African Horror

Saloum

The Bloodettes

Bonjour, habari, marḥaban, and hello, my dear demented, readers. October is speeding by a little too fast for my liking—my local mall is already cluttered with Christmas causticity—so let’s squeeze in another scary double while we still can. In my cinematic explorations, particularly of the horror genre, I have been taken all over the world. I really love seeing the haunted happenings and scary stylings that come from each corner of the world, and on this blog I’ve already explored horror films from Australia, South Korea, Japan, last week’s vampire selections took me to Greece, and this is to say nothing of the countless creepy films made in the convoluted US of A. I’m always trying to expand my celluloid horizons, so I felt it was time for my white ass to take a trip to Africa, and sample some of the horror films offered there. I am well aware of how broad, and therefore limiting, it is to frame this as an “African Horror” double feature, when there are 54 countries within the continent of Africa. I know it is unfair to have done Italian horror, German horror, French horror, and Spanish horror double features, rather than a general, all-inclusive “European horror” as I am about to do with Africa. Unfortunately, my options for horror made in Africa, by Africans were extremely minimal, and while tonight’s two films come specifically from Senegal and Cameroon, it felt more succinct to title this grouping as “African horror.” The film industry in Africa is as consistent and illustrious as any other—in fact, the cinema of Egypt and Tunisia are among the oldest in the world. Cinema came to Senegal as early as 1902 with the screening of L’arroseur arrose (The Sprinkler Sprinkled) in Dakar. French colonial authorities and missionaries would host occasional screenings during the colonial period, but when sound came to cinema in the late 1920s, the French colonizers—conscious of this art form’s influential powers—created a law to control its production, as well its exhibition in its colonies. In 1934, Pierre Laval signed a decree that required French government permission to shoot and show films in the colonies, and banned colonized people from filming themselves. This law was in effect until 1960, when the colonies became independent. Obviously, the first films made in Africa were incredibly racist and predatory, and showcased every evil stereotype of indigenous Africans that white men could dream up: Africans were depicted as cannibals, savages, Voodoo sorcerers, submissive, exoticized beings that were dehumanized and othered beyond belief. The 1960s was a time of revolution and evolution, and the film industry in Africa mirrored the growing resistance and independence of the colonies. Filmmaking was no longer a frivolous sport of the oppressors, it became an important political tool for correcting and reclaiming the image of Africa, for and by Africans themselves. Creators like Ousmane Sembene and Oumarou Ganda made it their mission to rectify the racist disinformation captured on camera by Westerners, and created films within and about Africa, in their own words. To quote Sembene in his 2005 seminar at Cannes, “I was gripped by a need to ‘discover’ Africa. Not just Senegal, but just about the entire continent… I became aware that I had to learn to make films if I really wanted to reach my people. A film can be seen and understood even by illiterate people—a book cannot speak to entire populations!” With the creation of the African film festival FESPACO (in today’s Burkina Faso) in 1969, the African film community created its own forum, which meets every 2 years. South Africa has become known as the financial and technological “super power” of the continent, but each region is putting their own stamp on the film world. Nigeria, which produces over 1,000 films a year, has become known as “Nollywood.” And Egypt, home of the annual Cairo International Film Festival, is one of the largest film industries across the Arab-speaking regions—with more than 4,000 films produced since 1896. But since these films have to compete with the massive and competitive Hollywood and Bollywood markets, films made in Africa are still largely underfunded and underseen. Horror film options specifically may be slim in Africa, but this ancient, mystical place is the cradle of humankind and the birthplace of oral storytelling itself—and it is also home to some of the coolest and most terrifying horror folklore I’ve ever heard of in my scary-story-loving life. So let’s dive in to two fascinating and freaky films from the deep and diverse world of African cinema.

Up first is a crime thriller that is also an emotional, hypnotic, transcendent, supernatural tale, this is Jean Luc Herbulot’s 2021 film Saloum. Set in Senegal in 2003, and incorporating a blend of French, Wolof, and sign language, Saloum follows a mythic trio of mercenaries known as “the Hyenas of Bangui.” The film opens with an ominous quote: “revenge is like a river whose bottom is reached only when we drown.” The three elite mercenaries—Chaka (Yann Gael), Rafa (Roger Sallah), and Minuit (Mentor Ba)—are hired to extract Felix, a Mexican drug lord, from Bissau, Guinea-Bissau amid the 2003 coup d’état and take him to Dakar, Senegal in exchange for a briefcase full of gold. As they fly above the vast, arid landscape, they realize they’re running out of fuel, so they must land in a remote part of the Senegalese region of Sine-Saloum. Rafa and Minuit are hesitant to stop here, since Chaka is from the area and has nothing but traumatic memories, but Chaka assures them it is fine. They find refuge at an isolated resort called Baobab, where Chaka claims to know the owner, Omar. Omar doesn’t recognize him, but says they can stay there, in return for doing chores. The trio plus their drug lord, all pretending to be gold miners, begrudgingly agree, but Minuit—the wisest of the Hyenas—senses that the owner Omar is concealing something. At dinner with the other guests, we are introduced to Awa (Evelyne Ily), who is deaf and mute, and reveals to Chaka via sign language that she knows who they really are. Chaka convinces her to keep their secret, but the next night at dinner, Chaka not only blows the Hyena’s cover, but he reveals to Omar and the rest of the guests that he was once a child soldier, enslaved by Omar—then known as the merciless Colonel Remington. Before Omar can even react, Chaka shoots him, and before the rest of the table can react, a wave of demonic darkness begins to creep over the entirety of the resort. Rafa and Minuit realize that Chaka has planned this revenge plot from the beginning, but they don’t have time to be mad, because a cloud of shimmering, menacing, bug-like spirits descends upon this land and turns the night sky to blinding daylight. In an instant, Felix is coughing up blood, with no stab wounds or bullet holes to blame. Omar’s right hand man tells everyone they have to get inside, because it was Omar who acted as the guardian of the great, evil spirits of the land. And now that Omar is dead, there is nothing to stop the curse of the Gana Sira Bana to break free and wreak havoc across the entire Saloum Delta. These clusters of demons are unrelenting and very clever, and seem to know how to get into the heads of mortals. The Hyenas spring into action, fully embodying all of the legends and rumors about them being magical beings, to protect their fellow guests, and Saloum, as a whole. This film is immensely cool, to put it simply, and the three distinctly-dressed main characters couldn’t look any more badass and chic if they tried. There is an immediately-established comfort and ease to the pacing of this film, even though the story was completely unfamiliar to this viewer. To quote Richard Kuipers of Variety, Saloum “freely mixes and marries the cinematic languages of spaghetti Westerns, samurai dramas and classic monster movies to tell an exciting and distinctly African story.” Saloum is a wild, action-packed, genre-and-mind-bending horror spectacle of old-school demonic forces and new-world socio-political predicaments. I love when centuries-old fables combine with modern-day horror technology, and this film somehow achieves this, while also balancing a genuine suspense with a thoughtful and relevant criticism of the government.

Similarly critical of the government, but even more mind-bending and subversive, was tonight’s next film: Jean-Pierre Bekolo’s 2005 Afro-futuristic, sex-positive, sci-fi extravaganza called The Bloodettes (Les Saignantes) As a lover of weird girl cinema, sex-freak cinema, and generally all films concerning women conquering the horror genre, I was sucked into this movie and its supremely surreal vibes pretty immediately. The film periodically presents us with silent film-esque intertitles, and it opens with one of the best hooks in a film I’ve seen in awhile, “How can you make a science fiction film in a country that has no future?” We first hear the voice of a sex worker named Majolie (Adèle Ado), who says, “we were already in 2025 and nothing much had changed”—another psychic coincidental film connection on my part—and we witness her floating above a client in a sex swing of sorts. She dances and dazzles as she descends from the ceiling, clad in her armor of lingerie and makeup and nails. It’s a seemingly normal day for Majolie, until she returns from the bathroom, and finds her client suddenly dead. She rifles through the man’s things, gasping in horror as she reads “born in 1939??” off his license, and quickly learns that he was an important political leader in Cameroon. Panicked, Majolie calls her bestie, Chouchou (Dorylia Calmel), to come help dispose of this inconvenient corpse, as some really cool music begins to pulse in the background. After a few drinks together, these gals realize that they could potentially leverage this dead important person for their benefit, and at the very least, they can steal his car. So the two carry his body out of Majolie’s apartment and search for a good dumping spot, but there are several insane, trippy hurdles in their way. First, they forget the body on the street, which comes in handy when they’re randomly searched by the cops. But then when they finally do get the body into the trunk of their new car, they are thwarted by Majolie’s nosy neighbor. They eventually seduce a local, chainsaw-wielding butcher into chopping up the government official’s body, but he takes a bite out of the meat and realizes that it’s not prime rib. And just when I thought Majolie and Chouchou may actually lay low and protect themselves, they insert themselves further into the underbelly of their corrupt government’s schemes. The Bloodettes is a thrilling, unpredictable, suspenseful, stylish, hilarious, psychedelic, absurd, high-stakes but never distressing, lo-fi-futuristic-sci-fi sex-and-government-conspiracy-comedy odyssey that I couldn’t look away from. Though the camera follows Majolie and Chouchou’s bodies as curiously and erotically as possible, and the patriarchal evil forces in this story are constantly threatening to put our protagonists in danger, The Bloodettes is a consistently, thrillingly feminist film, one that offered up my favorite combination of legitimate cultural commentary and free-wheeling fun. I would be laughing at Majolie and Chouchou’s sloppy but ambitious hijinks one moment, then would have the wind knocked out of me by a beautiful piece of writing the next. Between the dry lightning over the skyline of Cameroon, the neon aesthetic of our electric main characters juxtaposed against the distinctly-drab presentation of the government workers, Jean-Pierre Bekolo crafted such a unique visual language in this film. But even in such a visibly-anxious and ever-changing film, the authentically sweet relationship between Majolie and Chouchou is what grounds it all, and kept me, as a viewer, glued to the screen. I was so obsessed with Majolie and Chouchou, and would watch 100 more stories of their shenanigans, and the whimsical ways in which they manage to survive in their chaotic environment. Their sex appeal is their weapon, and their ability to charm and distract and persuade is borderline vampiric. I loved the way Majolie and Chouchou dressed, the fact that they call each other “guy”, and the fact that their humor was steeped in a deep cynicism of the world around them. There are so many questions I have about this film—about the production process, the character designs, what certain words mean that Google couldn’t translate, about the cultural impact of a film like this—that I will likely never get concretely answered. There is unfortunately so little to learn about The Bloodettes from the internet, I feel as though I’d have to journey to Cameroon personally to find out everything I wanna know. This is the sad reality of a niche, international film viewer: we must go to great lengths to learn about, let alone view, the films we’re interested in. But films like The Bloodettes make the search well-worth it, and I was absolutely engrossed and blown away by this one. I’m not sure what I expected out of my first real foray into African cinema, but I didn’t necessarily expect these two films to be my favorite of my October-watches thus far—and they definitely are. Allow me to be the cringey white girl of the week to tell you that it is worth it to watch movies outside of your native tongue and culture and cinematic comfort zones. And while there is a wealth of films across Africa to explore, I highly recommend these two specific horror gems, if you’re looking for some not-so-scary but still thoroughly compelling mystical movies to watch. I better shut up before I start to sound like Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls, but I thank you for joining me on this exhibition into African cinema. Haunt ya later! ;)