Atlantics and the trans­for­ma­tive pow­er of water

Water shapes our world. It nour­ish­es, gives life, revi­talis­es. Its vital­i­ty and neces­si­ty are unde­ni­able, but so too is its pow­er. In Mati Diop’s debut fea­ture, Atlantics, the epony­mous ocean, with its crash­ing waves and dev­as­tat­ing under­cur­rent, is an ever-present force in the lives of the res­i­dents of a Dakar sub­urb on the Sene­galese coast. It exists out­side of their con­trol, trans­form­ing the lives of young lovers, pro­vid­ing oppor­tu­ni­ties for growth that are so eas­i­ly dashed on the rocks, and there are inescapable divi­sions in this coastal com­mu­ni­ty that are only deep­ened by the sur­round­ing water.

Diop con­stant­ly sig­nals the impact of the ocean on the lives of those liv­ing in Dakar through a vari­ety of styl­is­tic and prac­ti­cal choic­es. Ada (Mame Bine­ta Sane) and Souleiman (Ibrahi­ma Tra­oré), a young cou­ple with no chance of a future due to her upcom­ing arranged mar­riage to the wealthy Omar (Babacar Syl­la), take every oppor­tu­ni­ty to steal a moment togeth­er. Hid­den from pry­ing eyes, they seek solace in a con­crete shel­ter on the vast expanse of the beach, the sound of the sea almost drown­ing out their dec­la­ra­tions of love.

This is not a place of tran­quil­li­ty; instead white-tipped waves crash loud­ly onto the shore, a con­tin­u­al reminder of the dan­ger that lurks just below the sur­face. Diop choses to place the nois­es of the ocean high in the sound mix, while also plac­ing short tran­si­tion shots between key scenes in order to rein­force the cen­tral­i­ty of water in the lives of Ada, Souleiman and their fam­i­lies. For them, the sea rep­re­sents both hope and dan­ger, a pow­er­ful con­tra­dic­tion that makes the tidal pull even stronger.

Atlantics is a film of divi­sions and dual­i­ty: Ada is pulled between her upcom­ing mar­riage and her affec­tion for Souleiman, a choice of wealth and social cap­i­tal ver­sus love. Omar offers secu­ri­ty and all the mate­r­i­al com­forts that come with a mid­dle-class lifestyle. Souleiman, mean­while, toils on the con­struc­tion site of a fan­cy new hotel, and along with his fel­low work­ers has not been paid for three months – a key fac­tor in their deci­sion to go to sea. Diop once again visu­al­ly accen­tu­ates this class divide through the pres­ence of water and the sea. Omar exists in a sec­tor of soci­ety where water is tame. It is for sport and relax­ation; nei­ther a dan­ger­ous enti­ty nor a bar­ri­er to ambi­tion. Ada, still hes­i­tant about her upcom­ing mar­riage, meets with Omar at a pri­vate pool that runs adja­cent to the dead­ly sea.

Here water is a sign of priv­i­lege, one that can be con­trolled by wealth and social sta­tus: the Atlantic is rel­e­gat­ed to the back­ground of the scene, calm and almost tran­quil as the waves are rip­pling but not dan­ger­ous. The dif­fer­ences between Omar and Souleiman and the rest of the young work­ers is stark; the for­mer takes the oppor­tu­ni­ty to swim lan­guid lengths of the pool as a form of leisure. Diop’s cam­era fol­lows his care­ful and delib­er­ate move­ments, the strength and pow­er in his body and con­fi­dence that he has in the water.

This is con­trast­ed by the des­per­a­tion and pain of one of the work­ers’ moth­ers when it is dis­cov­ered that the boys have gone to sea, who screams that her son can­not swim. Con­trol of and over the water is denied to those liv­ing in work­ing-class Dakar, through both access to the spaces it is safe and a lack of leisure time in which to learn to how to sur­vive in it.

The young women of Atlan­tique are beset by a very dif­fer­ent expe­ri­ence with the sea, one that is not sig­ni­fied by them­selves enter­ing the dark waters, but instead through a pow­er that is more direct and unex­plain­able. Rather than a sense of free­dom and hap­pi­ness, the young women of Dakar con­tin­ue the bat­tle for jus­tice that has been left in their hands since the boys went out to sea. They are faced with vio­lent fevers, bloody and bruised feet from their night-time mis­sions and an over­whelm­ing sense of loss. The trans­for­ma­tive pow­er of water here is one of depri­va­tion, the absence pres­ences of the young men who trav­elled out into the sea are scream­ing, demand­ing they be heard from the graves through the bod­ies of those left behind to fight for them.

Mati Diop’s mys­ti­cal and haunt­ing new film embraces the impli­ca­tions and cin­e­mat­ic lan­guage around the sea and water as pow­er­ful and trans­for­ma­tive, but these are con­sis­tent­ly sub­vert­ed in a sto­ry about love, inequal­i­ty and divisions.