Sundance 2021: Night of the Kings
Writer-director Philippe Lacôte's sublime prison film, Night of the Kings, is a beautiful and haunting piece in which the gossamer thin line between truth and fiction, reality and fantasy, present and past is thoroughly shredded. It takes place at the MACA prison of the Ivory Coast, a vast and imposing structure, nestled in the jungle, whose prisoners intermingle openly, forging a society and traditions that are both steeped in national customs and that are unique to their strange and isolated conditions. It is, most of all, a story about storytelling; as a tool for power, as a tool for sanity, and, most importantly, as a tool for survival. It opens with a young, wiry man, no older than seventeen, an unnamed boy (Bakary Kone), being driven into the prison on a dusty road. The journey takes him to an otherworldly place that, though the brilliant, dewy jungle remains visible through the barred, open windows, might as well be on the far side of the moon.
The prison is stewarded by a pot-bellied guard, Nivaquine (Isaka Sawadogo), who sits, open-shirted, in his office, high above the fray, with turret holes to observe the rabble below. He is the leader in name only. The true leader is patriarch Barbe Noire, or Blackbeard, (Steve Tientcheu), a senior prisoner who commands the respect of almost all the prison. Though a coup is brewing, it is clear Barbe Noire is on his last legs. He rises from his bed with the aid of a suspended handle and rarely stirs from his room. When the new boy arrives, he is given the title of Roman - a storyteller who upon arrival, must tell a story until the Red Moon sets, or else be hung from a hook. So, the film chronicles the new Roman's journey to keep himself alive to see a new day.
There is so much Night of the Kings does and does to spectacular effect with simple shot composition and immersive sound design. It is a film that is entirely grounded in reality, visually, but simultaneously totally unmoored from it. A large part of that has to do with the segregation of prisons from view and the break from stereotypical cinematic visions of prisons - all barbed-wire fences, high-walls, and segmented cages. But, it also has to do with Lacôte's expert introduction to the narrative. As the Roman is driven toward the prison, we sense the world around him receding into the background. The trees that flank him fall from view in a hazy blur of out-of-focus green, brown, and red. And as he enters, the jeering faces of prisoners press through the bars like silly-putty through chicken-wire.
They have not only come to intimidate or to mock, but rather to celebrate the arrival of a new story with a new background. It is as though a new television has just been wheeled in, connecting them to a world that seems a figment of their imaginations and as remote as the Red Moon they gaze up at to mark the hours remaining in the initiate's story. The din of their tangible excitement forms a sort of continual hum, energizing the picture across its tight runtime, and as the story progresses, their din turns to chorus as they join in the storytelling, creating a communal exercise in mythmaking.
And, this tight runtime both serves the picture well, giving it a forward momentum and tension supported by the simple premise, and poorly, serving us a morsel of a meal that seems so much impossibly richer and grander than we see here. If there is one true complaint I have about Night of the Kings, it is this. It feels as though before we are fully allowed to absorb all the rich cultures and subcultures blossoming in this society segregated away from society, we are whisked away, only able to see twelve hours of a multi-decade saga that is rich enough to support a story at least twice as long, if not thrice as long. There are dozens of stories as captivating and exciting as the one that unfurls from Roman hiding in the nooks and crannies of this prison. I just wish we were allowed to peer in and see them.
