Levels  of  Intervention  in  Films  made for  African
Audiences in  South  Africa

HARRIET GAVSHON

Nearly five years have passed since the disclosures into the
Department of Information began; the  'outrage' has lapsed, and
no doubt, the last vestiges of information have been shelved.
Although we have a general idea of the South African Government's
attempt to control, if not "establish" a "Bantu Film Industry" 1,
we still do not know many details of the procedure; nor do we
know to what extent those structures which were established have
been dismantled.

Yet it is not entirely necessary to have copies of documents
proving the state's intervention or funding of the industry to know
that there is / has been an intervention; at our most generous, we
can assume that the state would not tolerate this strategic means
of information if it did not serve its interests.  What we have
learnt from the "Information Scandal" however, is that this means
of communication was regarded as « useful, if not essential
acquisition for increasing its hegemony in a specific area.

The hegemony of the present rule in South Africa will of course
always be incomplete; apartheid has never nor will ever be able
to incorporate the majority of South Africans into its ideological
framework; hence the battery of laws and apparatuses of control
which are needed to maintain its existence.  Although it is obviously
common knowledge by now, both to the state and to the populace,
that apartheid can only be maintained by increasingly repressive
mechanisms, this has never stopped it from trying to create some
sort of ideological consensus to its rule.  To an extent it has
been successful.  Amongst the white population certainly, we can
assume a degree of ideological homogeneity.

Although the evidences regarding the "Information Scandal" and
what we can call (for want of a better title) the black £llm
£ndu6t>iy have been useful in furthering our understanding of the
attempt of the state to harness the control of cultural production,
it should not be seen as an isolated or extraordinary situation.
We will see that in this sector of the South African film industry
making films for African audiences, a routine series of interven-
tions, or gate-keeping procedures are common practice.  These
apparatuses, often under the semblance of bureaucracy, serve to
ensure a relative consistency  in the content of the films.

C/iltical AJUA  Vot 2  No  4 

13

Moreover, the structure of commercial film production in any
country provides its own mediating matrix governed by the laws
of production and consumption.  As we will see however, because
such a high percentage of the profits are generated by the state's
subsidy of this industry, a certain unity has been achieved between
the intentions of the state, and the profit motives of the industry.
Given these factors, combined with the notion that the films are
made by white directors expressing those particular ideas and values
of their class position, it is not surprising that the films share
a number of common attributes and characteristics. 2

By tracing the process of film making in the industry, from production
to consumption, we will see the unique articulation of these three
elements; the indirect intervention of the state; the mediation
of the profit motive; and the relative ideological unity of those
who produce the films.  The direct intervention of the state,through
the Department of Information for example, seems almost a redundancy.

Cinema for African audiences in South Africa was introduced as
early as 1920.  Through the initiative of the Reverend Ray Phillips
of the American Board of Missions, a service of severely censored
film shows in mine compounds was established.  Noting their success,
the Chamber of Mines and the Municipal Native Affairs Department
began to take an active interest as they realized the value of
cinema in "sublimating criminal tendencies". 3

I think the general effect is beneficial to both the
native and the compound, as it makes the occupants of
the compounds more contented and gives them something
wholesome to think about. *

The use of cinema, both for instruction and  'entertainment' has
always been important in the mining industry.  The commercial
production of films specifically aimed at African audiences however,
was not exploited until the early seventies.  By 1981 it was esti-
mated that the black film industry was generating yearly turnovers
of between R2 - 3 million and over thirty films had been made.  The
reason for the sudden momentum, no doubt, was the changes in the
structure of the state subsidy scheme.  Prior to 1972, there was
no differentiated policy operating for films made in anything other
than the two official languages.  In 1972, a clause was included
allowing for a maximum of R45 000 subsidy return for films made
in an African language.  The first feature of this kind, although
in English was only made in 1972.  Joe. Bullet had an all black cast
and was never meant for anything other than release to an African
audience. !  It was only in 1974, that the same director, Tonie
van der Merwe, made the first feature in an African language. 6
The separate subsidy was surely not established to fill a need on
behalf of the industry.  It is more likely that it was established
to fill a particular vacuum that existed in the cultural apparatuses
of the state.  For in 1977, when the maximum subsidy return was
raised from R45 000 to R70 000, it was at the suggestion of Connie
Mulder, then Minister of Information. 7

Although R70 000 does not seem to be that much of an incentive given
the cost of making a film, this amount is over and above the profits
received from ticket sales.  Also, we are dealing with an  'industry'
on the periphery of the established industry, operating almost as

Cnltlna.1 Aiti  Vol Z  No 4 

14

independent film makers in their methods.  Most of the companies
operate as one man bands, with little other than one scriptwriter/
producer/director and sometimes even cameraman/editor.  It is rare
that a film costs more than R50 000 to make, and the average cost
is closer to R20 000.  Often the films are shot on reversal stock;
shooting lasts a few weeks, and often a few days, and many are shot
in sequence.  One producer regards Roger Corraan * as his mentor I

Most of the films are shot in Zulu as it is the most widely under-
stood language.  Often, there are no dialogue scripts but merely
synopses; and when there are, they are generally written in English.
Obviously, extensive use of interpreters on set is common practice,
but one wonders about the editing process!

That many of the what Tomaselli calls  'back to the homelands' films
are made so carelessly is in itself a racism; in the same way as
the films made for the "platteland" drive-in circuit so often
take advantage of the lack of sophistication of the audiences, and
their lack of exposure to comparative products.  Because no central
distribution network exists, however, the producers do not have
the restraint of having to sell their films to anyone other than
an audience with very few opportunities to see films.  The films
are mostly distributed in rural areas, though the later and better
made  'fantasy' or 'conditional urban'films are shown mainly in
the urban areas.

Most of the producers initiate their own distribution, although
there are also small privately owned hiring companies.  Because
of the lack of cinema facilities  9, they are shown in church and
school halls.  Also, most producers own their own mobile units
equipped with generators; (like the agit-trains of the early
Soviet cinema).  The films are also hired by black entrepreneurs,
Administration Boards, mining companies and organisations such
as Inkatha.  Because of the venues, a large proportion of the
audience are children  who would be aore vulnerable to the contents
of the films.

In urban areas, it is not uncommon that the films are subject to
scrutiny by the Administration Boards before being shown.  Although
there is nothing in the Publications Act which requires this,
because most of the halls are state owned and administered by the
boards, they have the right of censorship.  Moreover, because one
has to get a permit to film in a township, the scripts are often
scrutinised before shooting.  Often they are submitted voluntarily
as a routine procedure.

Censorship of films shown to African audiences is traditionally
more stringent than of films shown to whites.  Before the 1974
amendment of the Publications Control Act of 1963 " , differential
censorship was specifically expressed as such.  When challenged
on the issue, the Minister of the Interior replied:

We know what sort of film it should be to show to a race
that has not yet reached the level of civilization that we
have reached  ... there are some films which can be exhibited
more safely to a white child than to an adult Bantu  ...  n

Although the specific clause allowing for differential censorship
was removed in the 1974 amendment, a safety clause stating that

Cnltlc.a.1 KKtt  Vol  2 No  4 

15

"persons in a specific category  ... or at a specified place  .. .
may not be permitted to attend the entertainment  in question", was
retained. "  Differential censorship  in effect is still practised,
albeit with more subtlety.

The fact that mechanisms for censorship exist at all can be seen
as an expression of the failure of the state to achieve an ideological
homogeneity.  In the case of the 'black'film industry, although
having to go through the motions of being passed by the Directorate
of Publications, this apparatus seems almost obsolete.  In the ten
years of the industry's existence, not one film has been banned
and very few cuts have been ordered.  A closer examination of
why this should be so gives us an idea of the convergence of those
elements of mediation.  In the parallel  'white' film industry, the
censorship machinery is used frequently.  It is certainly an issue
that faces both English and Afrikaans film makers even if it operates
only on the level of the degree of nudity that should be allowed.

In the case of the black film industry, it is certain that self-
censorship is an issue from the beginning of the process.  There
must be an awareness of the responsibility they carry, and the
very special place they occupy within the process of cultural and
ideological production.  There is undoubtedly an appreciation of
political sensitivity as is manifested in the almost paranoid
avoidance of reference to politics or race in the content of the
films.  Moreover, because of the relationship of the industry to
the subsidy system, it is doubtful that any chances would be taken
to place the subsidy in jeopardy in any way.  The films are financed
by private capital; often small-scale entrepreneura1 capital, which
is not the sort to take risks.  Besides, how far can your risk
extend if the scripts are subject to scrutiny before one can film
in a black area; that is, before shooting even starts?  Also, as
a part of the ruling classes, the producers as such not only repro-
duce those ideas that are necessary for the reproduction of those
classes, but are an expression of its cohesion.  Thus in the repro-
duction of those ideas, given that ideology is a "lived relation"
between men and their world  M  , there is not necessarily a conflict
of interests, or of ideas.

Given the interaction of these elements therefore, it is not surpri-
sing that one finds so many correspondences and similarities in
the content of the films.  Yet their degree of specificity spans
the gamut of being merely an expression of dominant ideological
images, myths and values to those dealing explicitly  Cin a narrative
form) with issues fundamental to the present relations of production
and specifically, apartheid or racial capitalism.

Even with films in which one marvels at the wonders of an imagin-
ation which can conceive of something so far removed from South
African reality; that is, those films one tends to dismiss as pure
escapism, there is a certain representation of reality which,
couched in different narratives is repeated over and over again.
This ?by virtue of the fact that so many issues are avoided, points
to significant areas of ideological tension, not only within the
consciousness of the producers, but  as characterising the entire
social formation.  These gaps, or itnactanltig ab&e.nce.i are a means
whereby we can consider a text no matter how far removed it might
seem to be from its historical context. *

CiUtlaal AAti  Vol 2  Ho 4 

16

The most astounding aspect of films aimed at black audiences is
an absence of any whites;  either as characters or extras.  Even
street scenes, for example, hardly ever show any white pedestrians.
One can see why this has to be so,given the construction of a
narrative where events occur which exist only within the frame of
a narrative discourse, and which are logical only to that manu-
factured world.  The mere image of whites would have the result
of drawing correspondences between that fabricated world and the
historical reality of the spectator, and corrode the illusion of
the logicality of the narrative.  Given that a dominant image in
these films  (and indeed most films in commercial cinema) operates
on the supposition of the freedom of the individual to negotiate
the conditions of his/her own existence, the presence of whites
would evoke wider questions regarding structural boundaries.  In
every way there is an attempt to create a "normal" world, in
which the aspirations of the characters are met, as in any "normal"
social formation, and it is important that any images are avoided
that would suggest South Africa as an abberation.

Similarly there is a total absence of political issues so that
individual crises are formed by vital plot devices or by the
stupidity/laziness/evilness  of the individual.  Many films are
constructed within a moral fairy tale such as  'crime don't pay',
or hard work means wealth and getting the  'girl'.  Also, although
so many of the films are structured around the central motif of
social mobility, there is a marked absence of poverty.  All the
films are located within idealized middle class settings, even
though, for the purpose of representing the process of social
mobility, there has to be a representation of contrast.  So, in
Botiotio u  for example, Luki is a dustman who at the end of the
day pushes his cart home to his pretty little house, alnost as if
he were taking the company car home!  He goes on to become a
famous disco dancer!  Although no work relations are represented,
it is important that Luki is a dustman, so as to make his rise
in the world romantic and dramatic.

Where the images become more cogent however is in films which
deal with  'real' situations.  In Tonie van der Merwe's Haloy-i1*
the conflict between traditional rural values and urban existence
is represented through the story of an evil witchdoctor's curse.
Ualoyl not only reflects, represents or  'makes natural' the
dominant ideology \>l&-a.-vi&  the  'homelands'  but,being unapclo-
getically reductionist, i1 crusades it.

Van der Merwe sets up a very tangible tension between urban life
as represented through his two protagonists, and their rural tra-
ditional background.  So although Dennis Mankela is a sophisticated
urban businessman, he refers to the place in the  'homeland' where
his family lives, as  'home'.  Without going into the technical
improbability of the situation  (v-c.-6-a-v.cj5 Section 10 rights, which
delineate who may live and work where, for example), the notion of
the African worker, no matter how established he is in a city,
belonging somewhere else, in a  'homeland', is a fundamental premise
on which apartheid is built.  The film suggest that Dennis Mankela
left home in order to seek wealth and success in the  'big city'.
Moreover, he found it.  Although we know that there is no legal
free-flow influx into the cities in South Africa, van der Merwe
reduces the influx to a voluntary action, and annuls therefore the
responsibility of the state, both for the conditions of the homelands
and the living conditions in the city.

C/Utla&l kKti  Vol 2  No 4 

17

Again, although the dictatorship of the narrative means that
Dennis Mankela has to represent a different class from his parents'
in order to show that process of social mobility, the physical
representation of "home" is not poor, but in a way, 'classless'.
"Home" is two huts in the middle of nowhere; there are no people,
no form of subsistence  17 ; nothing  to suggest that van der Merwe
has any sense of the life of a people who have no existence for
him outside of work relations.  Moreover, there is nothing to
suggest why anyone would have to leave that existence, except
to search for the  'bright lights' of the city.

However, even van der Merwe cannot mask  the many contradictions
in the ideology of the ruling class.  His representation of
traditionalism and  the conflict between  traditional and rural
values  is fraught with the same confusion one finds in the state's
present attitude towards those distinctions; and the problems of
courting an urban black middle class without  losing ground in
either direction.  The crisis  in ideology at times becomes
patently clear.  Early in the film, Dennis reassures his wife about
meeting his mother for the first time:

My mother will accept you for what you are, Miriam, a
clever, well-educated, sophisticated woman who fits in
well with  her son's new position.  Where  I used to herd
cattle, now her son herds salesmen, each of whom earns
more  in a month  than my  father earns in a whole year.
She is the one who  will  feel shy and awkward in front of you.

On one hand, the aspirations of the protagonists are plain; Western
values are both superior, and attainable.  Yet there is a tension
in the acquisition of those values and van derMerwe's handling of
them.  Throughout  the film, there is a distinct discrediting of
traditional  values.  When  Dennis' younger brother Jacob asks him
if he paid  lobola for his wife, he replies:

No, thank goodness  in the townships  lobola is becoming a
thing of the past; many of the old customs are finished,
the people  live more  like whites.

Yet even  though Dennis and Miriam are depicted with all the trappings
of urban sophistication, van der Merwe cannot resolve the conflict
of where they actually belong; in the city, or in a 'bantustan'.
This  is most evident  in the representation  of the witchdoctor, and
Dennis1  relationship  to him.  At one point, Jacob tells his mother
what Dennis says about believing  in witchdoctors: "Dennis says
these things have no power over you, and he knows what he's
talking about.  Don't you know that he's a boss of a big firm in
town?"

Yet despite  this, the narrative dictates otherwise.  The witchdoctor
doti wield a power, despite his representation as an anti-social
force in the community; malevolent, lecherous and entirely irrational.
The western doctor, despite his favourable representation, cannot
cure the father, because he has been put under a curse.  What is
•ore, even Miriam, who has been brought up in the city and does
not believe  in witchdoctors  either, is subject to his influence.
In a way, van der Merwe  is saying that despite the wealth, sophisti-
cation and education  of the Mankelas, they cannot escape their
essentially primitive past.  The implication  is that this is true
of all urban Africans.

CK-itlcal AiU*  Vot  I  Ho  4 

18

The overall result is two-fold.  On the one hand it expresses
and reveals the very tangible contradiction  in a society in which
Africans are neither allowed to subsist off the land, nore are they
allowed to break their ties with the land and settle in a city
permanently.  On the other hand, the film reproduces the belief
that ultimately  (if we recall the Minister of the Interior's remark)
blacks have  'not reached the level of civilization' that whites
have reached; the ideology that rationalizes and makes natural the
system of exploitation on which the social formation of South Africa
is built.

It is not entirely necessary to have an Orwellian Ministry of
Truth in the form of a Department of Information to ensure the
reproduction of those values which are both an expression of, and
are essential to the cohesion of the ruling classes in the present
social formation.  For although the producers of films for black
audiences  in South Africa are in -the specific position of repro-
ducing those values, they too have been formed by them.  Yet this
homogeneity of vision that characterizes the films has to be
located within the film production process of this particular
industry, whereby certain interventions are made at various levels,
operating on those levels simultaneously, and taking many forms.
With this understanding, one  can see how one can change a policy
towards censorship, or even remove a whole Department of Information,
and not make as much as a ripple in the practice as a whole.

This paper is based on research conducted  in 1980.  Figures and
circumstances may have changed since then but if anything, the
advent of the African language channel* of SABC-TV will have made
the situation more persuasive.  I have freely made generalizations
regarding production circumstances, based on interview* with
producers.  I am greatly indebted to the published and unpublished
research made available to me by Keyan Tomaselli. See, eg.  The.
S.A. film induitKy, African Studies Institute, University of the
Witwatersrand, Johannesburg  1981; and his lecture given at the
1979 International Cape Town Film Festival, entitled "Black
Films in South Africa."

NOTES AND REFERENCES

1 

1 

1 

See Rand Vaily Ha.lL 13 December  1978, 26 December 1978;
Sunday Timli 8.10.78, 12.11.78 and Sunday ExpKtti 10.6.79

See previous issues of CxJ.tlc.al kit* for a greater expli-
cation on the issue, specifically Tomaselli, K.G. 1980:
"Class and Ideology: Reflections in South African Cinema",
OUtLca.1 KKU  Vol 1 No 1, pp 1 - 13

Gutsche, T : The Hiltony and Social Signiiicance o$ Uotion
Tictimti in South k£Uca  7195 - 1940,  p 371

* 

Minutes of 419th meeting of Johannesburg  City Council, July 1922

Critical KHXt  Vot 2  No 4 

19

Several films with African actors, dealing with  South
African experiences were made prior to this but aimed  largely
at white audiences.  Donald  Swanson's Jim Come.i to Jobufcg
(1949) and The. Magic Gtvidzn (1960) are examples

The film was called Hgonopho

Supplementary report of the Commission of Inquiry  into
alleged  irregularities  in the former Department of
Information

Discussed in interview with Ronnie  Isaacs of KAM Fi£»!
Vnodactloni

Soweto with over 1 million inhabitants, for example, has
only one cinema

Publications Control Act No 42 of 1974

14 February  1963, 1341

Publications  Control Act, op ciX, Clause 5

Althusser, L : Fo-t HCLKX, Allan Lane, London, p 223

I am entirely  indebted to the CahZe.u du Cinema text, "John
Ford's Young Mr Lincoln", translated  in Sc.Kze.ti Reade/t I, for
this methodology

Botiotio was an lgoll-lnte.iLC.lty Production, produced by
Johan van Rooyen and written by Ronnie  Isaacs

Synopsis of UatoyX.  {W4.tc.hd0do/t)

Dennis Mankela is a sales manager in the African Marketing
Division of a large company.  One day, after an appointment
with one of the salesmen under him, he receives a letter
from his brother Jacob telling him that his father is ill at
"home".  He decides to go home and see him but is reluctant
to let his young wife come with him because it is "very
primitive up there".  She persuades him to let her accompany
him because she has never met his parents.  They set off the
next day by car to find the father in a semi-cona with a
fever.  Jacob suggests that it is possibly a result of a
curse, as they have tried medicines and nothing seems to help.

Dennis does not believe it could be, so takes his father to
a doctor.  He mentions the witchdoctor to him and he tells
Dennis that there have been a number of similar  incidents,
and that the police are investigating.  Nevertheless, he
gives the father medicine.

The next day, Dennis and Miriam are driving when their car
gets stuck.  While Dennis is looking for help, the witch-
doctor abducts Miriam, steals her locket and leaves her in
a coma in the bush, where Dennis finds her.  He takes her
to a doctor who is again puzzled at her condition.

At home again Mirian, still unconscious, tries to attack
Dennis with a knife.  He overpowers her, slaps her and she

OUtlcat  kKti  Vol 2  No 4

20

wakes up, not knowing what has come over her.  We cut to
the witchdoctor's hut, and we see him handling Miriam's
locket.  He tears up the photograph of Dennis.

Later Jacob goes to the witchdoctor's house and whilst he is
creeping around outside, the witchdoctor finds him and ties
him up.

We cut back to Dennis' house and Miriam now attempts to attack
her mother-in-law but is stopped just in time by Dennis.
Dennis then goes to the witchdoctor's hut and finds him just
about to give Jacob the same muti  (potion) that put his father
in a coma.  They overcome the witchdoctor and make him tell
them what muti will cure Miriam and the father.  They both
recover.

The inside of these round huts are square in the film; an
ill-disguised studio set.  The film has many instances of
this sort of carelessness which, as has been said before,
is not ideology-free.  In one scene of the film Miriam dances
bare-breasted which is not practice amongst married women.

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