Alain Gomis' 'Felicite' Is A Kind Of Humanist, Vibrant Musical

The newly reopened Quad Cinema’s upcoming retrospective “The Whole World Sings: International Musicals” aims to challenge established notion about that genre is exclusively an extension of the classical Hollywood tradition. Is it possible, then, to consider a film such as Alain Gomis’ “Félicité” — making its North American debut at TIFF — a musical? The film may not fit the genre blueprint in a Broadway sense, but the feeling in the soundtrack are nonetheless tangible and Félicité’s ability (or inability) to perform defines the film’s parabolic emotional arc. Even if the genre label might be categorically dismissed, every frame of “Félicité” vibrates to the rhythms of the streets of Kinshasa and makes a case for the vitality of music in Congolese cinema.

Gomis’ latest film orbits around its heroine of the same name (Véro Tshanda Beya Mputu), a single mother who makes a living as a nightclub singer in the capital of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Félicité’s life takes a complicated turn when her son Samo (Gaetan Claudia) is critically injured in a motorcycle accident. Like “High Noon” or “Two Days, One Night,” she is forced to swallow her pride and go hat-in-hand to any possible source of financing for the costly surgery, medication and follow-up medical care. Concurrent with this crisis, Félicité is fixed in the romantic crosshairs of Tabu (Papi Mpaka), a charming bar patron and handyman with demons of his own.

FeliciteFélicité’s job places her firmly at the heart of community, made clear by the club scenes that structure the movie. Gomis illustrates this centrality through captivating close-ups and a restless, handheld camera, most strikingly so during the opening sequence of “Félicité,” which serves to acquaint the audience with the nightlife of Kinshasa. These evening scenes, in which the peripheral characters are getting drunk or looking to hook up (or both) are sharply contrasted with the oppressive heat of their daytime counterparts. Keep an eye on the broken refrigerator introduced in the first act; the comic and cathartic payoffs to this running thread are among the highlights of the film.

Music forms the spine of “Félicité”; not just due to the livelihood of its heroine, but also from the presence of a tone-setting chorus. Gomis’ brought onboard musical collective Kasai Allstars to appear at key moments throughout the movie. The first occurrence, cutting from the main action to a darkly-lit room full of singers, is confusing — does Félicité belong to this choir? — but asserts its purpose when the song recurs on the soundtrack multiple times afterwards. Félicité’s intimately personal crisis becomes epic when it subtly transforms into the subject of the chorus’ singing.

The impossibility tight situation that Félicité finds herself in is all the more surprising considering her central role in the social life of the locals—  she is simultaneously indispensable, and invisible in her desperation. This is where Gomis comes across as the most transparent in his criticisms of local customs. In a particularly cutting moment, an acquaintance of Félicité remarks that he would have been willing to donate money for a funeral, but doesn’t see the point in wasting it on bettering the situation of Samo, who is likely to survive regardless of his eventual quality of life.

FeliciteIt’s tough to ignore the influence of the Dardenne brothers on a film like “Félicité,” with the Belgian filmmakers popularized this brand of over-the-shoulder social realist cinema. There are some common narrative beats with “Two Days, One Night” and “Rosetta,” and Mputu — a stunning discovery — is just as mesmerizing as any female lead in the Dardennes’ pantheon. That said, “Félicité” never comes across as imitative of more entrenched European auteurs despite working within a similar stylistic model. It is Gomis’ dream sequence swerves and aforementioned musical sensibilities that distinguish “Félicité” as its own creation.

Sometimes these poetic flourishes are overly confounding; it’s still not clear if any of the protagonist’s nighttime strolls were real or purely fantasy, and moreover, what meaning these hazy sequences should carry. As well, the second half of “Félicité” is a great deal more slack than the first, the narrative impetus untethered as our heroine becomes increasingly detached from her daily routine. And yet, there’s something about the pace of life that Gomis is able to capture, even in the film’s most aimless moments, that keep the proceedings captivating.

As the film festival circuit winds on, “Félicité” is nothing but enriched by its adjacent programming to Cannes-feted non-fiction “Makala,” which brings a more measured, observational eye to its Congolese subject’s economic plight. Gomis’ immediacy and documentarian Emmanuel Gras’ rigour may seem at odds, but are ultimately complimentary. Both features privilege the dignity and perseverance of their characters over crude images of poverty. Although the existence of “Félicité,” justly awarded the runner-up prize at this year’s Berlin Film Festival, might only be possible because of the financial and technical resources of the French and larger European film industry, its humanist, musical vibrancy makes a major case for the significance and individuality of African cinema. [B+]

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