The Great Nigerian Films, No. 1: For Maria, Ebun Pataki Review

PG-16, 85 m., 2020. Starring Meg Otanwa, Gabriel Afolayan, Tina Mba, Judith Audu, and Demi Banwo. Dir. by Damilola E. Orinogunje. Scr. by Tunray Femi and Damilola. Prod. by Damilola, David Whyte, and Alimi Olalekan L.

“She's so strong. She's strong. She made it.”

That's doctor. She helped Derin deliver her baby, Maria. The job of this film is to test the truth of those statements. Is Derin so strong? Is she strong? Will she make it? We need to know.

Derin and Fola are a young couple and they have just delivered their first child. Derin had complications and was operated on. She bled so much her uterus had to be cut off to save her life. All this culminates into post-partum depression, which is what the film is about. Co-writer-director Damilola L. Orimogunje has always had a thing for social issues. The couple of short films he made before this first feature of his address social concerns, especially those we don't want to talk about yet. Take Mo, about sex work, for example. He's that kind of conversation starter.

Maria was marketed as horror. (Damilola wants to make his money back.) This claim is weird but for the sound of the film. Close your eyes and watch the first scene again. What you heard is a horror movie. Beyond this, the music and sound gives us the feel of life. The distant sound of traffic and people, as well as careful detailing like the thin lace of stains on the couple's old unbreakable plates, make the film real. The lighting is in fact soft and cool. The editing is smooth. But all this doesn't deflect the gritty realism. Take the belt of black nylon Derin ties around her waist to hoist her bubbly belly. It's a piece of sorry realism. (Dami ensured Meg added weight for a post-natal big belly.)

Dami is a student of cinema. He's that guy that uses Federico Fellini as his Twitter DP. This is a plus for film lovers and the film itself. The former see what they had seen in their beloved movies being coated in new looks. Consider the second shot. Fola and doctor talk inaudibly behind the theatre's door. They stand facing each other, each behind a glass panel that frames his/er profile head-to-waist, the closed door a straight line between them. Don't go far. Kenneth Lonergan used this same framing at the hospital scene in his Manchester by the Sea (2016). We soon figure we need these kinds of subtle references. They're a succour to the subject and the tone of the film. They're a distraction from its sadness.

This is far from all. Dami's passion for cinema is obvious in his influences. The fixed, stable camera and the frequent low camera position, the camera only a few feet above the ground, only above the characters' gaze level, as well as the perfect compositions of most of the shots, are reminiscent of Yasujirō Ozu, the Japanese film master. Such choices fit the mood of the film and its patient pace. The soft colourful lighting, sometimes warm, sometimes cold, reminds one of a slightly de-saturated Wong Kar-Wai’s film. And this socially educative film, though sad, belongs to the same caliber as Tunde Kelani's cinematic social and cultural studies. Dami shows off his influences without showing off. He's like the best kid in class who asks or answers only vital questions. And we're grateful for who he is.

“What is her name, Derin? Our child. Your child! What is her name? Because I have never heard you mention her name for once.” The emotional premise of the film climaxes when Fola says these words. The acting and the scripting is that excellent. The argument between Derin and Fola mid-film, during which Gabriel delivers those lines as Fola, is heart-breaking. And Meg, who plays Derin, is an electric fish. A quiet bolt of light, she doesn't break her flow for once. She only slips deeper, shot after shot, scene after scene, into the inner life of her character. Like a nightgown. Overall, the story is quiet, deep and moving.

Maybe Derin is strong. The irony is everybody everywhere schools her on motherhood while she’s living it. They offer her tips on how to take care of her baby and herself. (Even Fola, compassionate as he is, once tells her to just have fun while at it.) They’re not interested in what's wrong with her. We pity her for how little empathy she gets. But she doesn't beg for our pity. And neither does Dami. She deserves it. This film is sensational. Not sentimental.

At the end we know why the movie is tagged horror. And we need the relief, if a false one, if only for film freaks, provided by the reference to Ousmane Sembène's 1966 Black Girl. Dami's is serious film and serious filmmaking. He wants to sensitize and he wants to make art. He does both on Maria. The result is a film that is well-made but also sad. This is not a movie you watch with popcorn and Pepsi. You won't touch them.

The Great Nigerian Films (TGNF) are a collection of my favourite Nigerian movies. My criterion is the quality of a film. But I'm likely to pick a so-so film that is vital to film development and film studies in the country. These films are both a primer and a companion to Nollywood. And this is a work of documenting and archiving.