Austere film about Senegal's postcolonial fate told through the daily routine of a wagoner. The segregation between the shanty town and the middle-class French district is portrayed with assured political bite, coupled to the realism of deprivation of locals and the 'resourcefulness' of the wagoner. The harsh reality of poverty finds momentary refuge in the ancestral spirit in what is a cinema verité political cry.
I've seen few films as monist as Vigo's L'Atalante: everything+/body flows from the same substance, erasing ingrained dualities of still-animate, natural-mechanical, text-context; moreover, the scene in Père Jules's room, in similar classification-scorning vein, collected, like a Surrealist Object, disparate items defying any taxonomic sense: exotica, cats, live tatoos, fish spine, flea market trinkets. And I've seen