MALUALA (1979, Cuba, 89 min.), directed by Sergio Giral; screenplay by Sergio Giral and Carlos Arditti; cinematography by Raul Rodriguez; sound by Germina Hernandez; music by Sergio Vitier; edited by Roberto Bravo; assistant-directed by Gloria Rolando; with Samuel Claxton (Gallo), Miguel Navarro, Roberto Blanco, Miguel Gutierrez, Raul Pomares, Adolfo Llaurado, Nicolas Reynoso. In Spanish with English subtitles.

Be careful. Coba. I see two paths. One goes up, the other down. Which is the good one? There’s no good or bad one. Men make their own paths good or bad. You can’t hunt your own brothers. You must think for yourself. Use your head. Look to your soul. That’s all Sambi says.

One of the least-known aspects of the story of the enslavement and forced transportation of Africans to the Americas is the story of those who were able to resist, escape their bondage, and form communities of runaways that became centers of resistance. Within the areas of Spanish colonization, such as Mexico , these people were known as “los marrones” or “cimarrones” (“maroons” in English). Their remote, fortified villages were known as “palenques” (palisades).

Information about the marrones and their palenques tended to be suppressed by the authorities and kept from the slaves, for obvious reasons; yet rumors about their existence abounded and served as beacons of hope for the Africans working on the farms and plantations. In the palenques, the old languages could be freely spoken and the traditional deities worshipped.

But for the most part, though they remained important symbols of liberation, few of the palenques survived for long. Once their location was discovered (often through treachery and betrayal by insiders), the marrones were relentlessly hunted down and eventually overcome by the authorities and/or slave-owners, who nearly always had superior weaponry.

Maluala in fact opens with a group of marrones meeting smugglers from Haiti, who work for the treacherous Don Crisanto. They rebels were supposed to be getting guns, which they desperately need if they are to be successful in their resistance to the Spaniards, but all Don Crisanto has for them is silk and beads.

We learn that these fugitives and their families are the remnants of “The Big Palenque,” a major settlement and center of resistance, which had recently been discovered and destroyed by the Spaniards; they have taken up residence in scattered villages in the hills. Their primary leaders are Ventura Sanchez, known as Coba, chief of the village of Bumba, and Manuel Griñon, known as Gallo, the chief at Maluala. They are charismatic leaders, revered by their people.

We are brought into the palenques, which look very much like traditional African villages, and the picture, on the surface, is quite idyllic. The people are happy to receive the silks and beads, but the leaders are troubled—how long can they hold out without guns? The only thing they have on their side is the secrecy of their location.

And forces are conspiring to bring that secrecy to an end. We are taken to the city and introduced to the crafty, treacherous Governor and his ruthless military leader, Captain Fromesta. The Spaniards have already lost most of their other colonies in Central and South America, and they were determined not to lose Cuba, nor to allow these marrones to escape their control. In the city we also meet a priest who is a friend to the Africans and sincerely believes that they will be better off if they surrender (that is, both to the Crown and to the Christian God); the priest will ultimately be a pawn in the effort to bring about their demise, orchestrated in part by his well-connected superior, the Bishop. The priest is ordered to offer the cimarron leaders a promise of freedom and a commission in the Spanish army. In exchange, however, they must agree to return their people to slavery and work with the Spaniards to capture any who refuse to surrender.

Though the idea of safety for their people is tempting, Gallo and Coba refuse. However, three of the other African chiefs agree: Pascual (from the Lucumi tribe), Francisco, and Luis (from the Congo people). Seizing their opportunity, they go to town to receive their orders and the sham respect of the Governor. Coba, though he has refused, is clearly filled with self-doubt. Unlike Gallo, who (in part thanks to his strong, traditional wife) can turn off his emotions and do what he knows is right, the fiery Coba has difficulty resisting the calls of his heart. He is haunted by the memory of the horror and destruction of the Great Palisade (in one striking scene we see the people of Bumba going about their normal lives, but on the soundtrack we hear the screams and other noises of the massacre—he is fully aware of the potential consequences of resistance, and of his own responsibility. The sight of the pregnant wife of his faithful lieutenant, Feliciano, and the couple’s deep, innocent love, fills him with doubt.

He goes to a traditional seer (whose advice is quoted at the beginning of these notes. He goes through a traditional purification ceremony. He seems determined to resist, but when their location is betrayed and the first dead bodies appear, he decides to take his people in. Concern for his people starts to give in to something else. He seems to give in to the temptations of power, enmired in his own charisma. The word gets back to the Governor, who sees the alliance between Bumba and Maluala failing and his triumph in the offing. But that is not to be. Instead, Maluala will become a powerful symbol of loyalty, defiance, and traditional values.

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Known as the “dean” of Afro-Cuban filmmakers, Sergio Giral was born in Havana in 1937 and spent his teenage years in the Unites States. He returned to Cuba at the time of the Revolution in 1959. He began working for the brand-new ICAIC (The Cuban Institute of Cinematographic Art and Industry, created immediately after the overthrow of the Batista government) in 1961. He went on to make a number of short films and documentaries in the 1960s and 1970s.

In 1975 Giral began his trilogy of feature films on the history of slavery in Cuba, with El Otro Francisco (1975), Rancheador/Slave Hunter (1976), and Maluala (1979). These were followed by Techo de Vidrio (1981), a contemporary film about a woman lawyer’s frustrating fight against government corruption; Placido (1986), the story of a mulatto Cuban poet accused of leading a conspiracy against the Spanish colonial government in the 19^th Century; and Maria Antonia (1990), an adaptation of a classic play by the Cuban playwright Eugenio Hernández, set against the backdrop of Santería, the Afro-Cuban spiritual tradition.

Giral now lives in Miami, where he continues to make films. His documentary Chronicle of an Ordinance was released in 2000. His most recent film is a documentary on the celebrated Cuban musician Benny Moore, Al Barbaro del Ritmo (2004).

Though more than twenty-five years old now, Maluala remains one of Giral’s most powerful films. In its revolutionary spirit and experimental technique, it is very much a product of its times, one of the most creative and productive in the history of Cuban film. It remains unique, however, in its focus on Africans and their experience. And it continues to speak to us today, with its ongoing themes of loyalty and betrayal, the danger of losing oneself and one’s traditions to the temptations of false promises and political ambition. Indeed, the film’s final freeze frame (though freezing time and memorializing a moment, as all good freeze frames do) serves to transcend history and embody that same spirit that would lead to the 1959 revolution, the revolution that, at least in the 1970s, held such transformative promise for director Sergio Giral.

--Notes by Michael Dembrow

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