The Sound of Silence

Sound is an important aspect of film that many people take for granted. In most Hollywood movies the soundtrack provides cues for the audience indicating how to feel about certain characters or situations. For instance, a tense or frightening scene will be set to music that creates anxiety in the audience (like this iconic score from Psycho: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_XfUxXDldY&feature=related) and a romantic scene will have music that makes the audience feel warm and fuzzy inside (like this scene from Titanic: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MDPeL8lpzo). The soundtrack has become an integral part of the movie-watching experience, even to the point where the music carries as much weight as any of the actors. Given this, it is surprising to encounter a film in which music plays little or no role. This is the case in Nick Hughes’ film 100 Days, a heartbreaking chronicle of the horrific events which took place amidst the Hutu extermination of the Tutsi during the Rwandan genocide of 1994. Far from being a problematic omission, the noticeable absence of a dramatic or emotional soundtrack in this film allows the filmmaker to convey his ideas through the careful use of silence.

The scene: Josette, the female protagonist, is running through the forest and behind her is an indistinguishable male character who appears to be in hot pursuit. With no music in the background to influence our interpretation, it is unclear whether she is running away in fear or in playfulness. When the man finally catches up with her, we learn that he is her boyfriend, Baptiste, and that they have simply been playing a game. However, the ambiguous tension of this scene foreshadows the later chase scenes in the film in which the intentions of the pursuer are decidedly more threatening. Shortly thereafter, the filmmaker again uses silence to create tension, only this time the threat is real.

The scene: Josette’s brother Pierre enters the vandalized home of Baptiste’s family and slowly creeps towards the back room where he finds their mutilated bodies, courtesy of a gang of Hutu men. Instead of a dramatic crescendo, the only sound is the crunching of glass under Pierre’s feet. Hughes doesn’t need background music to help the audience understand what’s going on, the action speaks for itself. In fact, the ominous silence punctuated by the crackling glass is worse because it heightens your anticipation of a loud noise to come (in this case a two person film crew that comes barreling around the house to do an interview about the deaths). In these and many other scenes throughout the movie, Hughes uses oppressive and uncomfortable silence to create intense agitation in the viewers and to force their attention to the action of the scene.

The scene: after convincing Josette’s mother that the only way to protect her daughter from the Hutus is to place her into his custody, a priest takes Josette to his room and rapes her. The only sounds are the deafening creaks of the bedsprings and her muffled whimpering. The lack of any background music in this scene means that the viewer cannot escape the disturbing sounds of the rape; we are trapped just like Josette. The silence also draws our attention to the lack of a significant struggle on her part; she doesn’t scream or cry out for help. Perhaps the silence is also a tacit acknowledgment of the futility of speaking out when there is no one to rescue you. The inadequacy of the armed forces portrayed in the film in preventing the massacres also reinforces the idea that no one hears the Tutsi’s calls for help. Hughes’ use of silence in the film may have been purposely intended to make a statement about the actions of the U.N. and the rest of the world (who clearly weren’t listening) in relation to the Rwandan genocide.

The scene: Baptiste, now a member of the RPF (Rwandan Patriotic Front), finds Josette living in the church of the priest who raped and impregnated her. Together they sit outside, their bodies turned away from each other and neither one saying a word. This scene is in stark contrast with their earlier, playful and loving encounter in the forest. The silence reflects her shame at her pregnancy and his feelings of betrayal. Although their suffering could be alleviated with speech (she doesn’t tell him about the rape), they are consumed by their personal demons. This scene is especially powerful because it shows the difficulty of speaking about genocide, or the inadequacy of language to address such horrific experiences. Not only does the film use silence as a dramatic technique (i.e. creating tension), it is effective thematically as well. 100 Days is a perfect example of a film that conveys its meaning without the ubiquitous crutch of a soundtrack. The rest is silence.

The Mother in the Subway

The following poem was inspired by the final short story in Ama Ata Aidoo's collection No Sweetness Here, which is entitled "Other Versions." In this story a college student from Ghana, Kofi, leaves his country to study in the United States. Before he departs, he tries to give his mother some money that he earned at his summer job, but she refuses him. Instead he is instructed to give the money to his father. Kofi is shaken by his mother's refusal and one night he tries to give money to a woman in the subway who reminds him of his mother. I wrote this poem to describe that scene from the point of view of the woman. Enjoy!

It was
late night
too late
perhaps
for a woman
like me
riding alone
in a subway
But
those bills
won’t pay
themselves
will they?
Listen,
I don’t mind
really
the gentle rocking
of the car
the blur
of the lights
…it’s home
As I was
saying,
a man
gets on
at 14th
Not from here
clearly
his dress
and
his walk
out of place
But listen,
he stared
that’s right
STARED
at me
I clutched
my handbag
and wrapped
my body
tighter
in my raincoat
Don’t look
at me like
that
I’m still here
aren’t I?
He fumbles
with his wallet
and…
get this…
he hands me
a wad
of cash
Yes, cash
The boy
(for I see
now
that he is
young)
is from Africa
a student
and I
remind him
of his mother
poor thing
Sitting
next to me
now
he looks
at my face
with a strange
expression:
awe, frustration, love
We sit
in silence
staring:
seconds, minutes, hours?
From the platform
he watches
as I wave
goodbye
What? Of course
I didn’t
take the money
What kind of
mother
would I be
if I had?