BADOU BOY (SENEGAL/1970/DJIBRIL DIOP MAMBÉTY)

Taking inspiration from the likes of Charlie Chaplin, legendary director Djibril Diop Mambéty’s debut film follows the exploits of a street urchin with the sobriquet Badou Boy. Constantly in trouble with the authorities, he spends a lot of his time on the run from them, ducking and diving through the narrow streets of the Dakar shanty towns as they struggle to keep up. Though his offences are mostly petty, it is his devil-may-care attitude which the cops appear to take umbrage with, and when the portlier of the two finally catches up with his playful archenemy, he relishes the moment, his hand clenched on the back of the boy’s trousers like a hawk’s talons on its prey. This, of course, is not the end of the mischief, as Badou Boy makes an effortless escape during a Marx Brothers-style imbroglio.

With few words, Mambéty creates a powerful character in Badou Boy, a quirky, rakish anti-hero whose problems are readily discernible, and his assertion that the film is somewhat autobiographical comes as no surprise. Shots last minutes without the protagonist uttering a single word, his mannerisms becoming the dialogue, while a soulful guitar-led soundtrack fills the silences with a sense of wistful nostalgia. Upon reflection, this could almost be an early blaxploitation movie, sharing elements of its style but not its hubris. Fans of this short feature should make sure to see Mambéty’s next film Touki Bouki, an ingenious, outlandish West African pastiche of Bonnie and Clyde and the French New Wave.

THE LITTLE GIRL WHO SOLD THE SUN (SENEGAL/1999/DJIBRIL DIOP MAMBÉTY)

Sili is a twelve-year-old paraplegic girl living a hand-to-mouth existence in downtown Dakar. Despite her physical disability, Sili is a tenacious, mature individual who is determined to make a life for herself selling Le Soleil, Senegal’s national newspaper. Though adults never doubt her resolve, her peers aren’t so accepting and often victimise her, knocking her to the ground. When a benevolent customer gives her 10,000 francs for all of her newspapers, she is stopped by a policeman who questions her sudden wealth. Frustrated, Sili marches him to the station where she successfully argues her case and even convinces the sergeant to free the agitated political prisoner they had detained at the start of the film. Though revitalised by this sudden surge of power, Sili keeps her head, remembering to give the money to her employers and even standing up against serious physical threats from rival vendors.

The film hangs on its effervescent lead character, whose indefatigable smile could very well be the sun of the title. Sili is constantly challenged in her occupational endeavours, particularly as this field of work is dominated by older, able-bodied males, but we never see her struggle or give up. It is clear that Mambéty’s message is one of unfettered optimism, but one can’t help thinking that the film would have benefited from more convincing obstacles. Nonetheless, The Little Girl Who Sold The Sun captivates and inspires, and those discouraged by more defeatist African films would do well to watch this short but sweet treasure.

TOUKI BOUKI (SENEGAL/1973/DJIBRIL DIOP MAMBÉTY)

Mory and Anta are star-crossed lovers, desperate to get away from the doldrums of their everyday lives in Dakar. Mory spends his time restlessly tearing around the city on his motorbike, adorned with the ominous skull of a cow, while university student Anta follows him almost wordlessly, her sexual ambiguity generating an aura of metropolitan mystique. Planning the right time to make an unencumbered escape, Mory begs, steals and borrows so the two can immerse themselves in the higher echelons of Senegalese society. Having nabbed the clothes and money of an effeminate businessman whom they had approached for help, the two jack his Americanised car, and plan to board a boat to France.

It’s a simple story, Mory and Anta essentially the valiant couple from every escapist movie, but there is much more to be experienced here. From a cinematic perspective, Touki Bouki is an enthralling mélange of many different filmic traditions. The jump-cuts of French New Wave and montages of early Soviet cinema show that director Djibril Diop Mambéty had certainly done his homework, but the film is no frail facsimile of these styles. Mambéty’s audio-visual idiolect engenders a sensation of impatience, the sounds of each scene overflowing into the one preceding it. A pompous exchange between Parisians demonstrates a cynicism for Western influence common to many African films, but for the most part the film is cheerfully optimistic about Mory and Anta’s goal. Hilarious, surreal and vivacious, Touki Bouki is a real gem aching to be sought out.