Met Larouzé

Fanfan's Met Larouzé, a Creole comics adaptation of Jacques Roumain's famous novel is a worthwhile read. In addition to translating Roumain's already linguistically intriguing novel into Creole, Fanfan also visualizes the story of Manuel and Fond Rouge in a compelling way. The depiction of the habitants of the region, suffering from a long drought and general misery, is detailed, showing to an almost painful degree the travails the Haitian population of the era thought. The comic is also very faithful to the original novel, perhaps embellishing or providing additional context here or there that might have been missing from the novel (such as the setting being near Crois des Bouquets). The Creole vocabulary used throughout also may change the meaning of some moments in the plot. For instance, Manuel being called chef of the syndicat (sindicat) instead of the konbit might be a hint towards the resurgence of labor in Haiti near the end of Jean-Claude Duvalier's regime. 

Unfortunately, since the comic does not use the standardized orthography for Haitian Creole I am most familiar with, there are a number of words I struggled to translate or find English or French equivalents for, but that's mostly my problem for not being a fluent speaker. Moreover, backgrounds for the panels are usually not depicted or very detailed, highlighting the centrality of the people themselves and their role in changing their fortune and environment. Of course, when Manuel shows Annaise the source of the water, the Eden-like setting comes to life vividly, without color. Otherwise, we get mostly pastoral and rural scenes, domestic scenes, or meetings at Larivoua's house. Again, the people of Fond Rouge are centered, especially Manuel's mother, Delira.

Delira, it would seem, experiences the most personal and psychological growth. Through her son's sacrifice and her own seizing of destiny, she rejects fatalistic notions of religion (Catholicism and Vodou), and becomes a heroic figure in her own right. Whereas the novel, if I remember correctly, featured a less determined, free-willed Delira, this comic book highlights her role. Once more, I cannot help but wonder if this possible change is due to the political climate of the early 1980s and Bon Nouvel's socially conscious, and culturally affirming journal. The Haitian community here, torn apart by a family feud and poverty, must come together and adapt their traditions to save themselves, which must have been relevant to audiences growing sick of Baby Doc.

It would be useful to compare this to the few other Haitian comics produced in the 1980s by Lorquet, whose comics were original stories with socially relevant commentary on Haitian migrant workers, boatpeople, AIDS, and other issues of the day. Of course, it would also be worthwhile to compare Fanfan's work with the short-lived Haitian comics journal of the 1940s, Zobopes, if it can be located. One wonders why Haitian Creole comics failed to take off? And what to make of the Haitian graphic novel as a literary form that can adopt and adapt masterpieces of the Haitian canon? And the impact of the comics of the late 19th century? The continued use of proverbs, as well as social satire or comedy can be found. Indeed, the use of some of the same proverbs and critique of rapacious elites, corrupt officials, and the 'color question' can be found in both Le Zinglin and Met Larouzé.

Cumbite

"La sangre es la muerte. El agua la vida."

Tomás Gutiérrez Alea's film adaptation of Jacques Roumain's famous novel, Gouverneurs de la rosée, is quite faithful to the text. Taking place in a Haitian rural setting in 1940, the film closely aligns with the plot of Roumain's pivotal novel. Manuel returns from Cuba, meets the romantic interest, reacquaints himself with a birthplace that is in decline and torn apart by a family feud, promises to find a new spring or source of water to help restore agriculture in the reason, and his sacrifice pays off in the end. The deceptively simple plot of Roumain's novel is of course more detailed and nuanced (particularly regarding the role of religion in human liberation and specifically, the conditions in which the peasantry toil), and this relatively short film manages to capture most of that complexity. 

The actors, who I believe are Cubans of Haitian descent in this 1964 film, speak Haitian Creole in key moments (the lengthy scene of the Vodou ceremony, the coumbite at the film's conclusion, and the wake for Manuel), which adds a sense of authenticity. The landscape is mountainous, barren, and eerily reminiscent of Haiti (and right away, when Manuel gets off the bus and walks to his village, the infertile land and its eroded hills symbolize the decay of the community), which adds another layer of accuracy to the Cuban film. Roumain's socialist and optimistic tale also matches thematically the early years of the Cuban Revolution and the socialist government of Castro, thereby making this film a socialist art film rendering of a socialist novel. 

On the question of religion, the film also captures some of the ambiguity of Roumain. The Vodou ceremony scene, one of the longest in the film, is beautifully done yet understated, and Manuel appears uncomfortable but participates in the dancing anyway, much like Manuel in the novel, who does not necessarily believe in the lwa but comes to accept their importance for the community, particularly his mother. Moreover, Vodou symbols introduce the film, thereby establishing a pattern in which Vodou aesthetics and belief are integral to the worldview of the characters. While the Catholic and Vodou prayers and rituals of the community may not be personal belief of Manuel, as previously mentioned, but are not divorced from the social or class interests of the peasantry or proletariat. By not relying on stereotypes and using Cubans of Haitian descent, the nuances of Vodou as a religious philosophy (and Afro-Haitian culture in general) are portrayed respectfully.

As a nice touch to the themes of the Cuban Revolution, the patriarchal assumptions or sexism of the novel are not overstated in the film, although women characters are, besides Manuel's mother (and Annaise or the manbo) largely ignored. Yet, the exclusion of women at all is challenged by the powerful scene introducing the viewer to Manuel's parents. In it his mother rests against the central pillar, literally symbolizing the potomitan saying about Haitian women. Manuel's mother goes on to play an important role in the film, too, ushering in a general coumbite to finish the canal and irrigate everyone's fields. Annaise is plagued by the original text material as a weaker character, but Manuel's mother more than makes up for it while his father, Bienaime, is far less central to the film than in the novel. 

Overall, Cumbite is a worthwhile film. Drawing from one of most widely respected works of Haitian literature, Alea manages to capture most of the text's magical appeal and politicized intent, thereby connecting this Haitian community to the much larger world of the Caribbean, capitalism, as well as exploitation. The migrant Haitians returning from Cuba were hardly apolitical as the case of Manuel indicates, and the fact that this film was made in the 1960s, only a few years after the successful Cuban Revolution, suggests that the film's political resonance with socialist Cuba possessed positive goals for social advances. Unfortunately, the film could have done a better job incorporating the Haitian state into the story a little more, but for a film of around 90 minutes, this is probably as good as it gets.