Workers in an outdated sugar cane factory in Guadeloupe read from the transcripts of an 1842 trial against a slave owner in Sylvaine Dampierre’s powerful act of reclaiming history, Words of Negroes. Stunningly shot by Renaud Personnaz in crisp, vivid images, the film is a documentary only in as much as it’s a work of non-fiction: this isn’t a fact-filled investigation but rather an artful way of looking at how past and present dovetail, using recitation and observation. Through the words spoken from the transcripts and then their translation into Creole, the workers in essence take ownership of their history while implicitly reflecting on the dignity of labor. Following its DOK Leipzig premiere the film will head to IDFA and then most likely have a busy travel life ahead at festivals specializing in more cutting-edge fare.
Dampierre’s previous documentary about her native land, The Country Upside Down (Le pays à l’envers), also delved into Guadeloupe’s slave past, but here she creates less of a personal essay and instead chooses to conjure a poetic sense of connection that weaves together the current situation on the island of Marie Galante, just south of the main island, with its troubled history. She does this through the written testimonies of slaves who appeared against their owner Louis Joseph Vallentin in an 1842 trial following the death four years earlier of Sébastien, unjustly accused of poisoning some oxen.
Sébastien died a horrible death, forced by his owner into a tiny cell for three months as punishment for a crime he didn’t commit; unsurprisingly, Vallentin was acquitted at the trial, but the testimony is a precious first-hand account of life for the seventy-five slaves harvesting and processing the plantation’s sugar cane. The laborers of today work the same fields, eking out a living at the island’s archaic factory, and while they’re grateful for the small income and camaraderie, the work is intense and the threat of closure feels ever-present. Dampierre has them recite from the original French testimony and then translate the words into Creole, using the language as a bridge that binds then and now in an immediate and intensely sympathetic way. Given that Vallentin devised a special gag to punish his slaves for perceived infractions, it’s especially apposite that the film privileges the words these men and one woman (Sébastien’s wife Adeline) spoke, ensuring their voices are once again heard.
What makes Words of Negroes especially remarkable is that Dampierre doesn’t use the laborers as mere mouthpieces, but gives them agency and dignity. Her voice is occasionally heard asking questions about their work – some are seasonal, others toil in the factory throughout the year, but most need a second job to survive – and there are moments when one’s not quite sure if the words they’re speaking are their own or those of the slaves nearly 180 years ago. It would be wrong however to suggest that Dampierre is equating the experience of slaves with the laborers of today; she’s making a connection, not an equivalency. By reading the testimonies on camera, especially when they speak Creole, the men give new life to the slaves, some of whom could well be their ancestors, ensuring they’re not chattel but people.
Historically-leaning minds will likely wonder what happened to the slaves who testified against their owner, and it could have been interesting to hear the present-day workers comment on the process of engaging with the past in this way, but that would have been a different documentary, and there’s a purity to Dampierre’s work that’s both admirable and captivating. From the first shot, of a pink-hued sky over the dark Caribbean sea, to the last image of sunset on an oblique angle of the factory, accompanied by words reportedly spoken by Sébastien before his death, the film’s visuals enrich the words. The run-down factory, though a place of hard labor and sweat, is also viewed with a certain affection by the workers, and therefore the way Personnaz lights and shoots it, finding beauty in its industrial rust, never feels like poverty porn. Its precariousness reflects the uncertainty of the lives around it, and yet it continues to connect those who labor there, providing continuity and fellowship in a changing world.
Director: Sylvaine Dampierre
With: Paul Dandelé, Jocelyn Falla, Damien Plaucoste, Joël Cachedon, Jean-Paul Nagau, Jean-Claude Lampecinado, Jysmaël Lancelot, Patrick Toto, Valère Rouillard, Pascal Falla, Anthony Manicor, Gilbert Rose, Rodrigues Soutenard, Philippe Céva, Victor Laporal, Charly Conti, Yolande Gitras.
Producer: Sophie Salbot
Co-producers: Jean-Claude Gauthier, Céline Malraux, Malaury Éloi.
Cinematography: Renaud Personnaz
Editing: Sophie Reiter, Niels Barletta
Sound: Greg Le Maître
Production companies: Athénaïse (France), Varan Caraïbe (Guadeloupe), Micro Climat, PRO ARTI.
Venue: DOK Leipzig (International Competition)
In French, Creole
78 minutes
