Screenplay and direction by Abdellatif Kechiche
France. 2010. 159 minutes. A MK2 production
Saartjie (Sarah) Baartman—the Khoisan slave known in 19th Century Europe as “The Hottentot Venus”--has been the subject of numerous literary works, including poetry by Elizabeth Alexander, a play by Suzan-Lori Parks and a novel by Barbara Chase-Riboud. Her story abides as one of the most bizarre, most shameful artifacts of slavery and colonialism, a compounded crime that did not achieve even its one small measure of justice until 2002, when Baartman's violated remains were finally released by France's Musée de l'Homme and properly interred in her South African homeland. Now, award-winning, Tunisian-born filmmaker Abdellatif Kechiche has brought this complex history to the screen in the powerful and disturbing Black Venus (Vénus noire).
Baartman might have lived the already difficult life of any enslaved woman, but her Afrikaner owner, Hendrick Caezar, hatched a plan to display the exoticism of her anatomical features—enlarged buttocks and labia—in the freak shows of London fairs. Abandoned by lovers and grieving the deaths of her children, the young, vulnerable (and probably alcoholic) Baartman saw in this scheme a path to survival and eventual freedom. She signed on as “partner” in this venture and began to take direction from Caezar. He convinced her that she was an artist and taught her to act as if she were a sub-human, barely-tamed beast, perform a cooked-up “dance of savages” and throw a few good scares into her lower-class audience. And this was most important to Caezar: She had to allow them to touch and poke at her buttocks. This last duty horrified her. As she endured the frenzy unleashed around her, she tried to hold onto one last shred of dignity. But Caezar restrained her and later, out of the audience's earshot, berated her for being unwilling to fully play along with the deception.
As disgusting as this sounds, it was only the beginning of Baartman's troubles in Europe. Caezar later hooked up with an actual animal trainer—a Frenchman the filmmaker names Réaux--who deceived and exploited him as he had deceived and exploited Baartman. “Réaux” began booking Baartman's act for high society Parisian parties of increasing coarseness and decadence. “Réaux” proved to be an even more demeaning “director” to this “actress,” demanding that her displays and interaction with her audience directly play to the sexual undertone of the Europeans' fascination with her. She became, for her audience, a mastubatory fetish. Eventually, when her popularity in France diminished, “Réaux” led her into prostitution. Weakened by pneumonia and veneral disease, she died in 1815.
Towards the end of Baartman's life, French scientists from the Royal Academy of Medicine measured every thing about her that they could get a good look at—everything, that is, except her genitals. They pressured her, and she refused. This violation she would not permit and so it is one of the parts they sliced from her corpse and pickled in a jar and held in display at Musée de l'Homme until 2002.
Kechiche's film goes all out in every possible way. It has the bearing of an old-fashioned historical drama, grounded in period detail and rich colors, textures and sound. It weighs in at a hefty and serious 2 hours and 39 minutes, although its gripping, unrelenting pace and tension make it seem to fly by. Its actors, from starring roles to bit parts, give superb, nuanced, individualized performances. These include convincing turns by Andre Jacobs as Caezar and Olivier Gourmet as Réaux-- so convincing, in fact, that you want to grab a few of the ubiquitous bottles of whiskey and break them over their heads.
And then there is Yahima Torrès. One day, Kechiche saw this young woman pass his house and knew he'd found his Saartjie Baartman. Her physical proportions were right, but the director noted that she also possessed an understated beauty that was right for the role. Untrained in acting, she brings intelligence and sensitivity--a hint of guarded interior life--that help us understand the depth of Baartman's suffering, her naïve complicity in her own oppression, and the source of her growing resistance.
For someone completely new to acting, Torrès accepted a role that must stand among the most difficult acting jobs of all times. It's truly ironic that, to play Baartman, she had to endure what Baartman endured. Kechiche spares her—and us, watching—almost nothing. Caged, prodded, made to roar and dance, groped and ridden like a beast of burden, stripped to a loincloth or completely nude--it is Torrès's body, a real body, that endures these things openly before our gaze. Publicity materials continuously emphasize the support given this courageous newcomer by the film's team.
For some viewers, Baartman's story might be new or vaguely known but far removed in time and somewhat abstract, if unsettling. Black Venus brings it to life in front of our eyes. The film might prove too explicit for some viewers—even, in some scenes, verging on the pornographic. Certainly, Kechiche risks offending many viewers by vividly recreating the very imagery that moved some observers and authorities to protest Baartman's treatment and attempt to prosecute Caezar. (Caezar escaped conviction because Baartman testified that she wasn't doing anything she didn't want to do.) Kechiche unequivocably highlights the violent, depraved brutishness of the Europeans who dared to consider this Black woman less than human, but it remains to be seen how his film will be perceived by women and Black people.
As a Black woman, I found it painful, nearly traumatic, to watch the outrages depicted here—the psychological and physical humiliation of this African woman—and to imagine that these things might continue to be enjoyed by contemporary racists and predators, even by some people who might be sitting around me in the theater.
Hard to believe, you say. Baartman's twisted story is ancient history, if true. What does it have to do with anything, with any of us, today? But please bear in mind that the Republican candidate for governor of New York--my state--is a man who thought nothing of forwarding racist, sexist, pornographic emails to his colleagues. For real.
Public screenings:
Thursday, October 7, 6pm
Saturday, October 9, 8:30pm
Alice Tully Hall
Broadway and 65th Street, Manhattan
#1 to 66 Street
Information and ticketing
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