‘Red Island’ Review: Youth Blooms as Colonialism Wilts in 1970s Madagascar

Courtesy of Film Movement

Robin Campillo's last work, BPM (Beats Per Minute), brought the French filmmaker a breakthrough level of international recognition after winning the Cannes Grand Prix in 2017, along with a remarkable 6 César awards. Openly gay and deeply entrenched in France's ACT UP movement during the 1990s, Campillo drew from his personal experience to assemble that sweeping movie, as he does with this latest work, Red Island. Set during the early 1970s in Madagascar, when the French military was still meddling with a French-backed administration, Red Island pulls inspiration from Campillo's childhood years spent on a service base on the African island nation. Deeply atmospheric in its inquisitions into a young mind discovering the hard truths of the surrounding world, Red Island leaves a lasting impression of an unbalanced world order that should have been left in the past but still manifests in distinctive patterns up to this day.

The year is 1970, and 8-year-old Thomas lives with his family on French military base 181 in Madagascar. Sheltered by the insularity of the walled compound, Thomas spends his time daydreaming about his favorite crime-fighting comic book, Fantômette, and avoiding his father and brothers, who frequently rag on Thomas' sensitive nature. Drawing inspiration from Fantômette's covert operations, the quiet and shy Thomas often tiptoes around in the shadows, spying on his family and the rest of the close-knit community. Time passes quickly via Thomas' precocious perspective, and with age, the young boy gradually comes to realize that the figures he has heroized for much of his life are not as innocent as he once thought. As 1972 draws nearer, with France's military forces finally being pulled out of Madagascar, Thomas and his family face the uncertainty of their future away from the idyllic island where colonial influences have afforded them a sense of security and comfort that may have been a mere facade of their contentment all along. 

Courtesy of Film Movement

Similarly to BPM (Beats Per Minute), Campillo constructs his latest work as a chimeric creation, blending elements of coming-of-age tales, period dramas, and political filmmaking. This effort culminates in a final effect as rich as the Malagasy soil from which Red Island takes its name. From the movie's early scenes, the audience witnesses the world through Thomas' eyes, focusing on his seemingly immaculate nuclear family, his tight-knit community of patriots on the military base, and the overall stability afforded to the French expats living in Madagascar. With age and understanding, Thomas' perception transforms: the lines between the oppressor and the oppressed begin to form in his conscience and reshape his experience. 

Channeling his own memories, Campillo works to evoke the sensory recollections of childhood that can stick with one for the rest of one's life. Collaborating with his go-to cinematographer, Jeanne Lapoirie, the two adopt a square aspect ratio that speaks to Thomas’ innocence, along with a handsomely burnished quality for Red Island's visual language. This process not only channels the film's 1970s period but also accentuates the lush natural environment, which can be so significant in the remembrances of youth. As the camera follows Thomas, the viewer can almost feel the smoldering heat of the summer sun and the salt spray of the Indian Ocean. The film's enveloping visual approach is reinforced by its sound design, which oscillates between the beautiful natural sounds of creaking bamboo reeds and an ever-present chorus of cicadas, along with a sparingly used orchestral score created by Arnaud Rebotini.

While Thomas' immature perspective inherently limits Red Island's viewpoint, the film's examination of France's far-reaching colonial shadow remains multifaceted. Although Madagascar technically gained independence in 1960, the movie's depiction of France's lingering interference portrays the hierarchical systems engrained within the country's longstanding colonial structure. Unethical military officials and crooked Catholic priests reign over military base 181, and French-backed political figures control the nation outside of its walls. Thomas is taught to idolize these figures, but as his moral compass develops, he learns to recognize their misusage of power. Campillo's fixation with the gaze of the film's characters also speaks intriguingly with France's colonial history. Different scenes are punctuated by distinct gazes, ranging from the voyeuristic to the fetishistic, depending on the character and where they sit within Madagascar's post-colonial order. A particularly thoughtful sequence near the movie's finale depicts an uneasy moment between two soldiers, one white and one Malagasy. The white soldier shares a sensual dance with his Malagasy lover while the native soldier looks on, communicating on metaphorical levels with the colonial past. In the last minutes of Red Island, Thomas' perspective is left behind on the base, and the audience finally steps into the reality of everyday Madagascar. While this jarring shift conveys a more critical image of a country undergoing a monumental transition, the narrative decision to give so little of the film to this viewpoint feels undercooked compared to the rest of Red Island.

Courtesy of Film Movement

Throughout Red Island, Campillo uses his queer experience to emphasize and critique the imbalanced gender roles present within the post-colonial world in which he was raised. In the movie, Thomas’ father, Robert (played by dashing Spanish actor Quim Gutiérrez,) depicts the toxic masculinity commonly associated with military culture. Robert holds a particular disdain towards Thomas’ introverted personality, constantly comparing the boy to his brothers. When speaking to Thomas, Robert  reverts to harsh comments such as, “Stop being a sissy and eat.” These interactions between father and son escalate as the movie progresses, communicating the sense of shame that Thomas faces, a heartrending emotion when pressed upon children who are not yet fully capable of understanding themselves. Campillo’s screenplay frequently condemns the male characters’ lack of accountability, portraying them as children who treat Madagascar as their playground.

In the role of Colette, Thomas’ mother, Nadia Tereszkiewic embodies a maternal feminity combined with a defiant spirit aligned with the ideas of women’s liberation from the era. Just like Thomas, Colette experiences an evolution: transforming from a demure, subservient mother to a woman who refuses to overlook her husband’s suspicious conduct any longer, putting her happiness and that of her children ahead of any expectations of what a traditional mother should be. Red Island also highlights –– although rather feebly –– the inequity faced by Malagasy women during French intervention on the island. The local women are treated as objects of sexual desire or laborers on base 181, virtually invisible in every other regard to the French officials. 

While Red Island’s cumbersome exploration of its young protagonist’s comic book-inspired fantasies and its debatably underserved finale piece may detract from the film’s overall ambition, Campillo still manages to create a stunningly wrought period drama that speaks to his roots with impressive emotional and political force. The movie’s overarching criticisms of the post-colonial world expand far beyond the island nation where it takes place, threading together connections of authority and exploitation that continue to manifest today. 

3.5/5

‘Red Island’ world premiered at the 71st San Sebastián International Film Festival in 2023. The movie will be released in the United States by Film Movement, beginning its theatrical run at New York City’s Film at Lincoln Center on Friday, August 16. Click here to find a showing of ‘Red Island’ near you.