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[Bob Corbett <corbetre@webster.edu>]

From: Greg Chamberlain <GregChamberlain@compuserve.com>

(Screen Daily, 29 Sept 06)

By Denis Seguin



Ghosts Of Cite Soleil

(Dir. Asger Leth. Denmark/US. 2006. 88min.)



Although it will prove a maddening experience for anyone seeking a
traditional documentary approach to the enduring and vexing humanitarian
crisis that is Haiti, Ghosts Of Cite Soleil is an incredibly visceral
journey into the meaning of the phrase ?life is cheap?. A vital melding of
hip hop sensibility and existential urgency, it?s a one-of-a-kind instance
of a film crew being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a terrifying
verite portrait of two brothers, both of them gang leaders in the slums of
Port Au Prince. It?s not just a matter of life and death but of sex and
drugs and rap. Theatrical prospects will hinge on the latter three
elements, particularly the last given the strong musical (and brief screen)
presence of hip hop star Wyclef Jean.

The Caribbean nation, one of the world?s poorest, clearly a holds a strong
attraction for Danish filmmaker Asger Leth, and indeed his family. His
father, veteran film-maker Jorgen Leth (co-director with Lars von Trier of
The Five Obstructions) directed an earlier documentary about the country,
1996?s Haiti. Untitled. Clearly influenced by his father?s work (he too had
a hand in Obstructions), Asger Leth and his crew established connections in
Haiti?s gang culture that give the film a breath-taking intimacy, not just
for the frank nature of the discussions ? some of it treasonous ? but for
its sheer danger. Guns are everywhere in Cite Soleil and they often go off.

Winson Jean (aka 2pac) and James Petit Frere (aka Bily) are hardcore punks
in the literal sense; 20-something brothers orphaned as children, they have
known nothing but the brutality of life in one of the most dangerous parts
of the world?s most dangerous cities. When the film was shot (in early
2004), they were factional leaders in the Chimeres, a seemingly ad hoc and
diffuse network of gangs who supported the government of Jean-Bertrand
Aristide during the later years of his presidency, and who were hung out to
dry when Aristide fled the country on February 29, 2004.

Young and beyond reckless, oozing sexual potency and reeking of ganja, the
brothers are both highly engaging individuals rendered epic by their shared
sense of doom and their shared love for the same woman, a French relief
worker named Lele.

Shot by Serbian Milos Loncarevic as well as Leth and Frederik Jacobi, the
film whirls in a fervour as the music pounds and pulses (Wyclef Jean
blended some of 2pac?s music into his own contributions). From the chaos of
the streets as the Aristide regime crumbles, the camera zips and dips into
the bedroom, the shower, the music and the tormented and conflicted minds
of its two protagonists. Neither has any faith in Aristide as a leader but
to change allegiance would be a death sentence. As it turned out to be.

As a documentary, the film is less than rigourous. It?s kinetic style comes
at the sacrifice of context. Without benefit of the press notes, the
audience may well wonder who is who and what is what. But this may
ultimately describe the street-level view in so failed a society; even if
you trust no one but your nearest and dearest, you may still get burned.