"Goodbye Julia": Sudan’s social divide poignantly depicted in Cannes prize winner

With his film, Kordofani raises legitimate questions: What does 'nation' mean? How can it be redefined in light of new circumstances, which have been simultaneously inflicted and suffered by its people?

Women's worlds

In his 2016 short film Nyerkuk, Kordofani offered us glimpses of his cinematic approach. In a way, Nyerkuk paved the way for Kordofani's grand feature film debut with Goodbye Julia.

His newer project takes a deep dive into some of the themes he had fleetingly touched upon in Nyerkuk, revisiting and expanding on the visual worlds he had created, as if intent on going back to fill in any gaps he had left.

But every step back is followed by two steps forward. While Nyerkuk left no room for women in its storyline, Goodbye Julia offers a plot that puts women at centre stage as they navigate the intricate waters of intimacy, solitude, big dreams, and the constraints of reality.

Set in Khartoum between 2005 and 2010, the film opens with Mona (Eiman Youssef) preparing breakfast for her husband Akram (Nazar Gomaa) in their luxurious home.

At first glance, everything seems normal at home, much like the Nyerkuk house that the thief was lured to break into. But soon, any calm or scenic feeling, heightened by Mona's delicate movements around the intimate kitchen, is disrupted.

We notice a leaking ceiling, where Akram had employed a temporary solution after many failed repairs; he'd placed a glass below the leak spot. This subtle metaphor reveals a crack in the couple's relationship, suggesting that whatever peaceful atmosphere we're witnessing may not be as solid as we'd initially thought.

Before the sun sets, riots in the street disrupt this tranquillity further. Rioters arrive at Akram's home, threatening him; at their neighbour Bakri's house, they burn his car. Both men's macho arrogance is amplified by their racist outrage.

"Look at these slaves!" Akram yells to Mona. He enlists Bakri to help him learn how to use weapons and defend his house against the southerners, who are not Muslims and, in Akram's view, not Arabs. Their deaths would therefore hold no significance, in Akram and Bakri's twisted logic.

However, for Mona, life exists elsewhere. She listens to music lessons on the radio and plans to attend a jazz concert at a restaurant with her face hidden under a black niqab, but is disappointed upon reaching the venue to learn that the event has been cancelled due to the riots.

Meanwhile, Santino (Ger Duany) enjoys beautiful moments with his wife, Julia (Siran Riek) and their young boy Dani, despite having to constantly move around to escape the violence that northerners wage against them as southerners.

Their lives are constantly at risk, as they try, in vain, to shield their child from witnessing the tragedies of war (both common threads with Nyerkuk).

The worlds of the two families collide when Mona accidentally hits Dani with her car on the way back home from the restaurant. She flees in panic, but Santino, enraged by the hit-and-run without so much as an apology, follows her. He insists on talking to Mona, but she refuses to take the blame for what she did.

Fearing the consequences of her actions, and worried that Akram would find out that she had tried to attend a jazz concert, Mona finds herself compelled to call her husband and make up a story about a "southern savage" following her, with the intent to frighten Santino. But in a tragic turn of events, Akram arrives and shoots Santino dead before Mona's eyes.

Julia, I am Mona

Up until here, we know little about Mona.

We don't know yet that she was a singer before she got married to Akram, who forced her to quit. (We find this out later when she confesses it to Julia when they're alone.) We also don't know the core of her character yet. Is she a coward, or just unscrupulous?

After all, by hiding the truth from her husband, she had Santino killed. How can one not question Mona's moral compass, when we see the police colluding with Akram to conceal evidence and make Santino's body unidentifiable? When we witness Julia's anguish and desperate search for her missing husband, or even just his dead body so that she could bury him at the church cemetery?

Mona manipulates facts to maintain her social status as the wife of wealthy, conservative, borderline racist Akram, despite their marriage seemingly not working, what with the crack in the ceiling and their failure to conceive despite undergoing many treatments. Yet, she isn't a villain either.

Motivated by overwhelming guilt, she sets out to find the dead man's family near the scene of the accident, taking advantage of her husband's connections with the corrupt officers, who had contributed to covering up the crime.

When she finds Julia, she discovers she's a street vendor with no place to call home. Mona decides to introduce herself as a generous customer: "Julia, I am Mona."

She takes this deception a step further, asking Julia to come work for her as a maid. In her own twisted way, she seems to be trying to make up for the misery she caused.

Mona knows the racial and class differences between herself and Julia. Just as she doesn't ask Akram to watch his words when he calls the rioters "slaves", she does not shy away from mistreating her new maid based on race and class.

While she lets Julia and her son Dani into her home, she does not hesitate to set firm boundaries with them. For instance, she marks the plates and cups they must use with red dots, to make sure they don't use hers and Akram's.

Yet, psychologically, her boundaries soon seem to fade, as she takes Julia not only as a close friend but as a confidante, too.

Mona is a mix of guilt, benevolence, contempt, and a need for forgiveness for the unforgivable.

Class privileges

Kordofani expresses these blurred lines between friendship and slavery with great sensitivity, aided by powerful performances by the two lead actresses.

The conversational exchanges between Akram, Mona, and Julia reveal this dynamic, each of the three dropping the masks they must wear to survive in a society "where war never stops," as Julia says.

The movie climaxes with a confrontation between Mona and Julia, in a scene no less bold than the ending, when Mona tenderly announces the end of the feud: "Where's Dani? I miss him so much."

Kordofani's narrative expression masterfully portrays the role of women from privileged social classes in the absence of social justice, and the advantages they enjoy over less privileged women. This courageous and powerful insight alone deserves applause, for it is not exclusive to Sudanese society but applies to women in many parts of the Arab world.

Perhaps the extent to which Mona goes to help Julia and Dani is not quite plausible or may even be considered a dramatic exaggeration to some extent. Moreover, the desire to preserve the private nature of Julia's character may have come at the expense of a weaker screen presence.

The same goes for the character of Majir, the southern teacher Julia meets and falls in love with, who convinces her of the importance of secession and the horizons it opens up. Under the influence of her close relationship with Mona, she would not have agreed so readily.

Despite these weak spots, Goodbye Julia is a powerful film that shines a spotlight not only on Sudan's tragedies, women in society, and recent history, but also on the bitterness of loss and goodbyes, masterfully articulated in the scene of young Dani carrying a gun as the car carrying him drives south.

Goodbye Julia is set to be Sudan's official submission to the Academy Awards for Best International Feature Film.