Baara by Souleymane Cissé
A pivotal encounter that changed my life as a filmmaker
🎬 Movie Details
When I was asked to participate in this symposium by selecting a film from the previous generation, I was delighted to choose *Baara* by Souleymane Cissé—a film that has meant so much to me and that led to a meeting with Souleymane Cissé in Ouagadougou in 1983, an encounter that has shaped my life.
First discovery
I first saw *Baara* on French television in the early 1980s, and the film completely moved me. No doubt because very few African films were shown on French television at the time—a situation that, incidentally, has hardly changed today—but also and above all because this film, shot in the 1970s, succeeded brilliantly and intelligently, without being didactic, in addressing the major problems facing contemporary African societies.
With apparent simplicity, lightness, and grace, Souleymane Cissé portrays the various strata of Malian society and explores themes as diverse as class relations; intergenerational relations; gender relations; and kinship through humor; the complexity of women’s place in society through a range of portraits—from the victim of domestic violence to the ruthless businesswoman ready to come to blows to settle scores, to the unfaithful wife; and finally, the hope of the European-educated elite to change mindsets; and, unfortunately, the failure that accompanies that hope.
What impresses me about this film is the quality of its characterization. The focus is on the complexity of the characters, which stands in stark contrast to the black-and-white portrayal of characters in so many political films of that era. The film introduces a new dimension to portrayals of Africa, a richness that goes far beyond folklore: women are not simply victims of society, the poor are not all virtuous, and the modernity of certain attitudes displayed in public sometimes hides incomprehensible behavior in the private sphere.
A Contemporary and Complex Africa
Moving beyond the age-old conflict between tradition and modernity—a recurring theme in African cinema—and temporarily stepping away from films set in a timeless Africa, Cissé situates *Baara* in a contemporary African city. A young engineer who has just returned from Europe is tasked with turning his boss’s textile factory into a profitable enterprise by implementing a restructuring plan that will leave 200 employees unemployed. But the engineer chooses a different path: profitability through dialogue with the workers to adjust their working conditions.
The boss isn't happy about this; he sees the engineer as a "troublemaker" and sets about getting rid of him. Meanwhile, the factory owner, who is in his sixties, has taken a beautiful young businesswoman as his fourth wife, but shows her very little respect. She returns the favor, taking on numerous younger lovers from her husband's inner circle.
The Fool: Free Speech
This provides Cissé with an opportunity to introduce a recurring character in African literature and many African films: the madman, or the drunkard, who serves as a vehicle for free expression in a context where the authorities restrict freedom of speech. The madman is the one who can say anything, bluntly and without hesitation, without worrying about the consequences of his words.
The Awakening of Consciousness
And finally, in *Baara*, the awakening of consciousness is embodied by the deliveryman, Balla Diarra, who travels all over the city. The film opens with a close-up of him, of his silent anger, and throughout the film he will be the victim: a victim of his customers, a victim of the police, of his own ignorance, a victim of the mockery of his fellow inmates when he gets out of prison and tells them he has found a job.
Balla is, in fact, the hero of this story; the old union leader calls on him to speak out following the death of the engineer—his namesake—urging him, in a sense, to stop resigning himself to his fate and to join the ranks of those taking action.
The Poetry of Documentary Film
At times dreamlike, often reminiscent of a major documentary, Cissé films the city, its inhabitants, and ordinary people with an empathy and poetry that reminded me of Johan van der Keuken’s African imagery; certain sequences from the film have remained etched in my memory as examples of those fleeting moments of unexpected delight that one sometimes encounters in documentary cinema.
I am thinking, in particular, of a street scene in which two women sing the praises of the factory owner. The camera follows them as they approach the owner and are paid in return. As they walk away, an old man—completely unable to sing, his voice almost a cry of pain—approaches and also sings the owner’s praises. He is given a small bill and walks away, glancing at the camera as he wipes away a tear with the hand holding the bill.
More than any other, this scene reveals the inequalities of Malian society; what Cissé often achieves through juxtaposition in the editing is captured here in the fluidity of a scene that seems to have been simply caught on the fly. A scene from everyday life, in short—the kind of reality that documentary filmmakers dream of.
The encounter that changed my life
In 1983, I went to Ouagadougou for the first time as a journalist for Bwana Magazine. As a film enthusiast, I had seen almost every film available at the African Film Archive of the Ministry of Cooperation at the time. I arrived in Ouaga, carrying my Uher tape recorder and my old Nikkormat along with several interchangeable lenses, determined to meet all the filmmakers of the time.
I looked like a teenager—a college student at most—and almost no one took me seriously. The few journalists there were white, and I experienced the bitter disappointment of being rejected by many of my older colleagues. And then came my meeting with Souleymane Cissé after the screening of *Finye*.
Unlike many journalists, I would watch the films first and then ask for an interview afterward. Cissé immediately said yes, let’s do it. We found a quiet spot and I turned on my tape recorder. Instead of talking about *Finye*, his latest film—which we only touched on briefly—I launched into *Baara*.
It was a bad interview; my questions were too long. I described the scenes that had moved me, while Cissé spoke of his intentions, of what those scenes represented in life and what they offered—which led us to our point of disagreement: hope. Why had he killed hope? Was it more important for the engineer to die than for the new vision to triumph? In this Africa of the unfinished struggle for liberation, where cinema was seen as a tool of liberation, was there a place for hope? What role should cinema play in this rapidly changing Africa?
I shot my first short film in May 1983, a few months after FESPACO and my meeting with a humble, attentive elder who encouraged me to take the plunge.
Later in my career, during moments of doubt, I would think back on that conversation, and I still hold Cissé in the high regard due to a great filmmaker and a man of remarkable human qualities as well.
Translated by Melissa Thackway