The first sign that THE FENCE is going to be a bumpy ride occurs in the opening seconds, when we’re informed that the setting is “A Construction Site in West Africa.” After all, shouldn’t the mise-en-scène make it clear that we’re at a construction site? In fact, it soon does—and the entire movie goes on to take place at this site, in case we couldn’t figure things out. And the “West Africa” part? Well, yes, we’re aware the location is Africa because the only person in the shot is... an African woman in traditional African garb.
The inclusion of West is no doubt supposed to lend a touch of specificity, but overall the plan seems to be to preserve a kind of generic sheen over the proceedings—this is undifferentiated Africa as the so-called “dark continent” despite the presence of the naïve, greedy, and murderous white people that the story centers. That is, although THE FENCE was apparently shot in Senegal, it’s never mentioned by name, and presumably the same is true of the source material (a play, as you’ll quickly surmise from all the staginess). Let’s assume that the intention is to underscore that exploitation by Western economic forces is not exclusive to any one nation; however, the result is an oddly ungrounded narrative that embarrassingly others Africa and Africans as assuredly as a Hollywood pic from a century ago. Aside from a kind of mytho-psychological dream sequence in the first few minutes, none of the African characters are given much to say or do for the entire movie—despite the fact that Isaach De Bankolé is top-billed. Instead, they are shot in shadows and treated mostly as an undifferentiated mass rather than individuals; the script gets away with this (or thinks that it does) by emphasizing their dignity, quiet strength, and of course the multitude of crimes committed against them by whites.
Leaving aside the numerous instances of poor writing and directing in THE FENCE—all the awkward dialogue awkwardly delivered—it’s odd to see this film presented in the same NYFF lineup as Pedro Pinho’s remarkable I ONLY REST IN THE STORM. Both films concern neocolonialism in West Africa with a focus on a massive engineering project. Yet I ONLY REST IN THE STORM not only specifies its setting as Guinea-Bissau but drills down into that specificity as it explores cultural, geographical, and economic differences within that country and rarely does so in a way that feels didactic or forced. On the contrary, by simply showing how people live and work and play and love, Pinho achieves moments of deeper, more affecting drama than Clair Denis does with all of her Sturm und Drang contrivances. To be fair, I ONLY REST IN THE STORM has been accused of featuring the “European gaze,” but I’d argue that not only is this inevitable given its fish-out-of-water narrative premise, but it’s also largely mitigated by the film’s own self-critique in this regard. Indeed, the Portuguese protagonist is often absent from scenes, and in many others he simply functions as a Dr. Zhivago-like observer of events around him, a stand-in for the passive audience that is both enthralled by the action and simply trying to make sense of much of it.
If I ONLY REST IN THE STORM is itself just another example of neocolonialism—the product in question being a film for export in the form of festivals and distribution—then at least it functions as a kind of bridge to a world beyond the same old global North-South dynamic. To put it simplistically, I ONLY REST IN THE STORM has the power to prompt audiences to visit Guinea-Bissau or other nations of the region, or at least learn more about them. THE FENCE, on the other hand, might make you hesitate to enter a movie theater for a while.
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