I am from Senegal. My mother is French, and my father is Senegalese. I grew up in Paris, in the suburbs, and that is where I live. I am twenty-nine today. I think I must have done my first short film ten years ago. But I have actually been making a living as a filmmaker for six years.

Do you remember the first film you ever saw?
No, I was a little kid. I remember that I was a little scared. East of Eden, Elia Kazan’s film, is the first film that I remember well. It was mandatory screening for us students. I was asleep and all of a sudden I woke up, and I saw a shot were the camera was tilted. It was the scene between James Dean and the father, and for the first time I recognized cinematic language — that one could talk with a camera, a camera can speak.

Did you spend any time in Senegal?
Yes, on holiday. My family had little, but my parents sent us to Senegal. For me it was a dream land, a magical country, my father’s country. I did not really want to visit. I preferred it to be an imaginary land.

Is it a fair statement to say that there is such a thing as European cinema versus African Cinema? Am I right to categorize? Are these meaningful categories?
No. You cannot categorize film geographically; there are no clear distinctions. African filmmakers, more than others, make political statements. However, there have always been African filmmakers who are not activist, who make films which are not political. African filmmakers express themselves. In that sense, European and African cinema are alike. I can be moved the same way by Japanese films or American films or films from Burkina because they talk of men and women who, whether they are like me or not, touch me. The films of Djibril Diop Mambety, for instance, are not specifically African except maybe the themes, but it is a clearly personal and distinct approach, which belongs only to him.

Ultimately, these are false categories. They are a way to file films. So, here is another false label: You are a French filmmaker You have a certain ancestry but you are a French filmmaker. Are you drawn to a subject matter that are very close to you? L’Afrance is clearly very personal, deeply felt. Do you want your films to have a strong African dimension to them in terms of content?
I don¹t ask myself the question when I am filming. There is no intention to be French or Senegalese. My ways of being are very Senegalese, and the way my characters behave shows a background closer to Africa. But it isn¹t voluntary that culture is very present in me. What I want to bring to the screen is the basic conflict you face when you are an outsider. Living somewhere but coming from somewhere else.

Which screening of L’Afrance excited you most, the showing in Saint Germain or the one in Senegal?
Both. What I like is that people here in Saint Germain may recognize themselves on the screen. I am totally taken when someone in Greece says, ‘this is me. I recognize myself in your character.’ The story shows how someone in exile comes to terms with himself, just because of that exile. We are all men and women trying to do our best, dealing with our past and the present and when it is shown in Senegal, I like it very much also.

Addressing the universality of the character, I had a very personal, very specific response to that film. On my trips to France previously, I noticed a strong African presence. And it has always pleased me. I love that about Paris, the humanistic contribution, the cultural contribution. It makes Paris that much more an extraordinary city for me. Now, I no longer see African people in the streets with naïvité. It occured to me that emigrants may suffer this kind of schizophrenia. I was very touched by that. You complicated my vision. I am very grateful for that. You are not like the hero of the film, but you have a strong connection to him.
  Actually, creating this character was a way for me to understand my own situation. As I said, I grew up with the idea of that far away magical, extraordinary land called Senegal, to where I would go back. Emigrants come and plan to stay five years, ten years, or plan to go back when they stop working. They are continually dreaming of this return. They never think that the longer they stay, the more difficult it will be to go back. And it turns out to be an obstacle to living a full life where you are. I grew up here and yet the idea was that eventually I would go back, and it meant that I did not have any reasons to fight. Being of a minority is being in a comfort zone because you are always right, you are not responsible. For instance, if today the French government kills people in Côte D’Ivoire or elsewhere, I am not responsible. I would side with the Ivoirians. I am always siding with the minorities, siding with those who are suffering, so therefore, I would not feel responsible for the actions of the French government. I have a hard time saying that I am French because this country rejects me, but this position in the long run becomes quite comfortable, because I am always on the safe side. And this becomes a problem for me because it is like running away from myself all the time. That is how I lived.

I like the way you edited L’Afrance very much. It is very confident and unobtrusive and honest. But the film is also punctuated by scenes of beauty that can live comfortably with the cinema vérité. Do you have any particular visual influences? Can you point to any filmmaker and say, my style has a lot to do with the films of ...
I owe a lot to many people. I like a lot of different styles. I like Jean Eustache as much as Murnau or Jean Vigo, Welles or Dreyer — people who have added, linked an aesthetical dimension, to street scenes. Actually, I like the spontaneity just as much.

Could speak about actors and how you like to work with them. Is this a mixture of professional and non-professional actors? Are they expatriates? Did they know each other?
The film gave me a sense of a community. There was fantastic realsim in the tension and the ease between the friends. Seventy percent are professionals. Djolof Mengue is a friend, and he had never acted before. We worked two months prior to shooting. The actors all met on the set. Something was attracting them, so they brought a lot. After three weeks of work, I had less and less to say. They took over. Two lines in the script became two pages and long scenes were cut short. There was a kind of togetherness, a collective approach that went beyond me ... some magical moments. We all became friends, although I did not know them before.

I adore Sembene’s films. He has a special place for me. Have you seen him? How does he fit into your filmmaking?
There are two schools in Senegal. I respect and like Sembene, but I have a stronger sense of affinity toward Djibril Diop Mambety, who manipulates the image more.

So, is Sembene of the old school, old fashioned.
No, what I like is the way Djibril Diop, or Vigo for that matter, uses cinema as clay — playing with it, molding it. It is not a question of time or fashion, just a question of sensibility, of approach. I have more affinity with those who are constantly in this searching process. In content and in context, I always have a problem when a filmmaker says to me, ‘here is the truth,’ or ‘this is bad,’ or ‘this is good,’ even if I agree with him or her. The main question for me is, ‘which parts of me exist in the character?’ Whether he is good or evil. I also like Dreyer very much. What I like can be a very simple idea in a film. For instance, in La bataille du rail René Clément talks of the French Resistance during the Second World War. There is an execution ‹ several people are being executed by the Germans. They line them up and Clément chooses to show only one, the last man on line. The camera lingers on the man¹s face for thirty or forty seconds while shots are heard off-screen. The man knows he will be next. This is a great cinematic experience for me, a big moment of cinema.

Even in L’Afrance the camera lingers at times on faces. It is very powerful. I see that influence. There is this horrendous scene in your film when your character winds up in confinement, because his papers are late. I was shocked by that. Do you know personally someone to whom that has happened? Does that happen with some frequency?
It happened to my brother. Yes. It happens here, that you can find yourself in jail without having commited any crime other than being a foreigner.

Having seen The Pianist recently, I was reminded of Germany in the ’30s. This was a powerful scene ‹ you know it must be true, but you don’t want to believe. Your next film?
I am not sure. I am writing this time again about a personal quest, a recurring theme in my work, the quest for indentity. What am I made of? The fear of losing myself, because I am attached to my flaws and the problem of minority: If this is who you are, what is left? What exists outside of this condition of being?

The new script is set in France?
Yes, in Spain, too.

When will you be making your first film in America?
I do not know. I would also like to make a film in Senegal.

ABOUT THE DIRECTOR
Alain Gomis studied cinematography at the Sorbonne. After graduating he organized and facilitated video production workshoips for immigrant youth in Nanterre. His debut feature L’Afrance won the Silver Leopold for best first feature at Locarno. He has made three short films and is currently completing the script of his second feature film, Andalucia.

ABOUT THE INTERVIEWER
Jonathan Demme is an Oscar-Winning director (Stop Making Sense, Philadelphia, Silence of the Lambs, Beloved,The Truth About Charlie). He has also produced several films including Adaptation, Maangamizi, the Ancient One, and Beah: A Black Woman Speaks. His latest picture is, The Agronomist, a documentary portrait of his friend, Haitian radio journalist and human rights activist Jean Dominique.