, I can attest that switching between forms is really challenging. Being one thing is easy. Being a hyphen--like a writer-dancer-director--can be tricky. The hardest part is turning your senses on and off.
Films are about what you see and hear; plays are more or less about what people say and how they interact with each other; while books are about all the five senses--or six, if you like--making it the hardest form. I once heard Nervous Conditions author Tsitsi Dangarembga say, in an interview, that she had stopped writing prose to figure out how to properly make films:
They were just completely different. The skills I had learned for prose didn’t work in film. Those telling details, they’re completely different. Or the fact of these inner monologues in which you can write a whole book. Whereas prose is teasing out, film is stripping down, concentrating and compacting. I found I could not learn the one while doing the other. So it was a big struggle, actually. It took me years.I hear her, but am too stubborn to give anything up.
Perhaps it is dancing that helps the most. I have learned to be at home and present in my body to access the senses I need to move, to think, to write, to direct. I've been told that my prose is very visual, and I find that after the first draft I often have to go back and add in the other senses plus intuition, which has no place in a film or play. I have sketched out a couple of plays over the years, but none ever materialized. I find the form a bit too literal. In a film, there is always some distance between what is said and what is felt--what directors call the subtext. Plays tend to minimize that distance, making them feel sightly more predictable. And the actors are often shouting at each other, which makes no sense if they're sitting at a kitchen table.
At any rate, I'm excited to see how the Hurt Village film turns out since everything Katori does turns to gold. A few years ago, I saw her play Hoodoo Love and became an instant fan. It was the first time I'd ever seen a play with a rape scene and her fearlessness stuck with me. --AL.
A few weeks ago, at Jazzhole, I bought a copy of Talk Stories by Jamaica Kincaid--a collection of her original writing for the New Yorker's "Talk of the Town," composed from 1978 to 1983 when she first came to the United States from Antigua. It was the only copy for sale, weatherbeaten with a tag inside from the now defunct Glendora Books that used to be at the now defunct Falomo Shopping Centre in Ikoyi.
I'm only moderately familiar with Jamaica Kincaid's work. In our first year of film school, when we were given the task of adapting a short story, I chose her prose poem Girl--in which a mother educates her young daughter about the proper bearing of a lady.
It is a class project, of course, but something that always reminds me of how my mother taught me to make so many things in that same big red pot. It's been twelve years now since she died and still I can't believe she's gone. But I digress...that really isn't the point of this blog.
I'm only moderately familiar with Jamaica Kincaid's work. In our first year of film school, when we were given the task of adapting a short story, I chose her prose poem Girl--in which a mother educates her young daughter about the proper bearing of a lady.
Wash the white clothes on Monday and put them on the stone heap; wash the color clothes on Tuesday and put them on the clothesline to dry; don't walk barehead in the hot sun; cook pumpkin fritters in very hot sweet oil; don't sing benna in Sunday school; you mustn't speak to wharf–rat boys, not even to give directions.The film I came up with, How to Make Afang Soup, is about a girl who learns to make soup from her mother and eventually succeeds her as the woman of the house. (If you do get a chance to watch it on YouTube, please notice the comments from people complaining that it is not a recipe for making the soup. My favorite, spelled as is: the video is good but the tittle does'nt reflect it. i clicked on your video because i wanted the recipe but do you thimk that i'm satysfied after watching it. answer yourself iquo essien.)
It is a class project, of course, but something that always reminds me of how my mother taught me to make so many things in that same big red pot. It's been twelve years now since she died and still I can't believe she's gone. But I digress...that really isn't the point of this blog.
What I meant to say was how unique and fresh and funny and insightful Kincaid's early writing is. My favorite quote:
"That I was born thirty years ago doesn't seem to matter to anyone except my mother, my father, their families, and their friends. When I say to someone, 'Thirty years ago, I was born,' I can almost hear this running through their minds: 'Yes. Yes. So you were born.'"It makes me realize that even then, with all that talent, Jamaica Kincaid was not yet Jamaica Kincaid and still she was, and it was good, it was maybe even amazing. I am trying to put my own existence at 33 into perspective and to appreciate this moment of not-yet being. As a wise friend said to me, it is the very path which is my career taking shape. It is not something that will happen, it is in fact happening now--as my being is also becoming itself.
What I also want to say is that this little blog, every word and thought and idea is important. Some day, when our descendants try and understand these times they will look for a book, a film, a play, a word. Just as one of my writing teachers described a journal as a historical document, I think a blog is too. I need only look back at my old writing to understand the truth in it.
So yes, I will be writing my own "Talk of the Town" that lies somewhere between New York and Lagos and eternity, in a place that exists only in me. Hope you enjoy. --AL.
I saw Difret at Urbanworld Film Festival's community screening at Restoration Plaza in Brooklyn. It's the directorial debut feature of Zeresenay Berhane Merhani and, all around, one of the best films I've seen all year--highlighting the critical issue of child abduction and marriage in Ethiopia. Check out an excerpt below and read more on the film's Sundance page and website. --AL.
I have never seen a commercial for International Women's Day (March 8), so I made one. Watch, share and let's celebrate! --AL.
I was deeply moved by Chika Anadu's debut feature, B for Boy, that recently had its Lagos premiere screening hosted by The Life House. Stark, understated, realistic, the film is being called an "elegant realist drama [that] questions Nigeria's gender divide as middle
What struck me most about the film was how well it wove together issues of culture, tradition, womanhood, polygamy, and patriarchy into a personal story about a woman fighting to keep her marriage together--both dramatically and narratively, the film was nuanced and accessible enough to satisfy Nigerian and Western audiences alike.
I've been thinking a lot about this very topic given the nature of my own work--how to translate a story grounded in a specific space and people to a universal audience. Chika does this brilliantly, while simultaneously making a bold statement by doing the film entirely in Igbo.
I can appreciate Chika's decision; she feels that Africans perform better in their native tongue, when they're not grasping for words or worrying about grammar. That seemed to hold true in her film, which featured some of the best performances I've ever seen by Nigerians--proving that the dream really is possible. In the Q&A after the screening, Chika spoke about how she brought in an acting coach to work with the actors to help tamp down some of the theatrics and overacting characteristic of Nigerian cinema. The result was simply breathtaking.
You should definitely go see this film. It's no wonder it won the Breakthrough Audience Award at AFI Fest 2013. --AL.
My colleague, sister and friend Bose has just published an article on my short film AISSA'S STORY in Scholar and Feminist Online. I am beyond ecstatic. Please read for an excellent discussion on the politics of the African female immigrant body. --AL.
"What is truly remarkable about this scene is the way in which it stages the education of Mrs. Ba. As her responses graduate from 'deux soldats' to 'cinq soldats' to 'neuf soldats,' we learn along with her that she can only travel in the world as an abject, victimized subject. We learn that in the case of her body in particular—a black, female, and African body—her victimization must be one of the body, it must be of a sexual nature, and it must be grotesque—neuf soldats, minimum. Now you’re getting the hang of it. Only a tale of the most grotesque violations might help her escape humiliating and unanswerable inquiries about the motivations or the circumstances that bring her to be an African woman seeking a point of exit from her 'place-in-the-world,' hoping for a green light from the capricious keepers of the gates to the first world." -- Abosede A. George, in Getting the Hang of It
gun hill road is a film about a latino family whose paroled father comes back to the bronx to find his teenage son transitioning to femalehood. i had a chance to see it at angelika film center a couple of sundays ago, followed by a q&a with lead actress harmony santana and writer/director rashaad ernesto green.
it's one of the more interesting and engaging films i've seen in a very long time--and i'm not just saying that because rashaad is one of my nyu grad film colleagues. i left the theater a more enlightened person, both as a viewer and a filmmaker. the writing is fresh and authentic, the acting on point, and it spotlights an issue that isn't being discussed in mainstream american society, particularly in latino and minority communities.
when i was on set with tunde kelani, he said--quite emphatically, as i remember--that there's nothing coming out of hollywood. i wanted to disagree, point out all the wonderful indie filmmakers, some of them friends, doing really interesting work. then i realized they all work outside the hollywood system. it's a hard reality that the hollywood machine is mass producing, packaging and distributing the same old stories again and again. but it's really refreshing to know there are alternative means for telling other kinds of stories out there. --AL.
yes, 'filmmaking in akwa ibom' is in fact the title of this post. as i write this, one mr. paul frank--an akwa ibomite and university of utah-trained filmmaker--is shooting a trailer for his feature film in uyo. he sourced the 45-person cast with locals--drawing from the 400-person strong ibom actors forum--and the crew from locals too--some of whom were trained in india and south africa. he will edit the film in uyo, too, and plans to submit the final feature to sundance.
it was a chance meeting after i stopped by the national gallery to visit with ani udosen, a wonderful sculptor i met last year, who gave me paul's contact info. i called, and paul stopped by the house just hours before i left for the airport headed back to lagos. he was younger than i thought he'd be, optimistic, excited, with a delicate balance of ego and humility that is the trademark of a successful filmmaker. we had one of those filmie conversations--fast, run-on sentences with heavy jargon--at the end of which i was convinced we had to work together somehow. if i weren't presently broke and headed back to nyu in the fall, i would simply stay behind and work on his film.
paul also told me that the tropicana entertainment complex is finally open, supposedly the largest cinema in africa. they had been building it for some years, and finally launched in may before the gubernatorial election. political stunt? maybe, but it seems that the governor is a film fan, since we've been waiting even longer for the library to open. paul hopes the good governor will help finance his film, as he's done for a few others in the past.
"when you're ready to come back, we're here," paul said, and, with a warm handshake, drove away. i stood there a minute, stunned, wondering how i could possibly then go to the airport and leave. how i could pass up an opportunity to help jumpstart the akwa ibom feature film industry. i am too broke and confused right now, i thought. i'll be back--prepared.
at any rate, i did apply for an all roads seed grant to shoot a documentary this year at my late mother's secondary school in afaha oku. i also have a feature film idea, set at that same school, that would be my dream to make.
i meet so many diasporans who dream of revolutionizing cinema in their native countries, many of whom learn and labor in the international system without setting foot on ground back home to see what's going on. a part of me knows that can't possibly work in practice. you have to be on ground. you have to know what's going on. you have to stay current and relevant. place does matter. learn what you need to abroad, if you like, but go home and do some good. really.
i hope to join paul soon. meeting him helped to crystallize the yearnings i've been having these past few years. nevertheless, this blog still took a very long time to write. --AL.
it was a chance meeting after i stopped by the national gallery to visit with ani udosen, a wonderful sculptor i met last year, who gave me paul's contact info. i called, and paul stopped by the house just hours before i left for the airport headed back to lagos. he was younger than i thought he'd be, optimistic, excited, with a delicate balance of ego and humility that is the trademark of a successful filmmaker. we had one of those filmie conversations--fast, run-on sentences with heavy jargon--at the end of which i was convinced we had to work together somehow. if i weren't presently broke and headed back to nyu in the fall, i would simply stay behind and work on his film.
paul also told me that the tropicana entertainment complex is finally open, supposedly the largest cinema in africa. they had been building it for some years, and finally launched in may before the gubernatorial election. political stunt? maybe, but it seems that the governor is a film fan, since we've been waiting even longer for the library to open. paul hopes the good governor will help finance his film, as he's done for a few others in the past.
"when you're ready to come back, we're here," paul said, and, with a warm handshake, drove away. i stood there a minute, stunned, wondering how i could possibly then go to the airport and leave. how i could pass up an opportunity to help jumpstart the akwa ibom feature film industry. i am too broke and confused right now, i thought. i'll be back--prepared.
at any rate, i did apply for an all roads seed grant to shoot a documentary this year at my late mother's secondary school in afaha oku. i also have a feature film idea, set at that same school, that would be my dream to make.
i meet so many diasporans who dream of revolutionizing cinema in their native countries, many of whom learn and labor in the international system without setting foot on ground back home to see what's going on. a part of me knows that can't possibly work in practice. you have to be on ground. you have to know what's going on. you have to stay current and relevant. place does matter. learn what you need to abroad, if you like, but go home and do some good. really.
i hope to join paul soon. meeting him helped to crystallize the yearnings i've been having these past few years. nevertheless, this blog still took a very long time to write. --AL.
while enjoying a bit of the africa magic channel, came across my favorite ousmane sembene film, faat kine, about post-independence senegalese women living on their own terms. when i went to hedgebrook, now over a year ago, i traveled very light on books and films with the exception of the late great sembene. thought of blogging a list of the things I carried, but forgot. all the same, enjoy this clip. --AL.
the iRepresent (iREP) international documentary film festival begins this weekend in lagos at terra kulture and the lagos business school. the festival's theme is 'the impact of documentary production in a developing society/economy' and will feature screenings, presentations, workshops, panel discussions, and a gala awards ceremony.
i am finally leaving akwa ibom (there, i said it) and will catch a few events before the festival closes on sunday, january 23. tho i am a narrative girl through and through and not a huge documentary fan, too many random friends have recommended this festival for it to go ignored. plus i hear tunde kelani will be on one of the panels, and i can't miss that.
more festival info here. --AL.
