18 Mar 2025 | Africa, News and features, South Africa
Gavin Hood directed the 2006 Best Foreign Language Academy Award winning film Tsotsi, based on the acclaimed novel by South Africa’s greatest playwright, the late Athol Fugard. Hood only met Fugard once but the writer’s influence on him has been deep and profound. Index on Censorship asked Hood to offer his personal thoughts on the impact of the legendary artist on his own life and work.
“Decency. You know the word, Tsotsi? Decency? I had a little bit of it, so I was sick. And that big one tonight, with the tie… he had a lot. So, he’s dead.”
It’s 2004. Actor Mothusi Magano, playing self-loathing, guilt-ridden drunk Boston, spits the slurred words at Presley Chweneyagae, the lead in a film I’m directing based on Athol Fugard’s haunting, redemptive masterpiece, Tsotsi. Boston is sickened by his participation in the murder of a dignified older man, stabbed just an hour earlier for nothing more than a few notes in his wallet.
Chweneyagae, chillingly silent, rocks back and forth ever so slightly, an unstoppable rage building behind his hooded eyes. He suddenly launches a vicious attack on Boston, who, like Fugard, just won’t stop talking about human dignity and compassion, even in the face of brutality.
Tsotsi is Fugard’s only novel. He is celebrated around the world as South Africa’s greatest ever playwright – and that is how I first encountered him. It was 1977. I was 13 years old, and attending a privileged, all-white, private boys’ school, when my parents took me to see The Island at The Market Theatre in downtown Johannesburg.
Fugard wrote the explosive two-handed epic in collaboration with his Tony Award winning stars, the legendary South African actors John Kani and Winston Ntshona. Less than a year earlier, the two actors had been jailed for their performance in another Fugard play, Sizwe Banzi is Dead, which the apartheid authorities claimed contained “inflammable, abusive and vulgar subject matter”.
Bluntly, I had never seen Black actors performing in a theatre before. I think my mother, who was a high-school English, French and History teacher, had heard that The Island referenced Sophocles’ tragedy Antigone, because I vaguely recall her outlining the plot of that play and saying she understood that The Island would also be about defying repressive authority.
Despite the heads up, I was hardly prepared for the raw, visceral power of a tale of human dignity and resistance by two prisoners rehearsing Antigone on a prison island that was clearly a stand in for Robben Island, where the world’s most famous political prisoner Nelson Mandela had been held since 1964.
Through the turbulent 1980s, I studied law at The University of the Witwatersrand. From the relative safety of my liberal white status, I worked at the Wits law clinic, briefly representing a few impoverished clients; I attended my fair share of student protests, got teargassed, and even got arrested once, just for an afternoon for attending a banned Winnie Mandela gathering on campus; I wrote a newspaper article questioning the neutrality of a newly appointed Chief Justice – which got me an unsettling call ominously declaring, “You must be careful what you write” – and I performed in a number of not too controversial theatre productions.
But through all those confounding formative years – marred by state violence I only ever experienced tangentially – I attended every Fugard play that came to The Market Theatre, from Hello and Goodbye to The Road to Mecca to Master Harold… and the Boys. I marvelled at how his intimate, tightly coiled works spoke so bravely and elegantly about the personal moral dilemmas, regrets, and reconciliations of ordinary, imperfect people living under a soul-crushing system. His art gnawed at my conscience while, at the same time, expressing an unyielding optimism and hope.
I completed my degree, worked briefly for a commercial law firm, left to pursue a career as a professional actor and then, in mid-1989, facing a rising risk of being called up to join a military camp to serve in the townships that were quite literally on fire, I secured a student visa to study screenwriting and directing at University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA) and left South Africa for the USA.
Unbelievably, just a few months later, with the fall of the Berlin Wall and the defeat of the “Rooi Gevaar” (the “Red Communist Danger”) British and American support for the apartheid regime evaporated and by 1994 I was back in the New South Africa, now led by President Mandela, working for the new Department of Health on HIV / AIDS educational dramas for television.
Fugard was still writing plays, and I was once again watching productions like Valley Song at theatres like The Baxter in Cape Town.
Fast forward to 2000 when, after some minor successes at festivals with a short film ironically starring Fugard’s long-time collaborator Winston Ntshona, and a low-budget first feature, I was asked by producer Peter Fudakowski if I might consider adapting Fugard’s novel, Tsotsi. “Have you read it?” he asked. “Years ago,” I said – which was true!
I read it again immediately. The book is very internally focused, with the emotional and moral conflicts of its title character mostly conveyed through moving inner monologues, which are notoriously difficult to translate into the visual medium of film.
I called Fudakowski back and reluctantly said a screen adaptation would likely require me to take some liberties with the plot and structure – and I was not at all sure how Fugard might feel about that.
Fudakowski called Fugard’s agent. Would he be willing to discuss the adaptation with Gavin and perhaps collaborate with him through the process?
“No,” came Fugard’s blunt reply through his agent a day later. “Athol is a playwright. He tried making a film once and he didn’t enjoy the process. He wishes you only the best and, when the film is complete, he’d love to see it – before it’s released. If he likes it, he’ll say so. If not, he will keep silent, and the critics will say whatever they say.”
I was shaken. It’s not unusual for those who love a book to loathe a film adaptation. Often rightly. What if Fugard hated the film? “What if the critics hate the film?” Fudakowski replied – and decided to hire me anyway.
Cut to five long years later and the film is finally complete. I have just dropped off a print (back then the cinemas still screened reels of film!) and I am sitting with my wife, Nerissa, in a coffee shop a block away from a small art house cinema in San Diego. We are waiting for a call from the projectionist to tell us that Fugard has arrived for a private screening.
The phone rings. He has arrived, with his poet and novelist wife, Sheila Meiring Fugard, and close friend Marianne McDonald, distinguished professor of theatre and classics at University of California, San Diego (UCSD). They are settling in. The screening will be over in approximately 90 minutes.
I push my coffee aside. My stomach acid is already surging, and my heart is pounding. Fugard’s agent has said Fugard has my cell number. If he likes the film, he will call me after the screening. If he doesn’t, I should please be discreet and allow him to leave without a meeting.
Okay. We wait. I don’t recall what Nerissa and I talked about to kill the time but finally my phone rings. “Unknown caller”. I answer – and a thick, sonorous South African accent fills my ear.
“Gavin, where are you? You must come for dinner! I know a great South African chef right here in San Diego. He will deliver to Marianne’s house. It’s not far. Lamb chops, boerewors, babotie, pap, chakalaka, whatever you like. We must talk. Where are you?”
“I’m a block away,” I say, still not sure if his enthusiasm means he liked the film.
“No man, come, get over here. I loved it! You made changes, I know. But thank you for staying true to the spirit of Tsotsi. That young actor, Presley, he’s extraordinary. They all are. The whole cast. Can you come for dinner?”
And so, I finally meet Athol Fugard.
Nerissa and I went for dinner at Marianne’s beautiful home – an old stone-walled monastery. I recall a huge spread on a very long kitchen table. And Fugard talking and talking and pacing around the room with a chop in one hand, never sitting down, asking a million questions about where we’d filmed and how we’d found such wonderful actors, and the challenges of novel writing, playwriting and screenwriting, and saying how the entire crew had done us all proud.
Yes, it is true that in adapting Tsotsi for the screen I took liberties to interpret emotional shifts through action and non-verbal cues. I also updated the time period from 1950s apartheid South Africa to what was then present day in the new South Africa. I did so to reflect the deep scars inflicted by the system through segregation, forced removals and so-called “Bantu education”, which will take decades to heal from. But the core story, the central themes of redemption and the uniquely original principal characters are all Fugard’s, not mine. It is his generous spirit, his cry for basic human decency and compassion toward our fellow human beings that infuses the film.
Athol, I am forever grateful for the privilege of bringing your beautiful novel to the screen. Thank you for your timeless inspiration – your courage in confronting injustice with moral clarity, and your unwavering human decency. Rest well, sir.
11 Sep 2021 | Afghanistan, News and features
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image=”117433″ img_size=”full” add_caption=”yes”][vc_column_text]More than 80 leading lights from the worlds of film and theatre have signed an open letter to The Times calling on the British government to give artists, writers and film-makers who remain in Afghanistan and face an uncertain future under the Taliban safe passage out of the country.
The letter, organised by Index on Censorship and Good Chance Theatre, reads as follows: “Over the past two decades, civil society has flourished in Afghanistan with new freedoms ushering in a golden age of art, music, film and writing. At the same time, political dissent and journalism have thrived in a region where free expression is not always respected. With the Taliban takeover of the country, this rich legacy is in imminent peril. We now have a duty to those artists, writers and film makers who will be silenced if we do not act immediately.
“We urge the British government to cooperate with the international community to create a humanitarian corridor for those seeking safe passage out of the country. We also call on those in positions of influence in the creative industries to help those who have escaped to continue their vital work and safeguard the culture of Afghanistan for future generations.“
Signatories
Majid Adin, artist; Riz Ahmed, actor; Jenny Agutter, actor; Alison Balsom, musician; Siddiq Barmak, director; Sanjeev Bhaskar, actor; Hugh Bonneville, actor; Martin Bright, journalist; Barbara Broccoli, producer; Josephine Burton, director; Jez Butterworth, writer; Robert Chandler, poet; Benedict Cumberbatch, actor; Stephen Daldry, director; Catherine Davidson, writer; Amy Davies Dolamore, producer; Ged Doherty, producer; Parwana Fayyaz, poet; Jane Featherstone, producer; Colin Firth, actor; Sonia Friedman, producer; Stephen Fry, actor; Mark Gatiss, actor; Leah Gayer, director; Claire Gilbert, producer; Paul Greengrass, director; Sir David Hare, writer; Zarlasht Halaimzai, writer; Dame Pippa Harris, producer; Afua Hirsch, writer; Nancy Hirst, director; Mike Hodges, director; Sir Nicholas Hytner, director; Sabrina Guinness, producer; Asif Kapadia, director; Mohammad Akbar Karkar, writer; Daniel King, producer; Keira Knightley, actor; Natalia Koliada, producer; David Lan, producer; Jennifer Langer, editor; Stewart Lee, writer; Kerry Michael, director; Krishnendu Majumdar, producer; Mohsen Makhmalbaf, director; Simon McBurney, director; Kate McGrath, director; Sir Ian McKellen, actor; Nada Menzalji, poet; Sir Sam Mendes, director; David Morrissey, actor; Joe Murphy, writer; Zoe Neirizi, poet; Caro Newling, producer; David Nicholls, writer; Amir Nizar Zuabi, director; Sophie Okonedo, actor; Nasrin Parvaz, writer; Pascale Petit, poet; Trevor Phillips, broadcaster; Clare Pollard, poet; Atiq Rahimi, writer; Shirin Razavian, poet; Ian Rickson, director; Clare Robertson, producer; Joe Robertson, writer; Sir Mark Rylance, actor; Philippe Sands QC, writer; Sarah Sands, editor; Tracey Seaward, producer; Shabibi Shah, writer; Rouhi Shafi, writer; Meera Syal, actor; George Szirtes, poet; Dame Kristin Scott Thomas, actor; Elif Shafak, writer; Thea Sharrock, director; Imelda Staunton, actor; Sir Tom Stoppard, writer; Abdul Sulamal, writer; Jawed Taiman, director; Dame Emma Thompson, actor; Orlando von Einsiedel; producer; Emma Watson, actor; Naomi Webb, producer; Samuel West, actor; Krysty Wilson-Cairns, writer; Haidar Yagane, writer; David Yates, director[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]
16 Feb 2021 | News and features, United Kingdom
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image=”116256″ img_size=”full” add_caption=”yes”][vc_column_text]I can think of few public figures I hold in greater contempt than Ken Loach. Mr Loach may be an esteemed film maker but I regard his politics as those of the sewer. His involvement in the cancelled original production of Perdition, the notoriously antisemitic play, ought to have led all decent people to shun him. Far from that happening, however, he has been widely feted and his career has soared. And yet not only do his views remain the same, he misses few opportunities to promote them.
In short, I loathe the man and find him deeply offensive.
All of which is true, but all of which should be irrelevant to anyone but me and those who are interested in my views of Mr Loach. There are many other public figures whose views I find deeply offensive. To which you rightly respond: Who cares?
Except people do care. Not about my specific response, but about the offence Mr Loach generates among many of my fellow Jews. And that is an issue.
Earlier this month, a brouhaha arose over a decision by students at St Peter’s College, Oxford, to invite Mr Loach to speak (as it happens, about his films rather than, er, Jews). Would I have invited him? I think you know the answer to that. But the invitation was issued, Mr Loach accepted, and we are where we are.
Vile as I – and, let’s be clear, many others – may find him to be, if a group of Oxford students wish to hear from Ken Loach, so be it. He has broken no laws when speaking and has as much right to put forward his views – and, of course, to talk about his films to a group of people interested in hearing from him about them – as anyone else.
Ordinarily, that would have been the end of the matter. But when the event was made public, the Board of Deputies of British Jews weighed in, demanding that the invitation be withdrawn. They argued – correctly – that many Jews find Mr Loach’s views deeply offensive. But, bizarrely and ludicrously, they concluded from this that he should therefore have been banned from speaking.
The sheer idiocy of this position takes some grappling with. For most of my time as editor of the Jewish Chronicle, a recurring story has been how representatives of Israel face violence and intimidation on campus to stop them speaking. In other words, one group of people believe that the offence they take at hearing a certain view entitles them to silence that view. The Board of Deputies has rightly criticised such attempts.
Do they really not see the contradiction? For Jewish students, the greatest campus battle at the moment is the right to be heard. All too often they are shouted down and attacked by anti-Israel activists. The Board of Deputies’ position is that if someone is regarded as offensive by enough people, they should be denied the opportunity to speak. Presumably anywhere, always. If Mr Loach is to be denied the chance to speak at St Peter’s, is he also to be barred from promoting his films? Or from making films?
As one can see, the whole thing unravels with a moment’s thought – as well as being so obviously counter-productive. It will not be long before the next attempt to silence an Israeli speaker, this time doubtless claiming to be based on the Board of Deputies’ own logic, that their presence is offensive to many people.
As readers of this site well know, free speech issues can be complicated. But not always. Sometimes the issue is obvious. I loathe Ken Loach. But I defend his right to speak.[/vc_column_text][/vc_column][/vc_row]
5 Dec 2018 | Artistic Freedom, Artists in Exile, News and features
[vc_row][vc_column][vc_single_image image=”104099″ img_size=”full”][vc_column_text]“If you want to make films in Burundi, you either self-censor and you remain in the country or if you don’t, you have to flee the country,” Eddy Munyaneza, a Burundian documentary filmmaker, told Index on Censorship.
Munyaneza became fascinated in the process of filmmaking at a young age, despite the lack of cinematic resources in Burundi.
He now is the man behind the camera and has released three documentaries since 2010, two of which have drawn the ire of the Burundian government and forced Munyaneza into exile.
His first documentary — Histoire d’une haine manquée — was released in 2010 and has received awards from international and African festivals. The film is based on his personal experience of the Burundian genocide of 1993, which took place after the assassination of the country’s first democratically elected Hutu president Ndadye Melchoir. It focuses on the compassionate actions he witnessed when his Hutu neighbours saved him and his Tutsi sisters from the mass killings that swept the country. The film launched Munyaneza’s career as a filmmaker.
Munyaneza was honoured by Burundi’s president Pierre Nkurunziza for his first film and his work was praised by government officials. But the accolades faded when he turned his camera toward Nkurunziza for his second film in 2016.
The film, Le Troisieme Vide, focused on the two-year political crisis and president’s mandate that followed Nkurunziza’s campaign for an unconstitutional third term in April 2015. During the following two years, between 500 and 2,000 people were tortured and killed, and 400,000 were exiled.
The filming of his second documentary was disrupted when Munyaneza started receiving death threats from the government’s secret service. He was forced to seek asylum in Belgium in 2016 for fear of his life. Through perseverance and passion, he quietly returned to Burundi in July 2016 and April 2017 to finish his short film.
Exile hasn’t affected Munyaneza’s work: in 2018 he released his third film, Lendemains incertains. It tells the stories of Burundians who have stayed or left the country during the 2015 political tension. He secretely returned to Burundi to capture additional footage for his new film, which premiered in Brussels at the Palace Cinema and several festivals.
“I lead a double life, my helplessness away from my loved ones, and the success of the film on the other,” he said. He continues to work in exile, but also works toward returning to Burundi to see his wife and kids who currently reside in a refugee camp in Rwanda, and to create film, photography and audio programs for aspiring Burundian filmmakers.
Gillian Trudeau from Index on Censorship spoke with Munyaneza about his award-winning documentaries and time in exile.
Index: In a country that doesn’t have an abundance of film or cinema resources, how did you become so passionate about filmmaking?
Munyaneza: I was born in a little village where there was no access to electricity or television. At the age of 7, I could go into town for Sunday worship. After the first service, I would go to the cinema in the centre of the town of Gitega. We watched American movies about the Vietnam war and karate films, as well as other action movies which are attractive to young people. After the film my friends and I would have debates about the reality and whether they had been filmed by satellites. I was always against that idea and told them that behind everything there was someone who was making the film, and I was curious to know how they did it. That’s why since that time I’ve been interested in the cinema. Unfortunately, in Burundi, there is no film school. After I finished school in 2002, I began to learn by doing. I was given the opportunity to work with a company called MENYA MEDIA which was getting into audiovisual production and I got training in lots of different things, cinema, writing, and I began to make promotional films. The more I worked, the more I learned.
Index: How would you characterise artistic freedom in Burundi today, and is that any different to when you were growing up?
Munyaneza: To be honest, Burundian cinema really got going with the arrival of digital in the 2000s. Before 2000 there was a feature film called Gito L’Ingrat which was shot in 1992 and directed by Lionce Ngabo and produced by Jacques Sando. After that, there were some productions by National Television and other documentary projects for TV made in-house by National Television. I won’t say that the artistic freedom in those days was so different from today. The evidence is that since those years, I can say after independence, there have not been Burundian filmmakers who have made films about Burundi (either fictional or factual). There were not really any Burundian films made by independent filmmakers between 1960 and 1990. The man who dared to make a film about the 1993 crisis, Kiza by Joseph Bitamba, was forced to go into exile, just as I have been forced to go into exile for my film about the events of 2015. So if you want to make films in Burundi, you either self-censor and you remain in the country or if you don’t, you have to flee the country.
Index: You began receiving threats after you made your second film, Le troisieme vide, in 2016. The film focused on the political crisis that followed the re-election of president Nkurunziza. Why do you think the film received such a reaction?
Munyaneza: Troisieme Vide is a short film which was my final project at the end of my masters in cinema at Saint Louis in Senegal. I knew that just making a film about the 2015 crisis would spark debate. Talking about the events which led to the 2015 crisis, caused by a president who ran for a third term, which he is not allowed to do by the constitution, I was sure that when this film came out I would have problems with the government. But I am not going to be silent like people who are older than me have done, who did not document what went on in Burundi from the 1960s, and have in effect just made the lie bigger. I want to escape this Burundian fate, to at least leave something for the generations to come.
Index: How did you come to the decision to leave Burundi and what did that feel like?
Munyaneza: Burundi is a beautiful country with a beautiful climate. My whole history is there – my family, my friends. It is too difficult to leave your history behind. The road into exile is something you are obliged to do. It’s not a decision, it’s a question of life or death.
Index: How is life in Belgium, being away from your wife and children?
Munyaneza: It is very difficult for me to continue to live far from my family ties. I miss my children. I remain in this state of powerlessness, unable to do anything for them, to educate them or speak to them. It is difficult to sleep without knowing under what roof they are sleeping.
Index: How has your time in exile affected your work?
Munyaneza: On the work front, there is the film which is making its way. It has been chosen for lots of festivals and awards. I have just got the prize (trophy) for best documentary at the African Movie Academy Award 2018. I was invited but I couldn’t go. I lead a double life, my helplessness away from my loved ones, and the success of the film on the other. I have been invited to several festivals to present my film, but I don’t have the right to leave the country because of my refugee status. I am under international protection here in Belgium.
Index: You have returned to your home country on several occasions to film footage for your films. What dangers are your putting yourself in by doing this? And what drives you to take these risks?
Munyaneza: I risked going back to Burundi in July 2016 and in April 2017 to finish my film. To be honest, I didn’t know how the film was going to end up and sometimes I believed that by negotiating with the politicians it could take end up differently. When you are outside (the country) you get lots of information both from pro-government people and from the opposition. The artist that I am I wanted to go and see for myself and film the situation as it was. Perhaps it was a little crazy on my part but I felt an obligation to do it.
Index: Your most recent film, Uncertain Endings, looks at the violence the country has faced since 2015. In it, you show the repression of peaceful protesters. Why are demonstrators treated in such a way and what does this say about the future of the country?
Munyaneza: The selection of Pierre Nkurunziza as the candidate for the Cndd-FDD after the party conference on 25 April provoked a wave of demonstrations in the country. The opposition and numerous civil society bodies judged that a third term for President Nkurinziza would be unconstitutional and against the Arusha accords which paved the way for the end of the long Burundian civil war (1993-2006). These young people are fighting to make sure these accords, which got the country out of a crisis and have stood for years, are followed. Unfortunately, because of this repression, we are back to where we started. In fact, we are returning to the cyclical crises which has been going on in Burundi since the 1960s. But what I learnt from the young people was that the Burundian problem was not based on ethnic divides as we were always told. There were both Hutu and Tutsi there, both taking part in defending the constitution and the Arusha accords. It is the politicians who are manipulating us.
Index: Do you hold out any hope of improvements in Burundi? Do you hope one day to be able to return to your home country?
Munyaneza: After the rain, the sun will reappear. Today it’s a little difficult, but I am sure that politicians will find a way of getting out of this crisis so that we can build this little country. I am sure that one day I’ll go back and make films about my society. I don’t just have to tell stories about the crisis. Burundi is so rich culturally, there are a lot of stories to tell in pictures.[/vc_column_text][vc_video link=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mnGPlAd1to8&t=24s”][/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_row][vc_column][vc_basic_grid post_type=”post” max_items=”4″ element_width=”6″ grid_id=”vc_gid:1543844506394-837bd669-b5fd-5″ taxonomies=”29951, 15469″][/vc_column][/vc_row]
