BEHIND BORDERLINES PART II

These 2 photos below were meant to be the last 2 of the previous post. Due to Google's New Blogger, however, which only allowed me to upload those 6 and no more at a time, and then would not allow me to reshuffle the images as I prefered; and Telkom's dial-up rates, which would render me bankrupt if I did this all over again, you may think I have no sense of narrative, but that would be a misconception ...


Mielie
This was lunch on the day Khaya’s mother, Thandi, flew in from Gauteng to East London and drove 40 minutes to the Kei River to meet with us to answer questions that have been clouding her daughter’s mind for years. Lunch cost R20-00 for four people.



The Last Supper
Doing their bit to perpetuate stereotypes of black South Africans, neither Khaya, nor Ndumiso had eaten Sushi before. When Karen-kazi and I fantasized about Sushi on our trip (most of our meals were restricted to pizzas, burgers, or some form of chicken in the former Transkei), Khayakazi and Ndumiso were intrigued and inspired to taste this delicacy for themselves. We found a place when we were back in civilisation (Port Elizabeth) and initiated them. They were won-over and have sworn that they will make Sushi a regular experience of their (relatively) big city-life in Cape Town. … Another stereotype on shaky legs.

BEHIND BORDERLINES

Kei River
The mighty Kei River that served as the border between South Africa and the pseudo-state, Transkei, from 1976 – 1994. We spent a number of hours at this river, at the former border posts, interrogating Khaya’s, her parents’, and the government’s pasts.

Old Kei Crossing
An old bridge over the Kei River, or, as we were known to say, Bridge over the River Kwaai! We spotted numerous rusty bridges through the former Transkei.

Crew at Kei River
That’s Khayakazi (co-director and protagonist), Ndumiso (ears), and Karen-kazi (eyes) standing on the new bridge over the River Kei.

Directors and Sound at Kei River
That’s Khayakazi (co-director and protagonist), Ndumiso (ears), and Tina-Sonke (director) on the new bridge over the River Kei.

Khaya and Locals
That’s Khaya sitting in the long grass, chatting with the people who (wo)manned the tourist information centre at the Kei River. The huge billboard (the message of which no-one could explain to us) in the background is testament to Vodacom’s ubiquity and puts paid to any ideas that this idyllic green land, carefully framed by Karen-kazi, is untouched by humankind.


Khaya Points
Khayakazi at the tourist information centre.

BORDERLINES

Borderlines, is a 48 minute documentary that Free Range Films is producing for the SABC. Borderlines follows Khayakazi Soldati as she returns to the former Transkei in the Eastern Cape to uncover the past she feels her parents hid from her. Khaya feels guilty that she knew neither about apartheid nor about the war her compatriots were waging against the apartheid government in South Africa while she was growing up within the lap of the former homeland luxury.

We learnt interesting facts about the Transkei, about life within the borders, and about the absurdity of men playing for power. One such absurdity was that in a newspaper interview, the first prime minister of the Transkei and second president, Kaizer Matanzima, when asked about the Transkei’s relationship with the Ciskei (another homeland created by the apartheid boys in the Eastern Cape), explained that the Ciskei was simply another ploy by the South African white boys to keep black people separate, and that the Ciskei was rightfully a part of the Transkei, and should not attempt to play at being a sovereign state.

As we were telling the story of the old Transkei, I insisted that Khaya find us an old flag for our story. She began her research in December 2006, we started filming at the end of January 2007; it is now the middle of February 2007, we have completed filming, and a flag is yet to surface. The custodians of the past let that one slip. I do however, wonder, if the slip was meant to be the final subversive act of rejection of the idea of separate development.

Of course, separate development lives on in South Africa, despite what all the nation building lifestyle adverts tell us. But in a small enclave of a VW Sharan, hired for our trip, South Africa found a bubble of integration. This comic strip featured below depicts some of the in-jokes of Team Kazi. The comic was created by Karen Landsberg, camera person on the shoot. Let it be known that Karen demands the DOP credit on the film (see frame 9 of the comic), but we will study her shots before we agree to elevate her to this esteemed position.

Thanks to all for their spirit and for their openness!

CLICK ON EACH IMAGE FOR BETTER LEGIBILITY:

THE DEPARTED By Martin Scorsese

This will come as a surprise to many: I am not a Martin Scorsese fan; not because I don’t like his work, but because I don’t know his work. Gangs of New York, Mean Streets, Raging Bull, Taxi Driver (which I’ve always wanted to see), The Aviator; when everyone talks about them, I listen. I have seen Casino.

Anyway, today I saw his latest offering, The Departed. There’s a lot of talk about how his time has come for an Oscar, and I clearly could neither agree nor disagree. I did hear that The Departed is based on an earlier film called Infernal Affairs, which sounds like an affair that goes on and on, and that gets more complicated the longer it drags.

Why is The Departed so titled. Is it a reference to Leonardo de Cappuccino’s character’s departed family? Or is it because … dare I give the film away? Both references seem equally plausible to me, but I will not discuss the latter, lest any of you have not yet seen the film. It’s Cappuccino’s departed family, the males really, whose cross he now bears, whose reputations precede him and determine the job he is assigned as a new policeman, who has actually failed the academy.

The Departed is extremely well-told; I know this because the 150 minutes seemed to go by quite quickly, despite the urgency of my pressing bladder. I was extremely tense throughout the film, firstly because the air-conditioner was set to somewhere around 17˚ Celsius and I tensed my muscles to conserve as much heat as possible, and secondly because there was a lot of point blank shooting in the forehead going on. Cappuccino was taking many pills to deal with this in-the-face violence, and I started to wonder whether viewers needed to go for post traumatic stress counselling, too. I guess loads of up close and personal shooting is a sure-fire (!) way to create tension and keep your audience on the edge of their seats, so I will not condemn Scorsese for using a sure fire technique. Tried and tested …

I warmed to Cappuccino’s character. Not just because he’s the good guy, but his character was real. Reviewers have mentioned his growth, but I can’t get past What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, it’s just that that was the first time I saw him, and I was impressed. And after that he seemed to only play standard heroes, which was really boring. His character has more depth here than in Titanic, which I put myself through one night when it was on tv. (an aside: I don’t think Cappuccino will age well.)

Matt Damon on the other hand, wasn’t convincing. He was so obviously the bad guy, I felt like he was acting. He was so obviously duplicitous, I couldn’t understand how no-one else around him couldn’t see that. I think his characterisation should have been more subtle, based purely on the storyline.

Mark Wahlberg, Alec Baldwin and the script were fun. Martin Sheen was warm and I was sorry his character didn’t go all the way. The gaping hole at the end of the story was: how did Marky Mark, in his plastic slippers, know???? And what was in the envelope? It felt like the director ran out of steam and thought, it’s a movie; they’ll know it’s just a movie, everything doesn’t have to make sense in the end. That’s okay when it’s a movie about ideas and about being clever, but this wasn’t one of those, so it truly felt like Scorsese was no longer interested in telling the story, nor in telling a good story. He must’ve been tired, and saying to himself, “If only this infernal affair would end.”