By Didi Cheeka “Faster, Quentin! Thrill! Thrill!” This is how film critic, Roger Ebert titles his review of Quentin Tarantino’s newest film, Django Unchained. Tarantino, according to Ebert is “a student and champion of exploitation films. He digests their elements and reforms them at the
Following a successful tour to two memorial sites in Bristol UK (The Georgian House Museum; Greenbank Cemetery and ‘the Bearpit’) in October for Black History Month, and contributing to the Journey to Justice Bristol programme between August and October 2017, Daughters of Igbo Woman will
By Dare Dan If we take Bela Tarr’s Dancing in the Pub as an exciting encounter with silence, then Akin Omotoso’s A Hotel Called Memory, is lacking in that —it’s an outright absurd entry into silence. Early on, we are presented with memory as being
By Dare Dan. Two young men, a beautiful lady, and a little girl are among a throng heading for the big city from a countryside in South Africa. Every one of them in the train has a score to settle with the city of Johannesburg.
By Didi Cheeka When a director dies, Flaherty says, he becomes a photographer. Biyi Bandele’s direction of Half Of A Yellow Sun reveal the filmmaker’s conception of film as a purely pictorial medium. It is not. I do not mean, with the opening sentence, an
CINDERELLA STORY OR MODERN DAY “HOTTENTOT VENUS’? (Critical Thoughts on Waris Dirie’s Desert Flower)
By Didi Cheeka The cover photography speaks volume: bust shot of a Black woman, contrasting her snow-white head-scarf and blouse to her deliberately-emphasized blackness. It is a shot of Waris Dirie on the front cover of the autobiographical novel Desert Flower (seemingly co-authored with Cathleen
by Didi Cheeka Where does history begin? And when is memory born? Memory, all too often, is born with that event in people’s lives that serves as a watershed by which all other events are measured. And then people acquire new identities: victims, survivors, perpetrators.
A Review of Alain Gomis’ Felicité By Didi Cheeka Félicité, by Alain Gomis, is too long and, for the most part, really quite boring. Between participating in screenings and conversations at Critics’ Week Berlin and German African Foundation, reediting digitized footage at Arsenal Film Institute,