New York Film Festival 57 Screenings 4
Zombi Child (Bertrand Bonello)
Before exegesis, there is observation. Or, rather, there should be observation. Not only my students and select family members but critics and scholars want to jump to that second-order reality of attaching meaning to a work of art before appreciating or even perceiving the first-order reality of observing (never disinterested or free of power differentials) the qualities of a thing. So many of the reviewers of Bertrand Bonello's new film Zombi Child trip over themselves trying to delineate what the film means. Of course, it's a disquisition on colonialism and the nature of historical memory. An early appearance by historian Patrick Boucheron, essentially playing himself, makes that clear. But can we just take a step back and observe?
Zombi Child recounts the maybe-true story of Clairvius Narcisse (Mackenson Bijou), a Haitian man who died in 1962 only to be disinterred and rendered a zombified slave via regular doses of tetrodotoxin, the somnabulating venom in pufferfish, and Datura, a poisonous species of plants. After his master's death and thus the cessation of dosing, Narcisse regained human consciousness and returned to his family years later, dying again in 1994.
Bonello alternates this tale with present-day scenes at the Maison d’Education of the Legion of Honor in Saint-Denis, "a state school intended for the daughters, grand-daughters and great-grand-daughters of French and foreign recipients of the Legion of Honor, the Military Medal, and the National Order of Merit"* founded by Napoleon around the time Haiti achieved independence in 1804. We come to learn that Narcisse's granddaughter Mélissa (Wislanda Louimat) attends the school and must contend with the rituals promising acceptance from a group of cool girls.
The most remarkable aspect of Zombi Child is how Bonello approaches these latter scenes with just as much ethnographic fascination as the Narcisse story. For Haitian audiences and, indeed, anyone not of such lofty birthright, the traditions and practices at the Maison d’Education are foreign, not some hegemonic balcony from which to observe. Just as bizarre as any of the zombie folklore is an apparently real routine (according to Bonello at the Q & A) in which a group of students all lean back together as if to say "whoa!" in the presence of a high Maison official. And, as always with Bonello, the routine is conveyed through the musical - Voudou drumming, a rendition of "Silent Night," a school report on Rihanna, the Haitian blues rock of Moonlight Benjamin, French rappers Damso and Kalash, and Gerry & The Pacemakers' overripe but now, thanks to Bonello, devastating take on "You'll Never Walk Alone" which, I've just discovered, is the theme song for the Liverpool Football Club (talk about foreign rituals!).
What does it all mean? We'll get to that. But first, let's connect with this absolutely exquisite film.
Grade: A
*Quoted from the press kit.
Before exegesis, there is observation. Or, rather, there should be observation. Not only my students and select family members but critics and scholars want to jump to that second-order reality of attaching meaning to a work of art before appreciating or even perceiving the first-order reality of observing (never disinterested or free of power differentials) the qualities of a thing. So many of the reviewers of Bertrand Bonello's new film Zombi Child trip over themselves trying to delineate what the film means. Of course, it's a disquisition on colonialism and the nature of historical memory. An early appearance by historian Patrick Boucheron, essentially playing himself, makes that clear. But can we just take a step back and observe?
Zombi Child recounts the maybe-true story of Clairvius Narcisse (Mackenson Bijou), a Haitian man who died in 1962 only to be disinterred and rendered a zombified slave via regular doses of tetrodotoxin, the somnabulating venom in pufferfish, and Datura, a poisonous species of plants. After his master's death and thus the cessation of dosing, Narcisse regained human consciousness and returned to his family years later, dying again in 1994.
Bonello alternates this tale with present-day scenes at the Maison d’Education of the Legion of Honor in Saint-Denis, "a state school intended for the daughters, grand-daughters and great-grand-daughters of French and foreign recipients of the Legion of Honor, the Military Medal, and the National Order of Merit"* founded by Napoleon around the time Haiti achieved independence in 1804. We come to learn that Narcisse's granddaughter Mélissa (Wislanda Louimat) attends the school and must contend with the rituals promising acceptance from a group of cool girls.
The most remarkable aspect of Zombi Child is how Bonello approaches these latter scenes with just as much ethnographic fascination as the Narcisse story. For Haitian audiences and, indeed, anyone not of such lofty birthright, the traditions and practices at the Maison d’Education are foreign, not some hegemonic balcony from which to observe. Just as bizarre as any of the zombie folklore is an apparently real routine (according to Bonello at the Q & A) in which a group of students all lean back together as if to say "whoa!" in the presence of a high Maison official. And, as always with Bonello, the routine is conveyed through the musical - Voudou drumming, a rendition of "Silent Night," a school report on Rihanna, the Haitian blues rock of Moonlight Benjamin, French rappers Damso and Kalash, and Gerry & The Pacemakers' overripe but now, thanks to Bonello, devastating take on "You'll Never Walk Alone" which, I've just discovered, is the theme song for the Liverpool Football Club (talk about foreign rituals!).
What does it all mean? We'll get to that. But first, let's connect with this absolutely exquisite film.
Grade: A
*Quoted from the press kit.
Labels: Bertrand Bonello, NYFF
posted by Kevin John at 10:47 AM
2 Comments:
Hello, my name is Addison Standley from Letterboxd. I saw your review of The Wind is Driving Him Toward the Open Sea and was curious if you had a digital copy that you'd be able/willing to share?
Hi Addison.
Sadly I don't have a digital copy of it. :(
KJB
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