This period of limbo is plagued with tiresome, demoralising indignities that arise from casual racism raining down from various figures of authority. For much of the film the camera gazes lengthily, languorously, peacefully at landscapes, skyscapes and topographies; snow-covered mountainsides, cow-dotted pastures, cascades and pastoral lanes are all captured in striking black and white. Yet this is no holiday brochure, for the stark beauty of the images is pierced by unsettling questions that have perhaps drained them of colour: What does it mean to exist in a place where one is neither welcome nor unwelcome? How is it that such a decision rests on arbitrary boundaries, arbitrary histories, and policies that value paperwork over dignity?
Frantz Fanon alone embodies all the issues of French colonial history. Martinican resistance fighter, he enlisted, like millions of colonial soldiers, in the Free Army out of loyalty to France and the idea of freedom that it embodies for him. A writer, he participated in the bubbling life of Saint-Germain with Césaire, Senghor and Sartre, debating tirelessly on the destiny of colonized peoples. As a doctor, he revolutionized the practice of psychiatry, seeking in the relations of domination of colonial societies the foundations of the pathologies of his patients in Blida. Activist, he brings together through his action and his history of him, the anger of peoples crushed by centuries of colonial oppression. But beyond this exceptional journey which makes sensitive the permanence of French colonialism in the Lesser Antilles at the gates of the Algerian desert, he leaves an incomparable body of work which has made him today one of the most studied French authors across the Atlantic.
