“Tori and Lokita” opens on a tight close-up on the teenage Lokita (Joely Mbundu) as she struggles with the questions delivered by an immigration officer. She has fabricated a story about how she found her brother, Tori (Pablo Schils) in an orphanage, but no one believes her. As the line of questioning becomes more intense, more interrogative, Lokita’s muscles tense and her eyes grow sadder with despair, giving way to a panic attack — one of many that afflict her throughout the film.
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Tears, panic and deep sorrow run through the entirety of “Tori and Lokita,” an unforgiving story about an enduring friendship, and more broadly, society’s apathy for refugees. Despite Lokita’s story, Tori isn’t actually her brother. They met on board a boat sailing from Cameroon and Benin to Belgium and have stayed together ever since, forging a deep friendship. They’re companions who are as close as can be. “Brother” and “sister” roll off the tongue so easily that it may as well be true. Their bond is one formed through never ending hardship, and the knowledge that no one can understand what they’ve gone through except the other.
Though the pair are housed in a home for migrant children, Tori and Lokita are still hounded by their smugglers looking for cash. To make ends meet, they carry out jobs, relying on the kindness of strangers who really aren’t so generous. More innocently, that includes warming up the karaoke mic for the patrons of an Italian restaurant. But back in the kitchen, they’re handed small bags of weed and cocaine to deal at night in an operation led by the establishment’s unsympathetic chef Betim (Alban Ukaj). Desperate to send money to her mother and siblings back home, Lokita accepts a job as a “gardener” for a hidden cannabis farm. But once she enters the isolated, closed-off facility, it’s apparent that her next three months are not employment, but imprisonment.
Naturally, the film takes aim at the country’s immigration system that makes it so difficult for refugees to receive official documentation. The story addresses it directly, in the heartless way that the officer swiftly dismisses Lokita’s case and refuses to hear Tori out when he pleads that he has no one else. But its commentary is also quietly present in every frame. It’s present in Tori and Lokita, who are so desperate that they are driven to such extremes in the first place. There’s a lifeline that both children grasp onto, a song they frequently sing to each other which operates as a sort of comforting lullaby, and only emphasizes how young and vulnerable the pair are.
The Dardennes have won the Palme d’Or twice, for “Rosetta” and “The Child,” and the festival’s director prize for “Young Ahmed” — and it wouldn’t be surprising if “Tori and Lokita” also picks up an award. Perhaps something for its non-professional young actors. Mbundu, in particular, is astounding. Despite her age, she appears to be far beyond her years, exhibiting Lokita’s stress that comes from being forced to become a provider and caregiver. “It’s my job making money for the family,” she cries, the weight of responsibility added to every syllable.
When Tori attempts to rescue her from her captivity, the Dardennes’ documentary-like style shifts into something more akin to a thriller. It’s a curious tone to strike that belies the restrained naturalism of everything prior. It also feels like a betrayal of its actors. As proven by the film’s opening shot, Mbundu can command the screen with her countenance alone. In losing that intimacy, it sensationalizes Tori and Lokita’s plight.
Taking a step further back, there’s also the matter of why the Dardennes are the ones telling this story. The filmmakers are certainly making an impassioned political statement about humanity’s deep depravity, but it comes at the expense of the marginalized people it depicts. When Betim makes sexual advances at Lokita, the camera cuts away to allow her some dignity, but she and Tori are still harassed, attacked and taken advantage of at every turn. “Tori and Lokita” puts its characters through hell to elicit some tears and send an urgent message. You may consider this an empathetic film — exploitative might be the better word. [C+]
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