I recently saw at the TIFF the world premiere of "une saison en France", most recent opus from Mahamat Saleh Haroun staring Sandrine Bonnaire and Ériq Ebouaney as main characters. It is a must-see movie, but not in a "what an entertaining/technical/star-filled movie" sense, in a "this movie is essential and should be shown at school" sense. This is one of those very rare movies presenting the point of view of the nameless and faceless, those whom you cross everyday, likely judge without knowing a single thing about, their past and current struggles, the horror they faced and face, not just at the hands of armed men, but also because of heartless and soulless systems, focused more on order than people. It's a truly humanist movie, a moving movie. It leaves you changed, likely a somewhat better person, not a small accomplishment, especially in our world where we are so centred on our own personal failures and successes. So please go see and make some noise about this movie, one of the best examples of Cinema meeting Social Commentary.
5 Reviews
No human being is illegal
cappiethadog26 November 2019
Warning: Spoilers
Bangui, the Central African Republic's capital, is among the most dangerous cities in the world. Life was bad enough when Seleka, an alliance composed of rebel militias, ruled the country without a constitution, but everyday living became untenable after the group dissolved into factions. These secularist Muslims, warring splinter outfits from the conglomerate of Central African Republic commandos, turned into full-blown terrorist collectives, perpetuating war atrocities against innocent people, causing families to flee their homeland. They are refugees; they don't want to be second-class citizens in first-world countries that look down on them. They're not immigrants. Abbas Mahadjir(Eriq Ebouaney) is one of these people, a former schoolteacher who escaped a mass genocidal plot with his two children Asma(Aalayna Lys) and Yacine(Ibrahaim Burama Darboe) to France, but not before losing Madeleine(Sandra Nkake), a wife and mother; murdered by bad men, and a statistic, which Chadian filmmaker Mahmat-Saleh Haroun brings to life in "Une saison en France", as a ghost, haunting her husband from the great divide, and an audience, who often makes a deliberate choice not to know about the ugly backstories of migrants. To Abbas' shock and despair, French authorities turn down his request for asylum. The Mahadjir family has thirty days to leave the country before their reclassification from temporary legal status to wanted fugitives, eluding capture from immigration agents, go into effect. Abbas, acting on impulse, lays down a map of the world, recognizing the folly for what it is, and regrets the dreams of his children that such a game inspires. He asks his son and daughter, where they would want to live? The father can't cry, not yet, not in front of his children, who shout out destinations that he knows are impossible places for homesteading. The legalese drafted by well-compensated lawyers, who at the end of their day can return to homes and live first-world lives without giving the displaced people they preclude a second thought. If you read between the lines, the formal language softens, but doesn't hide, in essence, what is tantamount to being a death sentence, a document produced by a consensus that judges darker-skinned people not worthy for consideration of life. In thirty days, Mahadjir family must surrender their passports, and get on a plane back to the Central African Republic, an outlaw country run by men with guns who offer nothing that resembles a centralized government.
The children got too comfortable. They westernized themselves prematurely. Their digs, a nice clean Paris apartment that Abbas was housesitting for a friend, gave them a false sense of permanence. "Une saison en France" could be mistaken for a lighthearted domestic comedy at the outset. Omelets again, the kids complain, and the various comestibles that transforms the egg into one-minute recipes, the daughter lists, in a privileged voice she hasn't earned yet. When Abbas returns with a ketchup bottle, he discovers that Asmal and Yacine have scraped their plates clean, while his own dishware has been altered by volume. An omelet is the only thing the widower can cook, and more importantly, afford. His wife knew how to cook. And sing. Given more time, Abbas would have added more meals to his limited repertoire of culinary lowlights. Time is finite, unbeknownst to the son and daughter, who don't recognize, at first, the writing on the wall, when their father notifies them of his friend's return to the city. Asmal and Yacine sulk and leave the table, saddened by the two-fold news that they have to leave their temporary house in a temporary country; the second sadness hitting them harder after Abbas locates his name on a posted list at the French Office for Immigration and Integration building, and stares in disbelief, like the other refugees from disparate countries who face the same fate of third world irrelevance. Abbas was not granted political asylum and must return to face the music; annihilating music, the cacophony of guns and landmine blasts, crying and the silence after, followed by more crying, and the infinite silence. At the open market, where Abbas, despite outranking his superiors education-wise, works as a receiver, unloading fruits and vegetables for Regine(Leonie Simaga), a French vendor, must wonder if he'll have to bury his children, like their mother before them, because of the inevitable gunfire exchanged between ex-rival Seleka splinter groups, or at them, up close and personal. Abbas, frustrated and distraught, lets out his anger at the wrong person. Regine doesn't know, and doesn't care about his plight. She barks: "What are you doing? Get back to work," when she catches her employee standing around. He smashes the pumpkins, and the crates that houses the pumpkins; a workplace outburst that will come back to haunt him.
Unable to pay the rent on their ghetto apartment, Abbas and his children move in with Carole(Sandrine Bonnaire), his girlfriend, who tells him not lose faith, explaining to the Central Africa national that he can petition the administrative court just like she did, being an emigre herself. For three years, Carole lived in France with an unrenewed passport. All Abbas needs is a certificate of nationality. She makes it sound so simple. "It's going to work," Carole insists. Carole can't see her boyfriend's pained expression; he doesn't have the heart to point out the obvious. Of Polish descent, the audience hears Carol's surname being badly mispronounced; it's "Blaszak", not Balzac, she corrects the policeman with a warrant for Abbas' arrest, because the French, we surmise, can't be bothered with names not native to their mother tongue. But Carole is white. More or less, because of her skin color, she could pass as French, and not be stopped by authorities for her papers. At a bookstore, going through the motions of belonging, his children each pick out a young adult novel for purchase. Heading towards the cashier, he stops Asma and Yacine, observing his future as an illegal through the glass door; a black man, without his papers, takes off, during a random spot search. Just like the United States, and to be fair, any western country, government officials give preferential treatment for one type of immigrant over others. Carole lashes out at Abbas for not following her advice. but, intuitively, he knows that there is no sanctuary for his kind; no leeway, no looking the other way by immigration agents who know he is from another country. Filing a petition for asylum would be in vain, and double the heartbreak for all parties concerned. While Carole stands outsider her apartment, the fugitive overhears the cop's warning; his girlfriend could serve a five-year sentence for aiding and abetting illegal aliens. The cops know he's in there. They're giving her a break. People like Abbas and his two children don't get the same breaks. Regine, most likely, played informer and gave him up, but put in a good word for Carole, her favorite plants and flowers vendor. The family leaves. But how do they leave?
In 1995, filmmaker Matthew Kassovitz burned the house that Jacques Demy built in Paris down, with his debut feature film "La Haine", which announced to the world that France was not "The Umbrellas of Chenbourg" anymore. Catherine Deneuve has left the country. She would turn up five years later in Washington state, as a factory worker in Lars Von Trier's "Dancer in the Dark". France, Kassovitz announced to the world, belongs to people of all colors now. Vinz(Vincent Cassell), Hubert(Hubert Kounde) and Said(Said Taghamaoui) may be French nationals, but the wrong kind. Vinz(Vincent Cassell), called by an art gallery owner as being a symptom, synonymous with "the malaise of the ghetto", or in other words, proper French society's worst nightmare, talks about killing a cop, incessantly throughout the film, but they're wrong about him. In the end, Vinz hands the gun over to Hubert. A cop kills Vinz, albeit accidentally, but aren't accidents sometimes a subconscious projection of wish fulfillment? In "Une saison en France", Etienne(Bibi Tanga), Abbas' best friend, walks into a federal building with a backpack. He kneels; he sets the backpack down. A Muslim, so predictable, the audience is made to think; instead of returning to Central Africa, he's going to blow himself up and turn the people who would graffiti "migrants go home" near his burn-down shanty by the river, into collateral damage. But no, in protest, he self-immolates himself. Ettienne was a desperate man; he wanted to stay in France, by any means necessary. As it turns out, in a coffin. What about Abbas?
He has no future.
His children has no future.
Madeline, his dead wife, talks to him.
What do they talk about?
The children got too comfortable. They westernized themselves prematurely. Their digs, a nice clean Paris apartment that Abbas was housesitting for a friend, gave them a false sense of permanence. "Une saison en France" could be mistaken for a lighthearted domestic comedy at the outset. Omelets again, the kids complain, and the various comestibles that transforms the egg into one-minute recipes, the daughter lists, in a privileged voice she hasn't earned yet. When Abbas returns with a ketchup bottle, he discovers that Asmal and Yacine have scraped their plates clean, while his own dishware has been altered by volume. An omelet is the only thing the widower can cook, and more importantly, afford. His wife knew how to cook. And sing. Given more time, Abbas would have added more meals to his limited repertoire of culinary lowlights. Time is finite, unbeknownst to the son and daughter, who don't recognize, at first, the writing on the wall, when their father notifies them of his friend's return to the city. Asmal and Yacine sulk and leave the table, saddened by the two-fold news that they have to leave their temporary house in a temporary country; the second sadness hitting them harder after Abbas locates his name on a posted list at the French Office for Immigration and Integration building, and stares in disbelief, like the other refugees from disparate countries who face the same fate of third world irrelevance. Abbas was not granted political asylum and must return to face the music; annihilating music, the cacophony of guns and landmine blasts, crying and the silence after, followed by more crying, and the infinite silence. At the open market, where Abbas, despite outranking his superiors education-wise, works as a receiver, unloading fruits and vegetables for Regine(Leonie Simaga), a French vendor, must wonder if he'll have to bury his children, like their mother before them, because of the inevitable gunfire exchanged between ex-rival Seleka splinter groups, or at them, up close and personal. Abbas, frustrated and distraught, lets out his anger at the wrong person. Regine doesn't know, and doesn't care about his plight. She barks: "What are you doing? Get back to work," when she catches her employee standing around. He smashes the pumpkins, and the crates that houses the pumpkins; a workplace outburst that will come back to haunt him.
Unable to pay the rent on their ghetto apartment, Abbas and his children move in with Carole(Sandrine Bonnaire), his girlfriend, who tells him not lose faith, explaining to the Central Africa national that he can petition the administrative court just like she did, being an emigre herself. For three years, Carole lived in France with an unrenewed passport. All Abbas needs is a certificate of nationality. She makes it sound so simple. "It's going to work," Carole insists. Carole can't see her boyfriend's pained expression; he doesn't have the heart to point out the obvious. Of Polish descent, the audience hears Carol's surname being badly mispronounced; it's "Blaszak", not Balzac, she corrects the policeman with a warrant for Abbas' arrest, because the French, we surmise, can't be bothered with names not native to their mother tongue. But Carole is white. More or less, because of her skin color, she could pass as French, and not be stopped by authorities for her papers. At a bookstore, going through the motions of belonging, his children each pick out a young adult novel for purchase. Heading towards the cashier, he stops Asma and Yacine, observing his future as an illegal through the glass door; a black man, without his papers, takes off, during a random spot search. Just like the United States, and to be fair, any western country, government officials give preferential treatment for one type of immigrant over others. Carole lashes out at Abbas for not following her advice. but, intuitively, he knows that there is no sanctuary for his kind; no leeway, no looking the other way by immigration agents who know he is from another country. Filing a petition for asylum would be in vain, and double the heartbreak for all parties concerned. While Carole stands outsider her apartment, the fugitive overhears the cop's warning; his girlfriend could serve a five-year sentence for aiding and abetting illegal aliens. The cops know he's in there. They're giving her a break. People like Abbas and his two children don't get the same breaks. Regine, most likely, played informer and gave him up, but put in a good word for Carole, her favorite plants and flowers vendor. The family leaves. But how do they leave?
In 1995, filmmaker Matthew Kassovitz burned the house that Jacques Demy built in Paris down, with his debut feature film "La Haine", which announced to the world that France was not "The Umbrellas of Chenbourg" anymore. Catherine Deneuve has left the country. She would turn up five years later in Washington state, as a factory worker in Lars Von Trier's "Dancer in the Dark". France, Kassovitz announced to the world, belongs to people of all colors now. Vinz(Vincent Cassell), Hubert(Hubert Kounde) and Said(Said Taghamaoui) may be French nationals, but the wrong kind. Vinz(Vincent Cassell), called by an art gallery owner as being a symptom, synonymous with "the malaise of the ghetto", or in other words, proper French society's worst nightmare, talks about killing a cop, incessantly throughout the film, but they're wrong about him. In the end, Vinz hands the gun over to Hubert. A cop kills Vinz, albeit accidentally, but aren't accidents sometimes a subconscious projection of wish fulfillment? In "Une saison en France", Etienne(Bibi Tanga), Abbas' best friend, walks into a federal building with a backpack. He kneels; he sets the backpack down. A Muslim, so predictable, the audience is made to think; instead of returning to Central Africa, he's going to blow himself up and turn the people who would graffiti "migrants go home" near his burn-down shanty by the river, into collateral damage. But no, in protest, he self-immolates himself. Ettienne was a desperate man; he wanted to stay in France, by any means necessary. As it turns out, in a coffin. What about Abbas?
He has no future.
His children has no future.
Madeline, his dead wife, talks to him.
What do they talk about?
You are my mirror...
ziosam12 June 2019
I fear you, I fear your difference and yet who I truly fear is myself and those parts dormant in the unconscious. This film should be mandatory in schools for new generations to ask essential questions on human rights and the human race.
the jungle of Calais
Kirpianuscus6 June 2022
The jungle of Calais is the conclusion of this very powerful film about human rights, loneliness, love, fatherhood, lost of country and forms of weakness. A film about a father, his friend, his children, his girlfriend, his forbidden right to happiness. Not a case, but a reality. Not about two teachers from Centrafrican Republic but about all immigrants in E. U. and their strange status.
A film like a requisitorium.
Useful, not last for inspired acting.
A film like a requisitorium.
Useful, not last for inspired acting.
Illegal immigration
hof-42 June 2021
In recent years France (like other ex-colonial nations) began to understand that the wave of illegal immigration from Africa and Asia swamping Europe is due in large part to Europe's misdeeds during and after the colonial era. The result was a more open attitude towards refugees. Of course, other motivations included public relations and the need to import foreigners to do the jobs natives avoid. A similar situation: the US vis-à-vis Latin American countries.
Enjoying the "season in France" are Abbas, an African immigrant, his half-brother Etienne and his pre-adolescent children Asma and Yacine. They have been admitted in France temporarily as refugees and must now face the big hurdle, the application for permanent residence. They have fled their country of origin barely with their lives, and face the usual lot of the penniless immigrant: substandard and exploitative living conditions and menial jobs with drastic diminution of status; both Abbas and Etienne were teachers in their home country. The whole is compounded by their dark skin, which unlocks racism lying just below the surface and results in blaming immigrants for every crime in the book including terrorism.
Sandrine Bonnaire plays Polish immigrant Carole, Abbas' love interest. Carole had the same experience years ago but now has citizenship papers. Bonnaire, in her fifties has the same luminous screen presence of her youth and plays an engaging character; Carole is supportive, cheerful and full of resources. What Carole does is very brave; she faces a monstrous French law that threatens five years in jail and a fine of 30.000 euros for "assisting an illegal immigrant." The rest of the actors do a flawless job.
Chadian director Mahamat-Saleh Haroun has assembled an excellent movie out of these elements. It is simple (in the positive sense of the word) and to the point. It has many scenes full of magic such as the celebration of Carole's birthday by the whole family. Not to be missed.
Enjoying the "season in France" are Abbas, an African immigrant, his half-brother Etienne and his pre-adolescent children Asma and Yacine. They have been admitted in France temporarily as refugees and must now face the big hurdle, the application for permanent residence. They have fled their country of origin barely with their lives, and face the usual lot of the penniless immigrant: substandard and exploitative living conditions and menial jobs with drastic diminution of status; both Abbas and Etienne were teachers in their home country. The whole is compounded by their dark skin, which unlocks racism lying just below the surface and results in blaming immigrants for every crime in the book including terrorism.
Sandrine Bonnaire plays Polish immigrant Carole, Abbas' love interest. Carole had the same experience years ago but now has citizenship papers. Bonnaire, in her fifties has the same luminous screen presence of her youth and plays an engaging character; Carole is supportive, cheerful and full of resources. What Carole does is very brave; she faces a monstrous French law that threatens five years in jail and a fine of 30.000 euros for "assisting an illegal immigrant." The rest of the actors do a flawless job.
Chadian director Mahamat-Saleh Haroun has assembled an excellent movie out of these elements. It is simple (in the positive sense of the word) and to the point. It has many scenes full of magic such as the celebration of Carole's birthday by the whole family. Not to be missed.
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