The Good Lie Review

‘If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.’ This African proverb surfaces as the final frame of The Good Lie, directed by Phillipe Falardeau, fades. It is a saying that can transcend through all walks of life, yet it is most poignant in this film, as it encapsulates a walk for life.

We follow a band of young Sudanese refugees, who trek from their homeland towards Kenya, across stretches of mostly dry terrain, in search of asylum. These are fictional characters embedded into a factual crisis. In 1983, political unrest fomented a Second Civil War in Sudan. The spine of the nation was ruptured, and this resulted in a long and violent conflict that saw many people perish, around two million. Amidst this horror, we observe a diminished tribe who trudge onwards to survive, a hope that preserves, despite numbers being clipped by rebel militia and incessant sickness.

Thirteen years after their arrival in the Kakuma refugee camp in Kenya, the four who evaded capture, disease and starvation, Mamere (Arnold Oceng), Jeremiah (Ger Duany), Paul (Emmanuel Jal) and Abital (Kuoth Wiel), are granted a passport to the United States. However, as they fly into the Land of Liberty, the three men are forced into an emotional farewell, as they are separated from their ‘sister’, Abital.

The three ‘brothers’ are then homed in Kansas City, Missouri, which is when Employment Agent, Carrie Davis (Reese Witherspoon), carrying an air of insouciance, enters their lives. From hereon in, although attempts to adjust are made, the ‘Lost Boys of Sudan’ find themselves in maintaining their own culture and values on foreign soil.

The first third of The Good Lie is terrific. South Africa doubles for Sudan and its expansive aestheticism is strikingly realised through the lens. The irony of the landscape’s beauty is that it plays host to brutality, terror and threat, always suggested and never explicit. The African Queen is nodded to early on, with the militia take-over of the Sudanese village, reminiscent of the German infiltration of the mission village in John Huston’s seminal classic. A sequence involving dead bodies floating in a stream, along with a Nyatiti, a Kenyan instrument traditionally played at funerals, is the most harrowing. The opening half hour is gripping and taut in its exhibition of innocence ambushed by chaos.

The trouble is as soon as Mamere and friends arrive in America, the grip slackens. Of course it is interesting to see their adaptation to a First World country, and the humour derived from such experiences as their reaction to McDonald’s. It is also wonderful to see Jeremiah’s alienation towards food wastage, a concept we can all agree with. Witherspoon’s Carrie and the underused Corey Stoll as Jack, too play a vital part in developing an understanding of the social milieu of the three former children of war. There is just a slight tonal imbalance that provokes certain parts of the American section to stumble. Having said this, at least the film drives in a natural direction, avoiding potholes of mawkish sentimentality.

The Good Lie is an authentic account, propelled by three appealing male leads, two of whom, Ger Duany and Emmanuel Jal, were born into the infliction of the Sudanese Civil War. It is a heart-warming tale of a terrible crisis, translated into a good film that loses its stride in periods, but regains its pace soon after. Well worth a cinema ticket.

Force Majeure Review

A film with chills and thrills accompanied by a fresh air of humour 

Force Majeure: a term designated to someone who, due to unforeseeable circumstances, is unable to fulfil a contract. It can also be defined as an irresistible compulsion or from its translation, a superior strength.

All of these interpretations are intrinsic to this fascinating, yet rather unnerving drama/comedy from Swedish director Ruben Östlund, which focuses on a family holidaying in the French Alps. On the surface, they exude a conventional and relatable dynamic; however, the frost soon bites when an avalanche disrupts their vacation, inciting pain and suffering, without actually hitting anybody.

The family of four consists of lead characters, Tomas (Johannes Kuhnke) and Ebba (Lisa Loven Kongsli), as well as their two young children, Harry and Vera, whose roles primarily involve inhabiting the habitual child-on-a-holiday stereotype; wake-up, complain, brief excitement quelled by ennui, complain louder, go to bed. From the outset, intrusive, lingering camera shots, as well as the recurring explosion of Vivaldi’s Summer Concerto, appear to presage an impending incident. This, of course, transpires to be the avalanche. Tomas, Ebba and their offspring witness this natural occurrence from a restaurant terrace, yet as the initially ‘controlled’ deluge of snow rages towards them, a moment of impulse drives Tomas away from his loved ones. This establishes the film’s conflict and unstitches domestic wounds that proceed to bleed uncontrollably.

The motive of Force Majeure is to trip up a husband a wife on a ski trip, yet more acutely it is to expose the minutiae of psychological issues buzzing in and around a partnership, skewed by Tomas’s irresistible compulsion. Neither Tomas nor Ebba can agree on the former’s reaction to the avalanche, thus their marriage is affected by this, triggering alterations and altercations in their interpersonal behaviour. Sounds serious? I assure you, Force Majeure is a tour-de-force with flashes of farce. Awkward, cringe-worthy comedy defrosts the tension, an example being a twenty-something party-goer informing Tomas that her friend thinks he is the best looking man in sight, then reappearing moments later to update him that she got him confused with someone else. This is where Östlund’s film strides towards its peak. It is at its most comfortable in its uncomfortable stages.

Force Majeure did wonders domestically, clearing up at the Swedish Oscars (the Guldbagge Awards), and it has been embraced by critics and audiences alike. It is an invasively observed tale that pries into a marriage and gleefully deconstructs a man’s masculinity. We are essentially the nosy neighbours to this.