There are many things you might categorise Grigris as. An economic allegory? A fable of paternal abandonment? A Chadian Saturday Night Fever?
A joint French-Chadian production helmed by the acclaimed Mahamet-Saleh Haroun (Bye-Bye Africa, A Screaming Man), Grigris has the multiplicity to carry all these things and more. Seen from the expressive eyes of the titular Grigris (Souleymane Démé), in one aspect, the film follows his attempts to become a dancer, despite a paralysed leg.
But in quite another, it’s a dark story of co-dependence. Outside the colourful club where Grigris is king, he’s subject to intense vulnerability. And when his step-father falls ill and medical bills roll in, Grigris is forced to start petrol smuggling in order to pay them.
Along the way, he meets the beautiful Mimi, whose own dream of becoming a model is failing to materialise, leading her to quite literally transform herself every night (wig and makeup – check), and turn tricks.
In short, Haroun’s central characters are disfigured by the pressures put upon them. And most interestingly, its semi-retribution comes not from success but from belonging, and the strength of familial, particularly paternal bonds.
Despite minimal dialogue, in Grigris gesture speaks volumes: a wave to a mother, a kiss on the shoulder, a wife lying by her dying husband. As if it would be immodest to do so, emotions go unarticulated, whilst ordinary talk – money, work and chores, take over. Emotions are sanctified, just like the empty stage where Grigris creates his juddering routines.
It’s this ability to say everything and nothing that makes Grigris remarkable. From its beautifully shot landscapes to its chiaroscuro shadows, the camera evokes more than needs to be stated. A tale of equal strength and weakness, bravery and apathy, and literal paralysis, Grigris truly needs to be seen to be appreciated.
4/5
Jess O’Kane, Online Editor
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