Bringing Uganda to Seattle: An Interview with Imani Director Caroline Kamya

Director Caroline Kamya is bringing her homeland of Uganda to the world, one screening at a time. Imani, Kamya’s feature film debut, marked the first Ugandan film ever to screen at the Seattle International Film Festival. It gave SIFF audiences one of their best left-of-center surprises, and it’s been reaping acclaim as it travels festivals across three continents. The movie follows three disparate Ugandans, each facing their own particular crisis: Mary (Rehema Nanfuka), a maid, is forced to make a wrenching personal choice in her attempts to bail her troubled sister out of jail. Breakdancer Armstrong (Philip Buyi Roy) finds his wild past catching up with him on the eve of a gig for his dance troupe. And young Olweny (Stephen Ocen), a former child soldier, leaves a rehabilitation center to reestablish his relationship with his parents.

Kamya takes what could be so much melodramatic pot-boiling and imbues it with a slow-burning unique rhythm and flavor. Her unobtrusive directorial eye presents this world with a documentarian’s objective clarity, at an unforced pace with ebbs and surges guided by the hot, dry climate. Andrew Mark Coppin’s camera finds unadorned beauty in Uganda’s people, and in the slums and humble villages they occupy: men navigate the dusty streets of Kampala balancing sofas on bicycles, and poetic messages of affirmation emerge from ghetto walls like faint but persistent whispers to passersby. The screenplay (by Kamya’s sister Agnes Nasozi) does its own gentle bending of cliche, bypassing hopelessness yet offering few easy answers to its protagonists, and the actors (amateurs, all) deliver utterly natural, affectingly real performances. In its own low-key way and on its own terms, Imani accomplishes what all really good movies should: it invites viewers to visit a unique universe.

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That universe is seldom seen by Western eyes, so talking to its driving force especially intrigued me, and the director does not disappoint. Kamya speaks of Imani like a proud mother, in a sonorous English-accented voice that never slows down; and her energy, brio, and mega-watt smile are genuine and infectious.

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How did you get started as a filmmaker?

I started getting interested in media when I was twelve years old, when we moved to London to study. And I just felt like the images I saw on TV didn’t really reflect where I was living. So that frustration, I think, manifested itself in going to film school. I studied at London University, and started doing architecture and town planning. Don’t ask me why; I didn’t really enjoy it. Then I went to The Art School, which is part of London University, Goldsmith College. That’s where I got my TV Documentary Master. [I] started working as a runner, as an AD on a fiction film that was being made in London at the time. And then I eventually set up a production company in Uganda about five or six years ago [and] started making short films and documentaries. Imani was my first feature film.

Prior to your forming this production company, what–if any–film scene was there in Uganda?

Very little. Most people working in the industry were making documentaries with missions, on malaria or HIV, that kind of thing, but I wanted to make independent films not based around that, so [a narrative film] had to be self-funded. A lot of people weren’t willing to take that risk. Also, there are no film schools as such. Casting agencies don’t really exist, so you don’t have a pool of screen talent–actors or crew–that you can just go out and work with. So it was really building from scratch.

You’ve been working the festival circuit with Imani. What’s the reception been like?

It’s been fantastic. And I’m really happy, because I just wanted to make something that I would enjoy watching. For me, it felt like a good and honest way to start a project, rather than thinking, “What does the audience want to see?” Berlin went really well; the locals there really enjoyed it. We’ve done Tarifa, the African Film Festival–we won awards there. It went to Nigeria, to the African Movie Awards…. Although it’s not a festival, it’s an awards ceremony, we won there; so three festivals and four awards…I’m very happy with that. And then one of my actors (who played the breakdancer) is in Cameroon right now attending a festival. My sister went to Spain, and I am here. We’re trying to get Imani out there as much as possible. Since Berlin we’ve been invited to at least two festivals a month until December.

There were many things that struck me about the film, one of which is that it’s very (for want of a better term) very un-Hollywood, very un-mainstream. It has a very distinctive rhythm and flavor that really feels steeped in its country of origin. Also, I was fascinated by the uncompromising nature of it–not all of the intersecting story threads end happily, or with a neat, cut-and-dried break or conclusion. Was this outside-the-box construction something by design from the outset, or did it manifest itself from the screenplay?

I basically decided this is my first movie, so if I’m gonna break all the rules, I’d better do it now. I knew that the next one we do…if money comes through, there’ll be people who control what we’re doing. So I knew these stories manifested separately, and that I would keep honest about it.

Of course the characters are connected, but they don’t need to meet for that connection to exist. So I used the tool of the newspaper, the National Voice (which truly means the voice of the nation) as the link. I thought, if each character reads that paper, that’s enough for me. And then, in terms of why they end and nothing is resolved for most of the stories, it’s because I wanted people to leave the theater and think about the film for themselves. I wanted people to get involved in the story, and feel like, “That could be me, or that could be my sister, my son, my daughter.” So if I was to tidy everything up with a bow, then that would also not be really honest. I just kept it as real as possible from start to finish. And because I have a documentary background, I started with an assistant editor, but we ran out of money so I started editing at home. I’d leave work, rush home, edit; then wake up, go to work…and that was the cycle for seven months.

I knew I could tighten it up in post-production and just link it. You have people traveling through the slum, and you have the guy going to pawn the necklace…I just cut across. And the rhythm just gets faster and faster, so having that documentary background enabled me to play a little more in post-production, to really bring out that rhythm. A filmmaker friend of mine who came to watch it when I was cutting said, “You know, Carol, this is like music–it’s just a different kind of music.” So I really think you’re right: it’s a different rhythm, but once you get into the rhythm you feel it. But initially, it’s like, the characters–are they going to meet? Are they not? And you start imposing your own ideas of what a film is. So I really appreciate that you noticed all of that.

And that was already built into the screenplay?

Yes…Those were all separate pieces that were brought all together.

The caliber of acting in the movie is very impressive. The performances are excellent, but they also feel incredibly honest and unaffected, and it adds to the almost-documentary feel that the movie has. Could you speak a little about the actors?

I’d love to, because I’m so proud of them. They’re all non-actors. They had four days of training in Kampala, two days of training in Gulu…. We did breathing exercises, they learned about understanding the character, yoga, stretches…. At first they were like, “I don’t understand–this is supposed to be acting training? [laughs] What are we doing here?” And what I did was, through a friend of mine, I contacted an acting coach who worked on The Constant Gardener, Keith Pearson, who works in Kenya. I flew him over and said, “I’ll put you up in my sister’s house; help me work with these actors.” And he did.

Literally, I filmed sequences, we improvised…I basically tested out five, six guys for one role. I cast against type–that was very important for me. So the big guy that everyone expected to be the Ghetto King, he became the boyfriend; and I used the little guy to play the crazy psychopath; and even George the gateman–most people are like, “Wow, he’s in his fifties,” and most gatemen are probably younger than him. But I went with the best actor, and he is a brilliant actor. He had a slight limp naturally, and I thought he added something to his character. So I felt I had a good instinct for the cast, and I’m happy that it paid off, that I just went with my gut. Mary–Rehema is her real name–she’s just amazing. She’s actually flaky in real life [laughs], but when she gets in front of the camera she’s the deepest, sharpest, most amazing person.

She just feels like such an anchor in the movie….

You know, I was just watching a program about Greta Garbo recently. And I swear, I feel [Rehema] has that, that magic, so that once you put the camera on her, she can tell you so much without moving: Her eyes just say it all. I wish she could be here to enjoy this attention. She went with me to Nigeria to pick up the prizes, so at least she’s felt a bit of the accolades, but she’s still astounded. She’s got two awards already, and this is her first movie, so it’s stunning.

The soundtrack makes great use of artists who aren’t well known outside of Africa. Could you elaborate on the music of Imani, and the artists who contributed?

There’s one artist, Tshila, who’s the sister of a friend of mine, and she actually studied in the States then came back home. I met her and encouraged her to do music, because she was a computer programmer. She said, “I’m passionate about music,” and I told her, “If you’re gonna come home, you’d better do what you want to do–there are so many opportunities.” Now she’s one of the most well-known acoustic artists in Uganda. She’s now…in Europe, touring. I loved her music, and ironically enough, it talks about these things–the hardships a woman has to face. So if you’re Ugandan and you speak the language, when you hear the lyrics they’re totally relevant as well.

Then the hip-hop artists, Sylvester and Abramz, they’re just amazing young guys doing hip-hop in the local language. For a long time artists [in Uganda] only did hip-hop in English, trying to emulate Americans. They were the first artists who said, “We’re going use Uganda, we’re going to talk about social change using music,” Maia Von Lekow: I think she’s half-Swiss, half-Kenyan–also another one who studied abroad and went back home. She’s performed with James Blunt or someone like that and toured with them. She’s doing real well. I saw her in concert when I went to hang out on the beach with friends. She was the first artist where I said, “I have to meet this woman, I love her music, and I need to ask to borrow the rights for Imani.” I paid for the rights for two tracks: The only two tracks on her album in Swahili, and for me they’re very powerful.

Imani‘s a very human story, and so a lot of the political subtexts are really incidental to the interaction between the characters, but Uganda is also an area that’s been through a lot of political and social upheaval. Was there ever an impulse in you to politicize what you did?

No, not at all. I thought that I was going to keep it to the original idea, which is: Let’s show Uganda through the eyes of these three diverse characters in very diverse locations. And so I didn’t want it to be issue-driven. The characters are the main thing, and then the rest is like the background–the wallpaper. So if you pick up on that, all well and good. If you don’t, it’s not a problem. I think there are so many political films made about the continent [of Africa] anyway, by filmmakers who are foreign, by local filmmakers as well…. For me, I just wanted to communicate those stories, and that’s all.

The closest thing to a semi-Hollywood version of a plotline in Imani seems to occur between Simon the Ghetto King and Armstrong the breakdancer. I especially loved Vincent Ochen, the actor who played Simon. He perfectly plays a sawed-off Little Big Shot-type character…Were you influenced by any other narrative fiction filmmakers when you staged their big scene together? There’s a bit of a western-type ambiance to it, a little Tarantino…

Yes, definitely. I can’t help but be influenced by the time I’ve been out of the country, so it’s inevitably going to affect me. I love character-driven independent cinema from all around the world, so if I talk about European independent cinema, we’re talking about Luc Besson, Pedro Almodovar…there are not many women on that list, but it’s those kind of films…. And when we were editing Imani, we did the sound in Lulea, in Sweden, during a very cold time in January. I was talking to the sound designer, and I said that I wanted to make this scene really dramatic. And he said, “What if we cut out all of the sound just before he gestures around the neck?” We did it, and I was like, “Yes! That’s it!” We had this fan noise running, and then we just cut all the sound. So it has that element. I think we used as a reference, not Tarantino, but it was another film…What’s his name, who’s that director with the glasses and a beard [laughs]…

Coppola? Francis Ford Coppola?

Yes! That’s where we got it from. [Kamya may be referring to a key scene in Coppola's The Conversation.]

Getting back to the fact that the movie’s very honest in how it deals with the characters, there’s a lot of melancholy in terms of Mary’s final scene. Was that a hard moment to bring to life?

Not really, actually. When you’re making a movie, it just becomes, “Go to this scene, go to the next scene….” Literally it’s like, bang, bang, bang! First of all, when I was filming Rehema’s performance, I knew there was magic in what she was doing. But the decisions her character has to make are decisions that happen for women a lot of the time–actually, in any culture, in a way. That’s how I see it, and for her, it’s like, she’s made this decision but she’s not a victim. I didn’t want her to be seen as a victim. So it’s a tough choice, but it’s a means to an end. She does not see it as losing her…how can I say it…status, or….

…Or losing her dignity.

Exactly. She’s actually a very strong woman who’s made a tough choice for the benefit of her sister. And in the end, I think she made the right choice, personally.

It’s interesting when you hit that point in the film, because the storyline just ends; your preconceived notions of what a movie should do are subverted. I think it was very brave of you to just end it where you did, and–as you said–let the audience mull over what’s next after the credits roll. In a traditional Hollywood movie, afterwards maybe Mary and George would grow to love each other, there might be something else there, but you chose to leave it at this existential open end.

Thank you for noticing. I was just trying to be honest to the characters.

The areas that you shot weren’t scenic, per se, but it seemed like you found a lot of beauty in the mundane corners of Ugandan life. I’m assuming that came from your documentary background.

Exactly. I worked with the locations. I loved the fact that we didn’t have a set; we didn’t have the money to build a set. But it worked. The ghetto where we had Simon’s den, I had to shoot two locations because we didn’t have the perfect one. And the graffiti on the wall, where Armstrong stands with the knife, there’s an artist in Uganda who did all that. It’s a positive message about getting yourself out of poverty, raising up, and as an individual doing it yourself.

There are many significant little motifs that a local would see, and we have a cityscape, and a city…I’m dropping it in there. It’s necessary for me to have these scenes to tell the story, but it’s not just to say, “Hey! We have that, and we have this!” We have a short shot where you have an egg being broken; that is a dish that’s made on the streets. It’s called rolex. It’s like chapati, you make an omelet and roll it up–it’s like a dollar or less. So the little details, for Ugandans, are all very relevant. But for global audiences it makes it more real. You might not understand all of it, but it’s much more authentic.

I like that you don’t go out of your way to explain those little things; you let the audience experience it…

It makes the experience of watching more genuine for the audience.

You were away from Uganda for a long time, studying and absorbing a lot of outside influences…Did you find it difficult to capture the regional flavor? Being someone away from the area for a long time, did you ever feel like a prodigal daughter returning?

Well, we always went home [to Uganda] for the holidays, so I was never completely away. And also, I think the outsider/insider part of me allows me to see details that people don’t see when you just live there every day. You just take it for granted. But for me, a rolex is fascinating. Or a guy [balancing] a sofa on his bicycle is fascinating. Even when we had the screening in Uganda, people really enjoyed seeing that. They were seeing their country for the first time on the big screen, and they’re seeing the little nuances that happen every day. So I think in some ways, it’s actually helpful not to have lived in one place all your life in order to make a movie about it. You just see things that the everyday person would take for granted.

What’s next for you?

My sister and I are going to work on the next feature film; she’s working on writing it at the moment. Of course we’ve still got the festival circuit to complete with Imani, and I’ll be working on documentaries. And I want to do more training in terms of direction–I think there’s still lots to learn.