My neighbor played the piano. He was all by himself. It was something sad. I went out for a smoke in the back yard. I listened a while. My wife was waiting inside. She cried a little. A tear had made one spot on her T-shirt a darker grey. We left the door ajar and shared a beer.
Such was our mindset after watching Black. With hindsight it is shameful we didn’t see it a lot earlier. Maybe because it is a Belgian movie and it drew Belgian criticism of being full of cliché. It drew this criticism in large part because the film’s directors, Bilall Fallah and Adil El Arbi, were always cheerful when interviewed. They kept the painful and dark script for their art and were just their genuine happy selves when interviewed, proud to have done it and done it well.
Only once did I see a hint of irritation in their non-composed attitudes: when screening of the film was banned for a couple of days in Belgium back in the November ’15 lock-down. A ban which was even more senseless than the lock-down was. They did not complain that they were censored although they clearly and intentionally were: viewers for which it was intended could not see it because some felt its content was dangerous for them.
The best thing about Black is this: it just shows and tells. Continue reading