BANEL & ADAMA - Mark Reviews Movies

Banel & Adama, Kino Lorber

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Review by Mark Dujsik | June 6, 2024

Everything seems perfect for the eponymous couple of Banel & Adama. The two live in a small village in Senegal, and neither wants life to become the strict routine that has defined this place for generations upon generations. They want some kind of freedom, and in theory, the two have found the possibility of it in each other.

There's a genuine sense of the romantic in writer/director Ramata-Toulaye Sy's debut feature, or at least, there is at the start of this sneakily deep story, which puts the lovers to assorted tests revolving around tradition, nature, superstitions, and a secret that could destroy everything for one or both of the main characters. That Sy catches us up in the youthful, passionate, and nearly obsessive love existing between Banel (Khady Mane) and Adama (Mamadou Diallo) makes us quickly sympathetic to both of these characters and what they want to achieve as a unified pair.

As things in the village deteriorate and the truth of the couple's history emerges, the test isn't just for the couple, then. It's also for us. Can we still see the necessity for this couple's desire to be together and for independence from the demands of the small world around them in the face of more practical and perilous matters? More importantly, can this really be love when the relationship only exists because of an act that's a multifaceted betrayal, and on a deeper level, was that act performed out of love or for entirely selfish motives?

Before any of that becomes an issue, though, Sy simply lives with Banel and Adama, as they stare with longing into each other's eyes, exist together as if there's no one else in the world but the two of them, and plan for a future together that would pretty much guarantee they are the only two people in their little patch of the world. At first, there's not much to these characters, and there doesn't need to be, either.

The looks between them, the gentle touches and caresses, the way they walk together, and the considerable efforts they make to put their plan in motion are enough, as the sun beats down on the couple in the glow of some paradise that only they can see and experience. Banel recites her and her partner's names like a mantra, writing them together on paper like lovesick teenagers so often do.

Their plan is simple: to have a home together outside the village. The particulars are a bit tougher, since the house they've decided upon has been buried in years and years of sand, but that's the whole point. Nobody wants these houses now or has wanted them for a long time, so no one would bother them.

The complications begin early. Adama is next in line to become the village's chief, after the deaths of his father and older brother, to whom Banel was married as a second wife. By Muslim tradition, Adama married Banel upon his brother's death. She speaks of this as a "second chance" for the couple, because they knew and felt affection for each other before Banel married the brother. It is, perhaps, a strange way of looking at such a tragedy for the family and the village itself, since the brother's death was an untimely one—having fallen into an uncovered well when no one was around to help him.

Banel, though, looks at life differently than everyone around her. Some voice-over narration has her explaining how she'll occasionally hear voices of generations past and, perhaps, yet to come, who tell her she needs to live a certain way. She rejects the voices, just as Banel insists she'll never have children by her own choice. Whether or not Adama agrees with the specifics of her own plan is irrelevant, and the way Sy gradually makes this more Banel's story gets at how an adherence to tradition can make people strict and callous—even those who seek to reject the core tenets of those customs.

As for Adama, he becomes torn between his love for Banel and the expectations of his mother (Binta Racine Sy), as well as the village elders. As the sole surviving son and brother of the previous two chiefs, the role is his. He doesn't accept the position, telling everyone his and Banel's plan to move away from the village, but the villagers basically refuse to accept Adama's denial of becoming chief. When a string of mounting problems strikes the region, everyone looks to Adama for leadership.

At the core of the problems is a drought. Rain hasn't come in some time. The crops aren't growing. The pastures are disappearing, and as a result, the cattle are undernourished and slowly dying by starvation.

In Banel's mind, this isn't her problem, and neither is it her husband's. For Adama, though, the well-being of his surviving family and the rest of the village is his responsibility, regardless of what his plans may have been until now. A rift forms and deepens between the couple, and the rest of the film, which turns all of that early romanticism—especially the warm glow of the sun transforming into a harsh, unforgiving element—on its head, dissects this relationship from its inception to what it means—or doesn't mean—to each party now.

It's not pretty, either, as death becomes commonplace and Banel's acts of rebellion hint at a coldness that stands in stark contrast to the young woman we see at the start. In exploring this relationship, Banel & Adama questions if love and freedom are even possible amidst a stringent belief in tradition.

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