Idi Amin was involved in the making of Barbet Schroeder’s documentary and it was his own naivete and innocence (can a mass murderer be innocent? I would submit that they are the most dangerous kind) that let him believe that it would be a flattering portrait. You can see Idi Amin saying to the camera, “Shoot that!” pointing up at a helicopter … he was thinking of himself as a film-maker. Schroeder said it was very disarming to be in his presence, because he could be so charming, but you always knew you were in the presence of “pure evil”.
The footage of Idi Amin making speeches is cringe-worthy. Idi Amin could go on for hours and hours with a speech and no one would ever dare stop him. The film ends with him addressing a group of Ugandan doctors, who have all gathered to talk about medical issues in the country. Idi Amin is so out of his league in that atmosphere of educated professionals. He sits in front of them in his army digs with the wall of medals on his chest, and you can just sense how intimidated he feels. He doesn’t like being LESS than anybody else. He can barely stand being there because he, in his ignorance, feels implicated by the intellectual elite, who by their very existence make him feel inferior. The close-ups of Idi Amin’s face, as he listens to the doctors talk about this or that medical challenge, are fascinating, psychologically. It’s amazing how open Idi Amin was. He was not media savvy or camera-ready. He wasn’t aware that his flickering nervous eyes, and the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead told us everything about him. He didn’t have a good game-face. He truly thought that the cameras would only show what was flattering. He truly believed that the cameras would show how good he was, how powerful, how intelligent. Of course the opposite is what you see.
You see him having a “cabinet meeting” and he’s going on and on about what it means to be a minister in the government, and all of the ministers sit there, and write down notes (what are you guys writing? “Be a good minister”??). It was a country of political amateurs with a grinning jolly monster at the tea of it, talking to everybody as though they were mental midgets. For example: the doctors, again. The doctors talk about specifics, and ask Idi Amin for input. Amin, visibly uncomfortable in a non-military environment, begins to pontificate on what it means to be a doctor. He goes on and on and on … and it’s all rudimentary as well as barely coherent. He sounds like a 5-year-old saying, “Doctors are good. I like them. When I have a boo boo the doctor is there to make it better.” It’s extraordinary. And the doctors, knowing the threat, living under tyranny, sit and take it, sit and listen, don’t say anything, and don’t get too specific because they sense Idi Amin won’t like that.
Only when Idi Amin is in his own element does that weird look of nervous flitting energy leave his eyes.
But still. He doesn’t realize that the camera is not a tool of flattery, even when utilized by propaganda masters like Leni Reifenstahl. The camera tells the truth. Now of course the film-maker chooses what to film, so there is editorial decision-making in that realm, but the camera itself does not allow a person to hide. It shows us everything. Idi Amin believes he is revealing himself to the camera as the savior of Africa, and of his country, as a great thinker, a great leader, a great intellectual, a messiah. You can only see this because he is so free with the camera, so forthcoming.
It’s fascinating and terrible.
“Suicide Revolutionary Jazz Band”?? That is just so weird and chilling.
And — okay, this is stupid — but in that last photo, he looks just like comedian George Wallace.
Yeah, the band freaked me out. They were playing at this prolonged reception for Idi Amin and there was something lethargic and obligatory about the whole thing that I found quite scary. Like – they were all being held hostage. And they all were required to “perform” for the camera, meaning: seem happy and relaxed.
Apparently Idi Amin after seeing the film was really angry and sent Barbet Schroeder a list of cuts he had to make. Schroeder refused. Idi Amin then took hostage a bunch of French people living in Uganda, held them hostage in a hotel, and gave all of them Schroeder’s personal phone number. So Schroeder said he was contacted all day, all night by desperate French hostages, begging him to make the cuts – or Imin would kill them. It was a minor international incident. So Schroeder made the cuts – yet he also published what exactly he had cut – and handed it out to audience members. Anmd wherever the cuts had been made, he would place a slide in the film saying, “HERE IS A CUT I WAS FORCED TO MAKE”, blah blah. Quite extraordinary. Now that Idi Amin is long gone, the cuts are back in – and so you get the full portrait of the true madness of this guy.
How totally bizarre — which means, of course, I need to see this.