Being a member of a diasporic identity is a life full of dichotomies and questions. While I greatly treasure my culture, one borne of displacement, enslavement, and war that has blossomed into something unique and beautiful, there are lingering questions in the back of my mind. Sometimes, I wonder what my life would be like if the world never knew the atrocities that directly led to my existence. Would I have a stronger connection to the Taínos indigenous to the island? Would I concretely know what part of Africa my ancestors resided in? My past is full of blurs and redactions, and I will never fully know the answers. Bantú Mama is a film that wrestles with these questions, but instead of wallowing in the tragedies of the past and present, it seeks to look to the future. It builds bridges between different identities and walks of life and reinforces the love and community that will always be vital to our survival, no matter where we come from or where we go.
Bantú Mama follows Emma (Clarisse Albrecht), a French-Cameroonian woman who is arrested in the Dominican Republic for drug smuggling. She escapes and finds refuge with three young children who live in a troubled sector within the capital city of Santo Domingo: oldest brother $hulo (Arturo Perez), middle child and only sister T.I.N.A (Scarlet Reyes), and youngest brother Cuki (Euris Javiel). What follows is a tender exploration of how these strangers united by happenstance explore each others’ cultures and bask in the similarities while celebrating their differences.
Emma slowly fills in the void left by the lack of parental authority. She allows the children a small respite from their responsibilities, as they were forced to grow up too much and too fast to contend with a lifetime of poverty. She gives them the space to broaden their minds and experiences with the world around them. Emma teaches them about African traditions and the common roots that bind them. In turn, they help her, sharing their own traditions and allowing themselves to be vulnerable with her.
With a runtime of 77 minutes, the film moves quickly. Unfortunately, this is to the film’s detriment. Emma is a stranger, and it makes sense that the children might initially hold her at an arm’s distance. However, it feels that the film keeps the audience equally distant from its characters. While the core cast has great chemistry with each other, there’s a lack of scenes that fully flesh out how their bonds grow ever closer. Each child gets about one scene with Emma that displays the relationship she develops with them. Emma and Cuki grow especially close, as he’s the youngest and most inquisitive about all she can teach him. But these scenes almost feel like they cut away too soon, too jarring to have a relaxed, episodic feel to them. There’s a hesitancy throughout the film, as if it’s almost scared to delve deeper into the different stories on display, to give us an even closer look at a people so rarely depicted realistically on film.
Bantú Mama must walk a fine line between finding the beauty hidden in the difficult stories it gives us access to and refusing to fall into the stereotypes inherent in films about this part of the world. The cinematography is at times dreamy and inviting, full of lush greens and blues of the waterways and greenery. Other times, it’s harsh and almost too bright to look at, like the sun itself, highlighting Santo Domingo realistically but not fetishizing the impoverished circumstances.
Director and screenwriter Ivan Herrera, alongside Albrecht, who also co-wrote the film, imbue it with deeply personal meaning. Herrera is Dominican while Albrecht is French and Cameroonian. They seek to explore the connections between Afro-Europeans and Afro-Caribbeans. The result is a film that is equal parts arresting and frustrating. It fails to fully take advantage of its potential. Its brevity causes it to rocket past elements that could easily elevate the quality of the overall story if it took the time to breathe and sit with the characters. Bantú Mama is made with love and tenderness, and is a rare instance where a film could easily be double its length, and all the better for it.
Bantú Mama has a lot to say with not enough time to say it. Despite this, the film is still a rewarding watch. It’s loving and hopeful, showcasing the resiliency of the African diaspora with an almost magical touch. It celebrates Dominican culture, in ways both big and small, from the sizzling of onions and tomatoes in a beaten-up pot to the pounding dembow music propelling the youth through the streets they love to the ways the sun shines on cheeks of all different shades and colors. Bantú Mama, most impressively, ends in a place of hope. It’s uplifting, even with its stumbles. It binds together the Caribbean and Africa to weave a new kind of myth, one that fiercely loves its roots while eagerly looking to grow into something new.
