Editor’s note: The following is a review from a Critical Writing and Reviewing student at the University of Missouri.
A little girl sits cross-legged on the floor, cradling a yellow teddy bear. Mildred, from Operation Bobbi Bear, helps to stretch a rubber band around the bear’s neck where the girl’s neighbor clenched his hands around her throat. The girl sticks band aids over the places he violated her, so she doesn’t have to say them aloud, then cries into Mildred’s shoulder because she is too afraid to go home.
This is daily work for the women of Bobbi Bear in Durban, South Africa, and one of the first scenes of Kim Longinotto’s documentary film “Rough Aunties” to grace viewers’ eyes. Longinotto traces founder Jackie Branfield and her force of friends and liberators — Eureka Oliver, Mildred Ngcobo, Sdudia Maphumulo and Thuli Sibiya — through 10 weeks of equally poignant struggles, laying open the emotions behind their seemingly fearless exteriors. The recipient of this year’s True Vision Award, Longinotto’s work is as raw and gutsy as the women she captures on camera.
Longinotto lets the “Rough Aunties” speak for themselves, keeping herself outside the frame while the action unfolds. The scenes shift from head-on interviews with Bobbi Bear members — including a particularly moving close-up of Mildred as she reveals her own history of abuse — to the women’s banter as they chatter over one another, arguing whether Bobbi Bear has toughened their skin against offenders.
It seems Durban’s skies are always ready to open up, and Mildred’s stark white interview backdrop abruptly transforms into torrents of rain pelting frantic wiper blades. What follows is Thuli’s interview with a girl who has been raped by her grandfather, the scene punctuated by rumbling thunder. Longinotto adds music only to transition in and out of the film, playing the same joyful reggae melody at the beginning and end. This way, the situations and conversations that play out are unembellished, messy and real.
The women at Bobbi Bear seem unafraid. They accompany police on raids looking for the accused, breaking down doors in the middle of the night. They shoo away a woman who scolds them for not arresting a girl’s father first. He raped her before her brother did, the woman repeated. But despite their unquestionable gumption, Longinotto allows Jackie, Mildred, Eureka, Thuli and Sdudia many moments of distress on screen. Eureka sobs after a robbery and inadequate health care cause the death of the father of two girls, while Sdudia cries out after losing her 7-year-old son, Shababa, to the river he must cross to go to school.
Shababa’s funeral is the longest series of shots in the film. Sdudia’s lamenting cries go on for minutes as Longinotto pans across the community united as they stare in silence at the water behind her. The women of Bobbi Bear surround Sdudia in a tight circle, as if to protect her. The funeral is an extended period of vocal mourning — the women sing until Longinotto pulls up a shot of Jackie commending Sdudia for her strength. Sdudia asks to come back to work the very next day. By letting them cry, Longinotto shows that empathy is part of what allows these women to plow forward.
The funeral has the potential to take away from the film’s overall message with its dominating length, but in her characteristic way, Jackie shapes the loss into a new platform for Bobbi Bear. These children need a bridge to get to school, so she will make the corporation responsible for rerouting of the river also responsible for Shababa and others’ deaths. Bobbi Bear doesn’t just tackle abuse; these women are fighting on multiple fronts, from corruption in health care to the neglect of social services.
If there is any complaint about this film, it is that Longinotto leaves out most of the history behind the organization and tells nothing of Jackie’s past. I wanted to know about her childhood and her reasons for starting Bobbi Bear. I wondered what happened to the children Longinotto introduced to the audience and left out once Shababa’s death overshadowed the plot.
For all its heaviness, however, the film isn’t without some humor. Jackie’s cell phone rings like a police siren, the office is always running out of tissues, and according to Eureka, it’s Zulu culture to use the “f-word.” The women learn from and counsel one another, bridging the gaps between race and experience.
In the end, Jackie attempts to convince her husband to adopt a troubled little girl named Nonhlanhla, who has suffered years of beatings by her uncle. The film ends in a freeze-frame image of Jackie’s daughter and Nonhlanhla in an embrace, signifying hope for the future. A little cheesy, but effective nonetheless. Longinotto’s genuine portrait shows that, thanks to the women of Bobbi Bear, Zulu culture no longer has to be a culture of silence.
by Jessica Showers
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