QUICK SNAP: LIVE FROM CANNES

Born in Pretoria in the year of 1940, Black photographer Ernest Cole spent most of the 1960s snapping the segregated society in which he grew up. He registered both black and whites as they carried on with their lives as normal, indifferent to the “non-whites/whites only” signs everywhere. He also captures people inside their homes. The white man’s house is a “crucible” where whites and blacks meet. He notes: the former are always the masters, and the latter are always the servants. A black woman provides the small white child with as much lover as she would give her own, despite the knowledge that the infant would grow up to treat her just as mean as its mother. Black South Africans carry their “pass” tied around their neck . The document – compulsory to non-whites only – contains minute information about their existence. Black males are routinely arrested and tortured.

Ernest eventually moves to New York in exile. At first, he is impressed by the multiracial and the homosexual couples, and their apparent sense freedom. He notes, however, that the equality wins were very recent, and also that it wasn’t until a few years earlier the Deep South was almost as segregated as his native South Africa. His passion for the City that Never Sleeps doesn’t last long. He soon realises that white Americans think and behave the same as South Africans, that nobody ever looks at the sky (presumably imprisoned by the mediocre existence), and ultimately describes his new abode as soulless. He also has a short stint in Sweden. There are virtually no Black people in the Scandinavian nation, and cordial racism prevents him from entering many public buildings. Despite the absence of the no “non-white” signs, racial segregation is pervasive wherever he goes. He returns to New York, where he dies at the age of 49 in 1990. He has a very sad death, without being able to return home, without seeing his dream come true (Apartheid is abolish one year after his death), and without even having his work published in South Africa (his most famous photobook was banned in the country).

The black-and-white pictures convey a sense of distance, perhaps even nostalgia. These qualities earned Ernest accusations of “lacking edge” from some critics. They failed to realise that the dramatic abilities of his photographies lie in the subtleness and indeed observational quality. The photographer does not seek to exploit his subjects, or to provoke a reaction. It is remarkable, however, that his white subjects often staredat the photographer. The gaze becomes the “tranquil” weapon of the oppressor, our protagonist elucidates. This is just one of the many devices that racist whites use in order to mortify and dehumanise non-whites.

Peck strategically dots his movie with archive television footage and government propaganda. South Africa’s racist government claims that they spend millions in housing for the “negroes”, and that Apartheid is often misunderstood: it’s just a “good neighbourliness” mechanism recognising the differences between people. They have some staunch supporters abroad, particularly in the UK. The fact that Conservative Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher fiercely opposed the releasing of Mandela won’t shock many people. Yet the knowledge that Labour leader Harold Wilson openly opposed a boycott of South Africa in 1964 because “it would cause suffering to whites” – and therefore refused to stop arming the regime – might surprise some. This is virtually the same as the current Labour leader Keir Starmer is doing to the Apartheid regime of Israel, exactly 60 years later. Consecutive votes in the UN in order to boycott South Africa might also ring some bells with anyone following the latest development in the Occupied Palestinian Territory.

The confident voiceover is based on Ernest’s own musings and notes, and about 80% of the film consists of his own pictures and videos (he picked up a colour camera in the late years of his life). Cole remains firmly behind the camera most of the time. A few brief talking heads interactions (archive footage from another videomaker) reveal a measured and soft-spoken man with a hint of sadness in his eyes. The only talking heads captured by Peck’s team is an interview of Cole’s nephew Leslie Matlaisane, who heads the Cole family Foundation. He travels to Sweden in order to reclaim Cole’s missing archives that have inexplicably surfaced inside a Swedish bank vault. The Scandinavian organisation provide the man with no explanation as to how the items ended in their hadns, and who paid for it all those years. A perplexed Matsalaine ironically quips: “a bank in Sweden without record?”.

Ernest Cole: Lost and Found does not have the incessant energy and the punch-in-the-face factor of I’m not your Negro.. Raoul Peck’s 2017 film about Malcolm X boasts an fiery music score, jarring editing and special effects. Yet this is no less powerful material. Ernest Cole’s effectiveness relies instead on quiet and sombre observation. This is a respectful reflection of the personality of the two film subjects. Malcolm X was loud and confrontational, while while Ernest Cole was timid and introspective. The music is pervasive yet not invasive: jazz notes – particularly the sax and the piano – offer some soothing to the Cole’s sad and solitary existence. The compositions of Black American jazz pianist Duke Ellington are a main feature. An unmissable movie.

Ernest Cole: Lost and Found just premiered in the Special Screenings section of the 77th Festival de Cannes.