How to recount the story of the Rwandan genocide without being too sensational or melodramatic? How to avoid emotional blackmail in a film in order to pose a question about the nature of evil and the causes of mutual hate? How to make a film about Africa without getting involved in post-colonial discourse?
After seeing Birds Are Singing in Kigali one can be sure, that Joanna Kos-Krauze and Krzysztof Krauze have not only asked themselves these questions, but also that they have found the answer to them. Their film manifests the directors’ grand ambitions – it is deliberately devoid of emotions and escapes stereotypes and film clichés.
The Krauzes set themselves on an exceptionally high target – they wanted to tell a story both about a bloody massacre and its consequences, but also about the strained psyches of the two heroines, the inability to open up to other human beings, and trauma which turns a victim into a prisoner of their own emotions. But the story of Claudine (Elaine Umuhire), a Rwandan woman rescued from the Hutu massacre, and Anna (Jowita Budnik), a Polish ornithologist helping her to settle in 1990s Poland, leaves the viewer indifferent to the on-screen drama despite of the emotional resonance dwelling in it.
The directors have mindfully forgone easy emotions and the final version of their film differs greatly from the vision disclosed to the media a few years ago. This feature, inspired by Wojciech Albiński’s short story, was initially supposed to be about a white ornithologist rescuing an African girl. Nick Nolte was to play the main role and the film was supposed to be a romantic story about love and redemption. Fortunately, the Krauzes rejected this idea and made a film on their own terms.
Their film is a far cry from the encouraging Hollywood love story. It is more so an art-house rumination on the nature of evil and its consequences, intentionally devoid of extreme emotions and strong images. The Krauzes do not show the viewers with scenes portraying the carnage, as was done in Hollywood films about Rwanda. A boy, running through a dark road in fear, is the only symbolic image of violence present in the story. Joanna Kos-Krauze and Krzysztof Krauze avoid being lofty, but they also do not introduce any formalistic distance into the film. We won’t find any critical analysis here, so typical of Joshua Oppenheimer’s documentaries about genocide (The Look of Silence, The Act of Killing). Instead, the Polish directors are more concerned about what happens after the genocide. They tell the story of an incurable trauma which affects individuals, but also of the community falling into oblivion and avoiding confrontation with a painful past.
Joanna Kos-Krauze and Krzysztof Krauze tell a story about the mechanisms which allow society to exorcise collective memory. In this context the title of the film turns out to be ambiguous. The bird’s song serves as a symbol of community – their singing, so natural that it is almost inaudible, trails away after the carnage orchestrated by the Tutsis’ neighbours. Following the traumatic events, even the birds cease to communicate, as if they wanted to leave the tragedy which happened on the Rwandan soil unsaid. The silent treatment allows the foregone massacre to not be remembered. This silence does not clean consciences, but makes day-to-day functioning easier, and turns those who are silent into accomplices who take the weight off the executioners’ shoulders.