At the Movies: Son of a Lion
Q: What does a busy New South Wales paramedic do in his time off? Surfing at Bondi? Trekking in the Blue Mountains? Pub crawl with his mates?
A: No. He goes to the arid, stark northwest frontier province of Pakistan, where Osama bin Laden purportedly lurks, which the US still bombs, and where foreigners are banned. Disguised as a local clansman and with the aid of villagers and his hand-held DV camera, he makes a fascinating, emotional drama about an 11-year-old boy who wants to go to school instead of becoming an arms manufacturer, as his hardened fundamentalist father demands. No professional actors. Just villagers playing the parts, using their own village and their own names. It’s extraordinary storytelling. “Fiction” doesn’t get more authentic than this.
Sher Alam is Mujahidin—a holy warrior, a survivor of the Afghan-Soviet conflict, an Islamic fundamentalist, poor and uneducated. Now a widower, he expects his only son, Niaz, to commit his future to their weapons workshop: “We are in bad days, boy, and we will make guns as long as these bad days exist.” Daily life is punctuated by the sound of gunfire and pedestrians die randomly in the street from falling bullets discharged into the sky.
Niaz’ more musical and literary inclinations are supported by his uncle and other progressive locals, and through the conflict and story that ensues, the viewer has a rare window on the real culture, lifestyle, humour, wisdom and opinions of an invisible world. There are also fantastic public transport alternatives we’ve never considered. The script, through Niaz’ elders, delivers real philosophical gems, and some of the performances—notably Sher Alam’s—are unexpectedly moving.
Novice writer/producer/director/editor Benjamin Gilmour collaborated with the real villagers of Kohat and Darra Adam Khel to make Son of a Lion. The province is home to the ethnic Afghan Pashtuns who drove the Soviets out of Afghanistan, gaining the West’s regard until it discovered that Pashtun clansmen comprised the Taleban’s largest contingent.
The area is defined by its gross poverty, low levels of education, and manufacture of assault weaponry. Western influences are limited to the presence of US firearms among the AK-47s and Kalashnikovs, and attitudes to the West are hostile or cynical.
Gilmour first visited the area before 9/11 and returned to Australia with ideas for a film that represented the realities of Islamic society, not the stereotypes and myths Westerners uphold. Back in Pakistan, a local man, Hiyat Khan Shinwari, became his guide and ultimately his executive producer, choosing cast members (including his son and his own mother). Gilmour’s Pakistani contacts even helped him rewrite his script to make it more authentic.
I’ll never tell you how a movie ends. But during this closing scene, one thought hit me with a wallop. Niaz is a thoughtful boy with natural compassion, even for his enemies. I’d been agitating for his education throughout. But if compassion does not prevail when children have a harsh upbringing, anti-Western, fundamentalist influences, weapons training—and then increased education—who or what does that create?
Maria Polglase
SON OF A LION (PG) Next screening at the Village Theatre, Wednesday 6 May, 7.30pm.
