Steve Erickson
Med Hondo made the cinema he wanted to see. His 1979 manifesto “What Is the Cinema For Us?” cries out against the worldwide dominance of Hollywood, marginalizing African and Arab perspectives. In all caps, he writes, “WE MUST CHANGE THE HUMILIATING RELATION BETWEEN DOMINATING AND DOMINATED, BETWEEN MASTERS AND SLAVES.” His work lays out the hypocrisy of decolonization and the continuing exploitation of Black immigrants. Hondo himself, born in Morocco to Mauritanian and Senegalese parents, knew the latter firsthand. It became the subject of his debut feature Soleil O. With more resources, he returned to some of the same themes in musical form with West Indies: The Fugitive Slaves of Liberty, now in re-release in America.
West Indies is unsparing in its critique of France’s control over the Caribbean. While the white businessmen and priest who appear throughout may be safe targets, Hondo’s anger is directed as much at Black people who profit from colonialism and allow themselves to be used as tokens. He tried to turn the pleasures of the musical into a politically radical form. Hondo even attempted to get West Indies produced by American studios, although any resulting film would have been unimaginably compromised.
Based on Daniel Boukman’s 1971 play Les Negriers, West Indies was shot on a single set. Hondo transformed an abandoned factory in Paris – quite thematically appropriate – into a space that keeps changing, but never leaves behind its origins as a slave ship (even when sporting a “Liberté Egalité Fraternité” banner). The film is not suited to linear plot summary. It makes vast leaps of time, spanning centuries with a simple camera movement. Five powerful people discuss their plan to encourage Black Caribbeans in French colonies to leave them. Present-day politics, in which a Black man can become a dictator propped up by the French, never seem far removed from the founding of slavery in the Caribbean during the 1600s. The Caribbean is deprived of its resources so that France can profit from them, while its inhabitants are pressured to immigrate so they can labor as maids and sex workers. The constant camera movements create a sophisticated play with time and space.
West Indies avoids encouraging the audience to identify with any of its characters. They’re portrayed as archetypes who’ve recurred for centuries. White actors’ pastiness is enhanced by pale makeup. Two men urging Caribbeans to emigrate to France reappear in different costumes and makeup. Clearly, Hondo respects poor Black people much more, but he treats them as a chorus rather than pushing any to the forefront. The slaves’ perspective is spoken in a collective voice-over rather than a single person’s point of view. The style also reflects this; full of long shots taken from a dolly, it includes few close-ups. As Philip Concannon wrote in Sight & Sound, “He uses the design of the ship to heighten the power dynamics between different groups of people, with the figures representing politics, capitalism and the church sitting on their thrones and gazing down at the oppressed masses in the hold.”
Describing West Indies as a musical may be a little deceptive—no one should expect non-stop singing and dancing. Indeed, Hondo depicts the power of music as a sweetener for toxic ideology. The first full song serenades Caribbeans into abandoning their countries to emigrate to France. Another song resounds “Mother France, deprive me of freedom, but keep my belly full!” More ambiguously, the film includes several instrumentals in an orchestral funk vein that suggests ‘60s spy movies. The limits of the pleasure music offers, even as an expression of marginalized people’s experience, are unmistakable.
West Indies got a cursory U.S. release in 1985, six years after it was made, but it may have been better received here than it was in France. Since the World Cinema Foundation restored Soleil O and Criterion issued it on Blu-Ray, interest in Hondo has been growing. (Presumably, West Indies will make it to physical media and streaming later in 2024.) Out of his body of work, West Indies and the historical epic Sarraounia, set during an 1899 battle between Niger and France, offer a model for leftist takes on genre. (His 1994 thriller Black Light crept a little too close to the form’s conventions.)
Back in 1979, West Indies was the most expensive African film ever made, yet it deliberately avoids tying the colonial experience to a single country. It describes an unequal relationship between France and its colonies that defies successful rebellion. As much as it rages against French exploitation, the fact that it was shot in Paris seems fitting. Only the final song, a call for revolution across the Caribbean, expresses real joy and hope. Picking up where Soleil O’s “To be continued…” ending left off, it’s the only moment in the film which does so.
“West Indies” opens at Film Forum March 22nd, and a Hondo retrospective will play Anthology Film Archives from that date through April 2nd.
