Posted on Jun 22, 2005
Earlier this year, Mario Van Peeble’s independently made movie BAADASSSSS! (2003) was shown at the Ritzy cinema in Brixton, London. Essentially the movie is about Mario’s dad Melvin Van Peebles and his experience of getting his groundbreaking independent movie SWEET SWEETBACK’S BAADASSSSS SONG (1971) made. BAADASSSSS! is also a film about a father and son as well as about filmmaking and has received glowing reviews.
Currently, it’s on general release here in the UK (if you’re in the Midlands; it’s showing at the Light House in Wolverhampton in early July) but back in March it was shown as part of the Human Rights Watch Film Festival and both Mario and Melvin were in attendance to give an interview after the screening.
Mario explained how he decided to make the film while on the set of ALI (2001) and how it was filmed in just 18 days saying, “He taught me how to do it” in a hat tip to his dad. The interview revealed the two very different characters of father and son — the latter affable, the former acerbic. But this was clearly a well-honed act and the two complementary styles made for an interesting as well as informative interview, usually at the expense of the interviewer.
Although the movie was by a Black director about another Black director featuring a largely black cast, Mario emphasised the inclusive nature of the actual filmmaking, mentioning, “[The] beauty of being on the set was [it was] like a Benetton ad.”, and that, “the film is a family affair”. He pointed out that the multi-racial (his words) crew were in the unit because of their respect for Melvin Van Peebles.
While Mario expounded the intricacies of the filmmaking process during the interview Melvin in stark contrast would give short sharp one-liners in reply to most questions. For instance, the interviewer asked Melvin, in a lengthy and roundabout way, whether ‘Sweetback’ created a new set of stereotypes — “I said bullshit!” came back the reply. Cruel but very funny.
The interaction between the two Van Peebles’ on stage, added to the revelations about their early relationship in the film, left me wondering if a more amicable and mutually respectful one has now supplanted an earlier difficult relationship between father and son. Certainly it seems as if father and son have the ability to look back at the past and laugh. In the film — reflecting real life — Melvin is forced to sell his son’s bike in a desperate attempt to raise finance for his movie. Mario told the engrossed audience at the Ritzy that his father had bought a new yellow bike for him just a couple of months back. Melvin, sporting shocking pink socks, said, “I didn’t know it was an issue, here’s a tissue”. The audience lapped it up.
Despite the film’s rave reviews and the positive reaction from audiences, the film has had to endure a similar problem to that of it’s predecessor. In common with most independent films, distribution was a big problem and is reflected by the film’s modest success at the US box-office. In fact, the movie only got a UK release thanks mainly to the efforts of the British Film Institute.
When asked how Black Hollywood has changed, Mario said that the recent spate of Oscars has let off steam but reminded us that there are still no Black, Asian, Hispanic or women heads of studio. He paraphrased this more succinctly, “Different icing, same old cake”.
Posted on Jun 19, 2005
Kola Janala, meaning ‘open window’, is produced and presented by Urmee Mazhar and is an interview/call-in show on Bangla TV — a UK based satellite channel. Recently, the show featured an interview with Saira Bronson.
For anyone who followed the tabloid stories of a few years back, the name Saira Bronson will be familiar. For everyone else: Saira Bronson is a Bangladeshi woman who became famous overnight when she married Britain’s most notorious prison inmate, Charles Bronson. (You read correctly … he had changed his name from Michael Peterson to that of the star of the Death Wish movies)
Saira Bronson (born Saira Ali Ahmed) seemed nervous sitting opposite the cool and collected Urmee Mazhar as the latter introduced her. As it transpired, she had reason to be. Saira began her interview by telling us about her arranged first marriage to a British Bangladeshi man and her subsequent arrival in Britain without friends, family or the ability to speak the lingo. Curiously, she had chosen to conduct the interview in a mixture of English and Sylheti Bangla. When the phone lines were opened there was an initial torrent of very bothered (mostly male) callers castigating her for what she had done and the lajja (shame) she had brought upon herself, her family and the bangla samaj (society). Although visibly shaken, Saira continued to tell her story — a narrative that was being coaxed carefully out of her by her skillful interviewer. Saira went on to allege that her already abusive first husband turned out to be a paedophile and that she simply had to leave him when her daughter was born.
The phone lines were opened again and this time caller after caller was very supportive of her and offered their best wishes to her for her bravery in doing what she had done and apologising for the attitude of the earlier callers. How fickle was this audience, hey? Though it should be said that this time most (but not all) of the callers were women.
Saira Bronson was now visibly moved by the support she was being given and was keen to continue with her story. Of course there were phone calls coming in regularly now and at 50 pence per minute I can understand why the programme makers were keen for them to do so. ( I wonder how long the waiting callers had to hold?)
Since we’re entertaining cynical thoughts, I might add that Saira wasn’t reticent in pointing out that her life story is all written down in her autobiography. (The more astute amongst you will notice that I too have jumped onto the bandwagon and have provided a link to her book via a bongovongo amazon associate account, so feel free to buy a copy and while you’re at it buy a hundred or so for your friends … kerching! … ta very much)
Anyway, back to the interview — some of the callers asked about her relationship with Bronson. She told them how she and her daughter had, by then, moved down to Luton and that after learning English and going to college she got a job working for an organisation who helped victims of domestic violence. (I bet you feel guilty for being cynical now dontya? … so why don’t you make up for it and buy her book via the link above hey? hey? hey? … oh! please yourselves then). It was while she was working in this organisation that her attention was directed towards newspaper articles about Charles Bronson. Bronson was from the Luton area and so there was more than the usual level of interest in the notorious criminal. The man intrigued Saira and after thinking about it for a long time she contacted him by letter.
Well, after many such correspondance and a few visits Saira Ali Ahmed from Habiganj, Bangladesh married Charles Bronson from Luton, England. Hardly a match made in heaven but as Saira pointed out, to several callers who asked why she couldn’t have found a nice muslim Bangla lad to marry, you don’t choose who you fall in love with. She also pointed out that Bronson had converted to Islam and had changed his name (yet again) to Charles Ali Ahmed. Actually, she had fallen for a couple of Bangla men before she started her relationship with Bronson but on both occasions they had cited the lajja associated with marrying a divorcee and single mother. Unsurprisingly, she dumped these guys.
By now, the calls of support were coming through thick and fast but one caller reminded her, rather mischievously, that she had recently divorced Charles whatever-his-name-is. Here, the skill of the presenter, Urmee Mazhar, showed through because it became evident that the whole interview had been a well-crafted narrative unfolding before the audience, who were being carefully shepharded into asking the questions that led to the next revelation.
Saira responded by telling us that after seeing the reportage of the Beslan school siege and it’s bloody conclusion, Bronson suddenly denounced all religion and became intensly hostile towards Islam. He wanted Saira to give up Islam as well and despite the best efforts of Saira, Bronson’s own mother and his solicitors he wouldn’t change his mind. Saira told us that she had a choice to make — it was either Bronson or Islam. Saira Ali Ahmed chose her faith. (Interestingly, she is still named Bronson on the book cover)
The interview was wrapped up with us knowing better this unsinkable Bangladeshi single mom and recognising a person who had risen from the horrifying depths of a monsterous marriage through the dubious heights of media noteriety to a position now where she lives her life, in freedom.
Posted on Jun 5, 2005
A few years ago, in Moulvibazar Town in the Sylhet Division of Bangladesh, I was lucky enough to be around when a bamboo hut was being built. It’s a traditional form of building using local, natural materials. So natural, in fact, that it’s entirely bio-degradable! Of course it is now an almost obsolete form of building material as concrete, bricks and mortar have replaced bamboo.
This particular build required the services of three, rather elderly, craftsmen who squatted down to work when a 
sufficient number of long thick green bamboo branches had been supplied to them. They began by cutting these into various lengths. I noted that local people gathered around to watch avidly as these guys worked — I got the impression that it’s not something they get to witness very often, especially in the towns. They (and I) watched with admiration as the craftsmen split some of the bamboo branches down along the shafts and flattened them out in order to make the ‘walls’.
They weaved the flattened bamboo and secured them onto a frame ready to go onto the outsides of the building. To secure these a number of thick bamboo poles were driven firmly into the earth forming a framework for the walls and the roof to be put on. The wiry old men nimbly clambered about the framework and entertained onlookers with nostalgic tales of days gone by. Tales of bamboo buildings left standing when typhoon’s had blown away modern equivalents and of the days when ‘punjabis’ lived in these parts wearing their billowing pyjamas (this seemed to be a source of great amusement to the local crowd).
It took two whole days for these three fine gentlemen artisans to 
construct a sturdy two roomed dwelling. The pre-assembled walls were lashed onto the framework and a corrugated iron roof was attached. The latter is a concession to modernity — traditional thatched roofs taking longer to construct and also harbouring the mosquitos that cause the rather nasty dengue fever.
It was like looking into the past and all onlookers seemed misty eyed with nostalgia at this hut’s construction. 
It really wasn’t that long ago that most families in the Bangladesh countryside lived in homes like this. This guy in the picture was called Shazid and he was a baburchi (cook) and had access to a modern (at least in Bangla terms) kitchen with gas powered hobs and running water on tap etc., but he swore that he much preferred to squat inside a poorly lit bamboo hut in order to cook meals.
At a later date, he invited me to visit his home in Kulaura and he did indeed live in a bamboo hut, however it was about half the size of this one and was home to him, his wife, their five children and all their worldly possessions. One of his daughters was a good student, he told me, and so he worked hard to earn extra money to pay for her education — so that she could have a better life.
I learned, a couple of years ago, that Shazid had died. I wonder what happened to his young family. Come to think of it, I wonder what became of the wise old bamboo hut builders.
