I Am Samuel – BFI London Film Festival

Written by Ricardo Acosta & Peter Murimi

Directed by Peter Murimi

Rating: 3 out of 5.

While identifying as gay isn’t strictly illegal in Kenya, the act of engaging in a relationship with someone of the same gender or sex is. An openly honest account of a young gay man’s struggles with receiving the equality he deserves, I Am Samuel documents five years of Samuel’s life as he moves to steadily introduce his parents, his friends and hopefully, one day, his country into accepting who he is.

I Am Samuel’s unobtrusive verité-style maintains authenticity in how it delivers the truth across the film, refusing to pander to ideas of a manipulated narrative for dramatic effect. As director Peter Murimi gradually introduces the audience to Samuel, his partner Alex, and their subsequent friends and family, time is given to develop them as people, rather than encouraging snap judgements. This verité comes at a cost though, as the film’s flow stifles, and any seeking a form of closure will be pressed to find one given Kenya’s continued attitudes towards the love between two members of the same gender.

The longevity to create pays off for Murimi’s debut piece, filming over five years allows for a definitive picture and flow of narration. The established relationship guarantees an openness from Samuel, concerning his relationship with Alex, as a level of trust is paramount given the nature of their relationship in a country violently opposed to love in a form which some are regrettably still unfamiliar with.

Depictions of violence only make up a minuscule, but impactful, anchor point for the film. Those who mindlessly preach on how things are different or that homophobia isn’t as prevalent need only watch the film’s opening moments. Censored, but still visceral, a young man is between and assaulted as the perpetrators hurl abuse and, breath-snatchingly declare to ‘teach him a lesson’, instructing one another to get a knife.

I Am Samuel doesn’t garb itself in shocking imagery, though one distressing scene shows the scars a man bares after being mistaken for Samuel. The dedication to their visibility is extraordinarily respected by Murimi, who strives to allow everyone the chance to tell their story and experiences – obviously, chiefly that of Samuel and his partner Alex. Nothing is treated as inconsequential, as it all goes to building the image of who Samuel is as a person and his ambitions, despite the conformation and expectations men in his culture face.

A level of established trust is evident as the camera works its way into Samuel’s parent’s homes to unfold their thoughts on the revelations of their son’s ‘friend’ Alex. Redon and Rebecca consistently harp on at their son to find a wife to both help with the family farm work, and to continue a legacy. His father Redon, a pastor, in particular raises eyebrows to this ‘friendship’ with Alex, discussing with the camera his concerns, as equally does his mother but for wholly individual reasons and worries for his safety.

Clean, capitalising on the beauty of the region, the film’s visual direction of light and aerial shots capture the stage for Samuel’s story. Backdrops are never parts of the narrative, outside of location changes to and from his parents or grandmothers residence. What aesthetical shots used enrapture, but stick within the verité guidelines to reinforce the film’s authenticity, rather than bathe in spectacle.

Leaning into the rights of humanity to be recognised through the players in this film, as opposed to a direct political allegiance, Murimi succeeds in building I Am Samuel’s legitimacy as a short documentary feature which manages to divulge five years of a young gay man’s life into seventy minutes. Will the film essentially change the fundamental rights to care and love across Kenya? Not likely, but in putting across Samuel’s story – Murimi’s documentary protects the autonomy and determination a young man has to love, hopefully improving his future. 

Herself – London Film Festival

Written by Clare Dunne

Directed by Phillipa Lloyd

Rating: 3 out of 5.

From the insipid musical diabetes which is Mamma Mia! To the politically ambiguous The Iron Lady, film and theatre director Phyllida Lloyd is nothing if not versatile. Seeking to avoid the large scale filmmaking ventures of the past, Lloyd’s release of Herself entrusts itself to the daily exhaustion women, and mothers face daily in their efforts to maintain dignity and independence.

Lloyd crafts precisely what her intentions were – continuing to tell authentic stories about, and starring women. Written and starring Clare Dunne, Herself centres on the struggles working-class single-mothers undertake to rebuild their lives, in this case following an abusive relationship. Sandra works every hour the lord gives her, and then some as she cares for her daughters. A chance encounter working for an old family friend leads to a series of events in which she can build a home, a safe home away from her ex Gary, but it has to be done quickly, silently and away from authoritative eyes.

Herself has something more profound in inspiration than a sure-fire ‘hit’ at the box-office. The integral reason for the success of the film is the stitching together of a psychological rebuilding – not of the physical home, but the metaphorical work Sandra puts into herself. Dunne’s script is authentic in the depiction of abuse as intense, but not oversaturated or obscene. Now, this isn’t to shy from the brutality of domestic violence, but rather to reaffirm that Sandra is not only her abusive relationship with Gary. That she is more than her suffering and the repetition of the singular event the audience sees is enough to reinforce the damage unfurling itself mentally, but the journey she goes on is the real focus.

Herein lies the facile issues of a tremendously well-performed film. The volatility and earthen nature of the script are dampened by less grounded side-roles and decisions. Not seeking doom and gloom, stories of those who have left abusive relationships needn’t centre themselves in misery, but Herself stumbles into a balancing issue as the supporting cast feel less stable, less investable. Pleasant and punchy Aido is indeed brought to life by Conleth Hill’s bouncy charm, but he and Harriet Walter’s Peggy just can’t find their place in the narrative outside of being providers.

Herself is at its most successful when developing the relationship Sandra has with her children, in no small part down to the fabulous performances from Ruby Rose O’Hara and Molly McCann who sell their adoration for their mother, and understanding of the events surrounding them with radiant authenticity. The relationships they build with Danne should play a larger part in the film, rather than equal footing to the branching plot threads. 

Character framing is usually Lloyd’s masterstroke with theatre, particularly capturing the precise moment of climax in an emotional transition. The understanding of openly demonstrating Sandra at her lowest, and eventual recovery, is something which Lloyd’s filmmaking should excel at doing, as Dunne is certainly bringing her all.

Aesthetically, however, Herself is messy. The opposing sides of light and darkness find no compromise as it lurches between aspirational and up-beat to a gritty, grounded film. The infusions of musical interludes demonstrate the imbalance best, where the epilogue captures the emotions Sandra feels without need for dialogue, using only lighting and song stand starkly to the cover of Titanium as the house develops makes for a soppy tv-advert, stripping the autonomy and dignity the film has been building.

Demonstrating the frustrations of a broken, but a desperate system, not of villains or uncouth social workers but people working to the bone with minimal resources and a lack of coherent or organised sympathy. Dunne’s script understands the system better than most in a frankly honest way, seeking not to point the finger at those other than the abuser.

So no, Herself isn’t necessarily revolutionising cinematic depictions but it is stirring the right emotions to flicker people into realising the vital nature of these narratives. It hinges on performances, rather than writing or direction, and on this, it can steadily rely on the brilliance of Dunne’s performance.

Herself has been released in select cinemas

The Man in the Hat – Review

Written & Directed by John-Paul DavidsonStephen Warbeck

UK/ 200/ 94 mins

Rating: 4 out of 5.

There’s a tremendous reminiscence of Dante’s Divine Comedy as The Man in the Hattraverses the B-roads of France, beginning in the inferno before ultimately finding a peaceful sense of paradise, accompanied by those he encountered along the way. Though not quite as similar as the inner circles of Hell, Ciarán Hinds’ silent protagonist finds himself desperate to flee a souring situation, after witnessing the disposal of a body one evening. With naught but the hat on his head, a photo of a mysterious woman, and a Fiat 500 full of never-ending fuel, he embarks on a whimsically comical jaunt as he is pursued by five rather cross men in their Citroën Dyane.

This rhythmic ebb and flow which places all of its chips on performance, visual and sound design rather than words, is a choice from composer turned filmmaker, Stephen Warbeck, writing and directing alongside John-Paul Davidson. There’s a grasp of the vitality of audio that only one who originated from a musical background could grasp. Little of the film has dialogue, save for principal scenes to offer exposition and play with metaphor – Hinds remains a silent protagonist, communicating through expressive reactions, mumbles, and a pair of rather intensely comical eyebrows. Hinds’ effortless ability to make the audience feel at ease in more and more ludicrously humorous escapades, even as the gang get closer and closer, never stretches into farcical.

This comedy is relaxed, coaxing a mirthful smile more than a bellyache, but this is entirely intentional. Visual jokes make up the bulk of the film, with the occasional auditory gag or misunderstanding taking place to split up the structure. Moving into the climax is where the film drags a little, and only a little. The shift from the long-staying purgatory into Hinds’ paradise of sorts has less of a transitional movement and more stumble into closure.

A visual splendour, Kaname Onoyama‘s cinematography frames the less trodden paths of France in an idyllic light. From coastal stretches to more rugged, earthen farm-scapes the manipulations of colour make The Man in the Hat a rich film, where light operates as an extended character, rather than an aesthetic device. If the funders of The Man In The Hat happen to be the French tourist board, there would be little shock, and it’s worked out perfectly.

Demonstrating throughout that their script is a playfully adept little road or journey comedy, Warbeck and Davidson capture the essence of the concept beyond the titular Man. Throughout, tiny glimpses into other stories have tiptoed into the primary narrative, sometimes influencing Hinds’ tale, but more often as mere observers. The single exception is Stephen Dillane, who takes a more defined secondary role, with a clearer finality to his story. Downtrodden and out of luck, ‘The Damp Man’ bumps into Hinds at several key moments. A guide of sorts, Dillane provides the schadenfreude from which many will seek and gain enjoyment, but not quite as much as the eventual happy ending he receives.

Chiefly an upbeat film, it’s a stark difference from many of the comedic journey movies being churned out, with much of its influence and taste located into the history of sixties European comedies. The Man in the Hat does have a breezy mystery seeded throughout which has a less than dramatic pay-off, but this was never a story of murder and secrecy. It’s the drive through a man’s purgatory as he reclaims himself and stretches beyond his comfort zones, encountering richly unique, oddball characters across a gloriously captured French backdrop – all set to a charming score, courtesy of a composer who has taken to the art of filmmaking rather dreamily.

Available in selected cinemas now and On-demand digital Mon 19 Oct 2020

Review published for The Wee Review