Understanding the Caribbean of today through the trinidad+tobago film festival

This year, the UK celebrated 74 years since the beginning of the post-war commonwealth migration to Britain. The arrival of those known as the Windrush generation has left a remarkable and unmistakable mark on the societal and cultural makeup of the UK.

For example, the landscape of the culinary and music industries has changed dramatically since the migration. But upon reflection, I question whether the same can be said for film.

I am aware of some amazing festivals and pop-up cinemas which showcase Caribbean cinema, but it appears to me that contemporary films made in this region are not as available as one would expect given the past and present influence of the Caribbean community in the UK. Ongoing generations of now Black British filmmakers have made strides in creating spaces for themselves in the UK, but I was keen to explore for myself what filmmakers from the Caribbean are producing today and understand the current landscape of the film industry there. I figured that applying for FEDS International would be a fantastic way to learn more.

I was fortunate to secure a placement with the amazing team at the trinidad+tobago film festival (TTFF), headed by Director Mariel Brown. On one hand, as a recent FEDs graduate, I wanted to further my professional development by supporting the operations and event management side of the festival. On the other hand, I was keen to listen, learn and of course, watch.

The opening night had all the markers of any film festival. Held in Port of Spain’s IMAX cinema, there was a red carpet, a branded step and repeat board and some of the best and the brightest from the Caribbean film industry. Live coverage of the event by TTT (a television station) and an Instagram Live taking place meant that the entire island and those beyond it could participate in the festivities. For me, the night was fuelled by adrenaline. Partially because the festival environment is fast-paced and the team was up against an oncoming tropical wave, but mainly because the effects of jet lag meant that I was awake for 23 hours that day. Although tired by the end, the experience was a firm reminder that the exhibition space, and the challenges that come with it, is the perfect place to nurture professional development.

I continued my festival experience at NALIS (National Library and Information Service Authority). A special venue in my view, given that it is the national library for the nation of 1.4 million people and served those in attendance as it held industry workshops, panels and school screenings. What was impressive is that access to most events was free with registration. Provided there was space, walk-ins were also accepted.

Attached to Nalis is a beautiful amphitheatre with a capacity for approximately 400 people and an old fire station; the first being used for the outdoor cinema, Cinema Under the Stars, and the second hosting industry events and mixers. Although the use of the old fire station is both a logical and practical use of the space, I think the repurposing of a colonial building for a festival which this year was tasked to focus on maintaining the heritage of a republican nation, and to bring that forward to future generations, is sobering yet empowering. The use of space as an additional contextual layer is common for community festivals and continues to be a feature that I truly adore.

Cinema Under the Stars was a personal highlight for me. Held over the weekend, the warm breeze and the calming sounds of the urban wildlife acted as the perfect setting to welcome everyone in.

Across the three titles screening — Chee$e, Studio 17: The Lost Reggae Tapes and One Hand Don’t Clap — I saw a wide spectrum of the Trinbagonian community. From young to old, with guests feeling free to laugh, as the locals would say — lime (hang out) and sing along to songs by legendary artists such as Calypso Rose.

My trip to TTFF took place at an important time for the country. On 24 September, the nation reached its 60th year as a republican state. I was also visiting at the time the new financial budget was published in the country and, similarly to us in the UK, it was clear that the cost of living for your average Trinbagonian would be increasing. With both in mind, it made sense to me that the theme for the festival this year was #seeyuhself; an exploration of what it is to be from Trinidad and Tobago, what it is to be Caribbean today and a look into what tomorrow could bring. In a panel discussing this exact notion, it was said that seeing yourself was about defining your own stories on your own terms and not having someone else do it.

In a nation that is approximately 40% African, 40% East Asian, 18% Mixed background and 2% Other, representation (i.e. seeing someone that both looks and sounds like you) is important, but seeing a multidimensional depiction of said groups is valued more than having a 2D shell on screen.

The idea of not having others tell you your own stories was not lost on me as a guest who had observed the monopoly that the neighbouring entertainment giant — the USA — held on local programming.

The #seeyuhself concept was perfectly portrayed in the programme in several ways but most notably through the Banyan retrospective.  Banyan Productions created local film and television content in the 1970s which represented everyday life in the Caribbean and lived and breathed the idea of ‘for us, by us’. As locals came in and spoke fondly of the memories they held of the pioneering productions, it was clear to me that today’s filmmakers and creatives alike are looking to re-capture the same essence of independence and innovation as their forebears. With TTFF in its 17th edition, talent and ambition for the industry is present, but as a young nation the structure to accommodate and project that further is not where it needs to be.

I met some who felt that the funding and gatekeeping that goes alongside it is what is killing creative content from being produced and distributed to audiences. Accessing funding through local government or through sponsorships can easily be tied to political agendas and navigating these makes it difficult for the industry to grow.

Despite the very real challenges, I am of the view the spirit of Banyan was and continues to be reflected through the festival team. With a small core, I saw members with notable talent given the responsibility and freedom to exercise their creative license. With access to those further along in their careers, who genuinely seemed invested in them, I can see that when watered there is only room for growth. Observing this dynamic made me assess the opportunities I have, to ‘show up’ in my working life, and think about how in the absence of this I could create an opening for myself.

I would like to thank, Mariel, Mikayla, Kamille and the entire TTFF team for making me feel so welcome. I plan to keep in touch and hope to work with them again soon.

I shall end by saying that my FEDS International experience encouraged me to be bold in going for what I want. I am not guaranteed to gain access to all spaces, but my time in Trinidad reminded me of the value in experiences. These enable one to self-criticise, develop a true understanding of your skills and truly #seeyuhself.

All pictures taken by Patrice Robinson.

FEDS International is supported by The British Council.

*Photo: Taken by Patrice Robinson

Nurturing Reciprocity in African Film

Last December, I attended the ICO Archive Screening Days, which hosted a rich programme of archival work from across the globe.

After an eventful morning, I decided to sit in on the screening of Maangamizi: The Ancient One.

The film stood out to me initially because it explored the individual and collective experiences of its leading African women.

I naïvely thought that I would watch a unique and enjoyable title that could be a refreshing and welcome suggestion for programming. Once the lights lowered and the film began, I was unknowingly entering into an experience which challenged me to reflect more on my understanding of my own identity and what it means to be a child of the African diaspora.

The film follows a growing mutual understanding between Samehe, a patient in a mental health hospital in Tanzania and Asira, a Black American doctor who has taken up a residency there. I was struck by the reciprocity between these two characters.

The approach taken to the interaction between Samehe and Asira is not derived from a colonial mindset. This is not a story of a diasporan returning to Africa to assert dominance or to reject traditional practices (in a way that Song of Freedom (1936) leans into this narrative); nor is it a cliché story of a descendent who is spiritually lost and is seeking validation from a culture relatively unknown to them. What it is, is a portrayal of two women who have a solid foundation in their idea of what it is to be Black or to be African.

Although having different understandings of what it is to heal/ process trauma, both are able and willing to ‘gift’ each other by being open to learning and experiencing the practices of the other in a non-exploitative way. To me, this film is a beautiful demonstration of acceptance, balance and of some semblance of self-actualisation.

As a Black British person of African descent, seeing this process on screen sat with me in a way that I do not think another film has done before. The harmonious use of both African spirituality and western alternative therapy felt natural and non-competitive.

I was forced to question the impact of unreleased trauma on the mind, body and spirit and how that presents in those with competing identities. According to UK government statistics, in 2021, Black people were almost five times as likely as white people to be detained under the Mental Health Act – 344 detentions per 100,000 people, compared with 75 per 100,000 people. I wonder whether the amalgamation of African spirituality and western alternative therapy should be explored further in the management of mental health in the African diaspora. Perhaps this would help to destigmatise mental illness in Black communities.
I have since thought about how I maintain my own well-being and how I could lean into my past to feel satisfied in the present.

So, how can we in the industry mimic this shared sense of ‘gifting’ when exhibiting African films?

To explore this, the ‘restitution of African cinema’ should be discussed. Many retrospective African titles are recognised as not being an accurate representation of the cultural and political views of their time as the result of the industry being under foreign western rule. This was written into law in French colonies, for example, with legislation such as the Laval Decree (1934) banning Africans from making their own films.

Films that were made had a strong external influence and were heavily gate-kept. Despite this, and the potential promise of change, brought by the post-colonial 60s, many titles still remain unseen, locked away, often in imperial institutions and archival vaults, highlighting the enduring legacy of colonialism.

Nowadays, on the occasion that an opportunity to screen these films is made available, film hire is often levied at high prices which make it virtually impossible for many exhibitors to commit to doing so, despite their best intentions.

This serves as a reminder that within the Western film mainstream, one’s own Black talent is not one’s own. This dominant sense of Western entitlement is present because the Black/ African self is seen as a commodity.

Controlling access is an act aimed at silencing Black communities; it is a way of reinforcing and maintaining oppressive dominance. Conversely, the act of screening the hidden art of Black/ African filmmakers is a significant form of activism that amplifies the muted voices from the past and present. It is also a way to provide continental Africans and African diasporans a tangible space to communicate and understand one another, celebrate each other’s heritage, and heal.

Ajabu Ajabu, the audio-visual house, presenting Maangamizi: The Ancient One, explain that the economic value of a film is preserved by restricting its exhibition. “From the elusive festival circuit to enforced geo-blocking of streamers, the forged exclusivity of a film somehow deems it to be of higher regard. But when you make something (cultural documents) rare, what it gains in economic value, it loses in cultural value”.

Fortunately, Ajabu Ajabu has been able to contribute to the preservation of the cultural value of Maangamizi – which due to economic demands of distribution, initially lost its contact with local audiences.

What differentiates Maangamizi – is that the rights of the film were retained by its makers. As a result, the company can re-distribute the film and prioritise access as the authors intended by “making it available, through wide local distribution, making it accessible, through open and inclusive (re)interpretation and by making it communal, through intentional and engaging curation”.

Nurturing reciprocity in film can be achieved but one cannot dictate one’s own path whilst being restricted by the ideals and practices of another. The cherry-picking of ‘acceptable’ vs ‘non-acceptable’ Black cinema needs to end if we want to cultivate an industry with varied stories that stem directly from the communities they mean to represent.

For films to maximise reach; distributors, festivals, sales agents, exhibitors, marketers, press and audiences will also have to adjust to not prioritising stories from the western perspective. French film Happening opened in over three times as many venues in the UK with lifetime income approximately 7.8 times that of Chadian film, Lingui, The Sacred Bonds, when both received acclaim on the festival circuit and touch on the important and ever-relevant topic of abortion. With no information on marketing spend, I cannot comment further, but I question: Why would less venues book? Why is there decreased audience connection?

By returning ownership of African films to their creators, allowing African filmmakers to produce, preserve and distribute films as they see fit, equity can be established. Only then will the opportunity to create a reciprocal dynamic similar to that of our leading ladies Samehe and Asira, come to fruition.

Maangamizi: The Ancient One + ScreenTalk is screening at the Barbican on 31st July 2022 at 2.30pm.

This blog was originally posted on the Independent Cinema Office blog on 22nd July 2022

*Photo: Amandina Lihamba as Samehe in Maangamizi: The Ancient One

Community Cinema: Handing film back to the people

After a 15-month delay in starting due to the pandemic, I experienced several emotions prior to my placement as a FEDS trainee but mainly, there was excitement, anticipation, and relief.

I applied for a place on the scheme because I wanted to learn about and, in time, contribute to the reduction of a large gap that exists between film (the artform) and the audience. For a long time, in my opinion, impactful and meaningful film, created by those within underserved communities has been overlooked. If fortunate enough to gain attention, this work is then often consumed only by those with increased access, excluding large swathes of potential cinema-goers. I believe that effort needs to be made by everyone within the industry to ensure that we reach these underrepresented audiences.

As someone who has always worked within communities, I wanted to merge my love of film with my love of people. Being placed at the Barbican, I felt it important to seek opportunities to work in a way that aligns with my original motivation to start a career in the film industry.

Thankfully, in June I joined the fantastic cinema team who have been supportive of my learning and motivation. I was offered the opportunity to merge my two interests and work on Leytonstone Loves Film (LLF) – a community festival which hosts numerous local filmmakers and artists, using multiple venues in the Leytonstone area. LLF is organised in collaboration with the Barbican, whose curators add to the programme.

I worked two days, supporting the venue management of Leytonstone Library. The larger screenings took place in a theatre hidden at the back of the first floor. Upon first viewing the 1930’s Art Deco architecture, I wondered how many locals knew that this room existed? How many times outside of the festival was this stunning venue used for film screenings (or anything else)? How many other seemingly hidden community spaces could there be across the UK? Following this experience, the use of public spaces to hold screenings is something I’d like to explore further.

On the Thursday, the New Black Film Collective screened Looking for Love by the late Menelik Shabazz. I spoke to a regular customer about what brought him there. He said that he hadn’t known that the event was taking place but saw the signage and attended the event the previous night. He liked that the screenings were interesting, free and close to home. This inspired him to re-attend, despite him not being familiar with the content. It was not lost on me that the ease and accessibility of events was what encouraged this customer to return and explore something new to him. The well-planned event which included an intro, the feature, a comedy set, and post-screening Q&A is what kept him planted firmly in his seat.

On the Saturday, there was lots to get involved in. I was excited by the buzz created when the audiences arrived in anticipation of each screening. From children making a beeline for the popcorn, to the poignant silences experienced during the screening of shorts such as Lana Kaiser (2020).

My highlight of the day was the Family Film Club ran by Sign for All Community. Led by Irina Drytchak, the company aims to ensure that access and awareness for D/deaf families is provided. The subtitled screening of Ernest & Celestine was thoroughly enjoyed by the audience, made up of both hard-of-hearing and hearing families.

I learnt that clear face masks, labels next to refreshments, the provision of a British Sign Language Interpreter and the support of those who have knowledge of bridging the gap between hearing and hard of hearing audiences, is important to running an accessible event. I began to consider the benefit of larger exhibitors being involved in community cinema, and how they could make better links via co-curated events such as LLF. When talking to a Barbican curator who programmed films for the event, they raised the point that festivals such as LLF allow the Barbican to showcase films that are very hard to see in the UK, outside of places like the Barbican, for free. Such collaborations appear to be mutually beneficial in part; larger establishments act as an access portal, which may support smaller collectives in achieving increased sustainability. The other party is able to increase their reach to local communities and establish communication in ways not done before.

From my experience at LLF, I found that audiences seemed divided in their attendance patterns. On the one hand, I noticed that the option to ‘drop in’ to events was popular. It indicated that some festival goers were more spontaneous with their choices. On the other hand, customer drop-off rates from advance bookings were higher than expected. Fears around COVID-19 could have been a factor in this. Thankfully, one balanced out the other.

Working at LLF reminded me that underrepresented audiences of all types are very interested in engaging with film; it is the industry that needs to do better in removing barriers to accessing it. Having content primarily curated by locals makes film appear less elitist. I have seen first-hand that community organisations often have strong and well-established audiences that can be tapped into, if given respect and the appropriate care. Events at LLF that were run by well-known community groups had high attendance rates, with audiences engaging with those they knew and trusted. Moving forwards, I’m encouraged to learn more about what outreach I can do to develop relationships with communities.

This blog was originally posted on the Independent Cinema Office Blog on December 2nd 2021.

Photograph taken by Patrice Robinson.