AFRICA
Lionel N’gakane, who left a lifetime ago to make films, returned to South Africa this month — to promote the building of cinemas to show them in. He spoke to William Pretorius
Lionel N’gakane has the sort of deep, authoritative voice you would expect to hear on the stage — he trained as an actor in London, as a way into making films. He’s come back, permanently, as the Southern African regional secretary of the Pan- African Federation of Filmmakers (Fepaci), a founding member of the recently established South African Film Foundation — whose festival begins late next month — and a director of the educational Film Resources Unit.
N’gakane loves film. His greatest desire is to see a flourishing film industry in the Southern African region. And no, not political films: “I think the days of politically orientated films are over,” he says. “Now we should talk about our history, make films about the human condition, the everyday drama of people, and I think, sophisticated comedies, good comedies.”
The task is gigantic. But after a lifetime in film, he’s not daunted.
Ironically, he didn’t intend to be a filmmaker. In the early Fifties, he worked on Zonk — the first black magazine — fell out with them, went to start Drum and was sent to interview Zoltan Korda, then in South Africa filming Alan Paton’s classic, Cry, the Beloved Country. Korda offered him a job, but Drum’s manager wasn’t keen on the idea, so N’gakane left after two issues and went with the film unit to London.
“There were two film schools, one in Russia, one in Italy, and I couldn’t afford either.” So he became an actor (stage, radio and television), managed to buy a camera, began experimenting, made a documentary, Vukani/Awake, about apartheid — the first documentary on the subject by a black filmmaker — made a feature film, Jemima and Johnny, about racism in London and how it affects two children. The film cost Stg 5 000 — Peter Sellers helped with money — won prizes at international film festivals from Italy to Tunisia and Poland, and became a classic.
For the next 25 years, N’gakane was able to do what he loves best, making documentaries and films, and, best of all, uniting filmmakers in Africa by founding Fepaci and organising film festivals in Africa.
He was also co-scriptwriter and technical adviser on director Euzhan Palcy’s version of Andre Brink’s A Dry White Season in Zimbabwe — and therein lies a lesson.
None of the international films made in Zimbabwe helped local industry. “The taxes paid for shooting there went into the exchequer,” he says, “so when film makers wanted financing, the government said there wasn’t any.” Local technicians who worked as crew on the films benefitted, but this experience doesn’t go far if there’s no industry.
Film should become self-sustaining, says N’gakane, who proposes a national film corporation.
One can work out a model. A national film school would train aspiring filmmakers, first on television, then on film. Strong, regional distribution networks would guarantee local films screen time. But films need places to be shown, so the government would have to encourage the building of cinemas, either through direct financing or incentives for entrepreneurs. In Harare, for example, all the cinemas, like those in Johannesburg, are in the centre of town; there is nothing in the townships.
Most of all, films need money. So an autonomous national film corporation could use financing partly from goverment subsidies, partly from taxes on film seats, partly from taxes paid by overseas filmmakers shooting here, partly by recycling some of the enormous profits made on American blockbusters. Distributors in most countries don’t feel responsible for the local industry and are more interested in the business side, and American films make money. As a financing organisation, the national film corporation would be the first to be paid back from film profits, so it could finance more films.
Dream or possibility? The latter, I think. N’gakane’s would begin by making Southern African film industries members of Fepaci, through the establishment of national regional associations. He’s already founded a group to look at the dearth of cinemas in black townships, the Southern African Film Corporation.
Ask him what his favourite film is, and the answer’s an unexpected, “Good God!” Then, on reflection, “there are so many. They keep on changing.” He has a very soft spot, though, for The Red Ballon, a short film about a little boy that inspired N’gakane’s own Jemima and Johnny. And there was How Green Was My Valley that caught his fancy — he’s seen it four of five times. Comedy, drama, Western, they’re “all marvellous”.
His only problem is his social life. “There doesn’t seem to be any in Johannesburg. In London I can go a few blocks to the local pub and Sam will be there, and Ted will be there, and Joe will be there. Here everybody goes to bed at eight o’clock. Come 11 o’clock and I feel I’m the only one awake in Johannesburg.” If he is, he’s probably working hard on ways to get the movie industry going.
Learning the trix of the trade
IF you find SABC’s idea of situation-comedies depressing, now’s the time to do something about it. British writer and director Trix Worrell will be running a television writing seminar next month as part of the South African International Film Festival.
“Story curves, comedy and life” is the title of his three-day seminar, which will focus on the superiority of story-led comedies over those that are joke-led. “Comedy,” he says, “like any other writing, is a very concise and exact piece of writing … It is important that comedy comes from observation rather than stand-up routine.”
Participants will work out comic plots specific to South Africa.
The writer of Desmond’s, a long-running Channel 4 programme, and a comedy series set in a youth club, What You Looking At, which began its run last year, Worrell hasn’t looked back since winning Channel 4’s Debut ’84 new writers’ competition, working consistently in television. He has also been screenwriter or producer on a number of films, including For Queen and Country and Hardware.
For information on joining the seminar, telephone the film festival at (011) 403- 7111.