The title of Timbuktu conjures both specific and symbolic meanings; it’s a city in Mali, where this drama is set; a city with a long and complex history. But it’s also long since passed into the English lexicon as a shorthand for distance; the exotic, even ridiculous, and the unimaginable. One of the great unwavering humanists of modern cinema, West African director Abderrahmane Sissako (Bamako, Life On Earth) uses his mastery to turn the unimaginable into something tangible and empathetic.
A penetrating portrait of the jihadist takeover of Mali in 2012, Sissako’s sharply observed but tenderly felt insights about fundamentalism reveal the initially farcical elements of fanatical rule. Multi-lingual jihadists bluster into town, banning smoking, soccer, music and uncovered women – all while hiding behind sand dunes to have a sneaky cigarette themselves. The locals resist with eye- rolling disbelief; like a man who, when discovered to be wearing the wrong length trousers, simply removes them completely.
But disbelief is a disarming force, one that can be taken advantage of so that there’s no chance for defiance - and the next stage is unhappy tolerance. So goes it for Mali villagers, who soon find their minor infractions of Shari’a law being punished by vicious lashings and stonings, which Sissako shoots subtly and emotively. However the jihadist captains are never utterly demonised either, as Sissako shows how their strict interpretation of scripture also denies them any individuality or self-realisation.
Sissako beautifully uses visual aids and colour to emphasize his themes; here the striking palettes of towns and characters contrast with the pale desert, bringing the vibrant human stories to the fore over the political and cultural landscapes.