ScreenNotes:
The Pan-African Festival of Algiers + Trances

African states that sought to throw off the yoke of colonial rule in the ‘60s did so by way of armed conflict. Europe did not give up the jewels of its overseas crown without military intervention. However, all over the dark continent, from Nigeria in the west to Kenya in the east, freedom fighters also drew up battle lines in the field of culture. The art, language, song, dance, and drama of the ex or soon to be ex-subjects of Britain, France, and Portugal played a major part in the birth of many new nations.

Two documentaries, William Klein’s The Pan-African Festival of Algiers and Ahmed El-Maanouni’s Trances make this point in no uncertain terms. The former saw the light of day in 1969 and the latter in 1981, but both works are predicated on a similar idea, namely the key role of creativity for any population marching on the long road to freedom. Music was a weapon at a time when there were more bullets than ballots.

Klein’s piece captures a pivotal event in modern black history. The Pan-African Festival of Algiers was a rallying point for African countries that either became independent in the ‘50s and ‘60s or were still engaged in combat with ruling foreign powers. The festival, for all its ecstatic concerts and processions, is cast against a backdrop of casualty and fatality, as many of the performers knew first hand the realities of colonial repression and the protracted warfare that brought it to an end.

Tellingly, there are interviews with the Frelimo Liberation Front of Mozambique about the ongoing struggle against the Portuguese. Furthermore, Klein intercuts archive footage of the horrific brutality inflicted upon the Congolese at the height of Belgian rule, from mutilation to summary execution, which is a sobering reminder of how European imperialists sought to subjugate what was thought to be an inferior race.

In fact, the gun, whether a wooden prop used by a South African theatre company or a rifle with live rounds fired by majestic Maghrebin horsemen as they engage in stylised displays of pageantry, captured by Klein in quite mesmerizing slow motion, is both aesthetic and functional. Culture had to be urgent, vital and revolutionary, otherwise it would not facilitate the demise of a dominant force that exerted control on all indigenous expression, from spoken and written word to ritual and customs.

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At first sight, Trances is less overtly political, dare one say subversive, than The Pan-African Festival of Algiers, but it nonetheless makes a strong statement on the power of music as a vehicle for strong individuals who believed in the ideal of democracy.

Iconic Moroccan band Nass Al-Ghiwane are the heart and soul of the film. The four-piece combo is seen in a wide variety of situations: concert, rehearsal, recording studio and on the streets of their native Casablanca, where the snapshots of poverty and beauty, above all the weathered but nonetheless ornate architecture and graceful attire of men and women of all ages, is presented in a matter of fact way that is all the more compelling for it. El-Maanouni’s candid shots of young girls making bread and grandmothers dancing irrepressibly into a state of trance are an absolute revelation. The nameless citizens on whom he trains his camera are as much a part of the sweep of history as the more famous musicians that are documented by the baying media.

Listen: Nass Al-Ghiwane

In that respect, Trances strikes a noteworthy parallel with The Pan-African Festival. Both films set great store by ‘street scenes’ fuelled by the spontaneous energy of the common people, le petit peuple, thronging squares and market places to hail the arrival of international artists in a dazzling Olympic Games-style parade, or wildly hollering for their local heroes in the pressure cooker ambiance of an open air gig. Then again, El-Maanouni creates an instructive context for Nass A- Ghiwane by showing the hypnotic, captivating gnawa rhythms and sufi poetry that have greatly inspired the group. Tradition and modernity entwine. Also intriguing is the fact that the group’s soloist, Allal Yaala plays the banjo as well as the oud, the short-necked luth whose haunting resonance is heard right across the Arab world.

To a certain extent that simple artistic decision has a noteworthy geo-political significance. Yaala adopted an instrument that is central to African-American culture and thus, by accident or design, made a direct connection with the African Diaspora. A device born of transatlantic slavery goes in the opposite direction. With uncanny symmetry, the finale of The Pan-African Festival sees jazz icon Archie Shepp and other African-Americans ‘coming home’ to Algiers to play with Tuareg musicians.

Solidarity and unity, in addition to resistance, thus permeate these two remarkable films. If one of the pillars of colonialism was a policy of divide and rule then the sight of Arabs, Africans, and African-Americans finding common ground and overcoming some of the sectarian barriers that have blocked the path to post-colonial harmony is another theme that decisively links both documentaries. When Nass Al-Ghiwane, a multi-ethnic ensemble, sing; ‘My brother, is black not as good as white?’ the band conveys a very powerful anti-racism message that is both specific and universal.

According to the prevalent terms of the day, The Pan-African Festival of Algiers was an ‘opera of the Third World’ while Trances chronicled ‘Morocco’s answer to the Rolling Stones.’ None of these summaries is appropriate, though the first recalls the patronising view the West had of wherever was not the West. On the contrary, each movie is a stunning portrait of populations that have an array of artforms from which their former rulers would do well to learn. In any case, when you hear the irrepressibly vibrant music in these films the last thing that might spring to mind is rock & roll.