In his short story "On Exactitude in Science", Jorge Luis Borges writes of a map of an empire drawn on a one-to-one scale, so it was the same size as the territory it was meant to represent. The people of the empire came to understand that it was useless, and left it outside to deteriorate and atrophy. My takeaway from it has always been that an absolute representation of reality is impossible: all works select and edit a portion of the available source material.
Jana Boková's documentary on Cuban life and culture was made at the end of the 1980s, a time of rupture both for the island and for artists from Eastern Europe, in both cases due to the collapse of Stalinism. In Cuba, these were the last years of a steady supply of aid from the Soviet Union, ahead of the grimness of the "special period" of the 1990s. Meanwhile, in the Warsaw Pact countries, the fall of "official communism" lifted the stifling effect of dictatorship on musicians, writers and film-makers, giving them the opportunity to criticise aspects of their societies which their governments had deemed taboo. Although Boková had left her native Czechoslovakia many years before, it may be that the changes in her homeland influenced this film: it highlights real social issues such as the inefficiency and inflexibility of Cuba's bureaucracy, how race still affects people's life chances, prostitution, and the effect of government censorship and persecution on creative people there, with some being thrown in prison for no crime or going into exile.
Nevertheless, the film is as striking for what it doesn't say as what it does say. Whilst Boková's documentary is no doubt a sincere exercise in attempting to follow Václav Havel's injunction to "live in truth", one could certainly argue that it doesn't represent "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth". For example, in one early scene we hear from a woman living in dilapidated accommodation how she broke her leg when the floor collapsed from under her. No doubt this was a deeply unpleasant experience, but she would have been entitled to free medical treatment - something that is not mentioned at all. Likewise, we hear from a painter who lacks the academic qualifications which would allow him to practice as a professional artist: the rigidity of the authorities in relation to things like this is ripe for justified criticism, and yet we hear nothing about how the mass of people have access to arts education (as well as education more generally) and how this has enabled thousands to develop their craft - perhaps most notably Carlos Acosta, who was born into poverty, yet who became prominent on the world stage through his training at the Cuban National Ballet School (where he would have been studying at around the time this film was made). Whilst the documentary does let people speak for themselves - there are no didactic voiceovers telling us how awful things are, unlike some TV documentaries on Cuba I've seen - there are hardly any voices speaking about these kinds of social gains in the film: in fact, the only positive voice was an elderly woman in her eighties who expressed that life was ten time better then that it was prior to the revolution, having brought about greater equality. She was surrounded by younger people who looked somewhat uncomfortable at this: one of them asks her why she was saying such things. There's no doubt that the younger generations have reasons to be unhappy with their current state of affairs, but the old woman has legitimate reasons to speak positively as well: simply dismissing her views as being the result of brainwashing would be a partial and partisan reaction. Whilst some aspects of life portrayed in the film may be shocking to people in the developed world: a comparison with some of Cuba's Caribbean neighbours is useful: in particular Haiti, which like Cuba has a long and proud history of fighting for its sovereignty, but due to historical accent has been less successful in securing this.
That's not to say the film is all politics, far from it: as you'd expect from a film produced for the BBC's Arena strand of arts documentaries, it showcases Cuba's vibrant culture in its many forms, from the poems and literary excerpts interspersed throughout to such influential music and dance styles such as rumba and son.
I watched this recently when it was rebroadcast by the BBC: interestingly, it was billed not simply as "Havana", but "Jana Boková's Havana". I think that's a much better title: it may be truth, but it is one person's truth, and anyone expecting to find "the truth" about any topic from a single source probably needs to develop their critical faculties somewhat.
Jana Boková's documentary on Cuban life and culture was made at the end of the 1980s, a time of rupture both for the island and for artists from Eastern Europe, in both cases due to the collapse of Stalinism. In Cuba, these were the last years of a steady supply of aid from the Soviet Union, ahead of the grimness of the "special period" of the 1990s. Meanwhile, in the Warsaw Pact countries, the fall of "official communism" lifted the stifling effect of dictatorship on musicians, writers and film-makers, giving them the opportunity to criticise aspects of their societies which their governments had deemed taboo. Although Boková had left her native Czechoslovakia many years before, it may be that the changes in her homeland influenced this film: it highlights real social issues such as the inefficiency and inflexibility of Cuba's bureaucracy, how race still affects people's life chances, prostitution, and the effect of government censorship and persecution on creative people there, with some being thrown in prison for no crime or going into exile.
Nevertheless, the film is as striking for what it doesn't say as what it does say. Whilst Boková's documentary is no doubt a sincere exercise in attempting to follow Václav Havel's injunction to "live in truth", one could certainly argue that it doesn't represent "the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth". For example, in one early scene we hear from a woman living in dilapidated accommodation how she broke her leg when the floor collapsed from under her. No doubt this was a deeply unpleasant experience, but she would have been entitled to free medical treatment - something that is not mentioned at all. Likewise, we hear from a painter who lacks the academic qualifications which would allow him to practice as a professional artist: the rigidity of the authorities in relation to things like this is ripe for justified criticism, and yet we hear nothing about how the mass of people have access to arts education (as well as education more generally) and how this has enabled thousands to develop their craft - perhaps most notably Carlos Acosta, who was born into poverty, yet who became prominent on the world stage through his training at the Cuban National Ballet School (where he would have been studying at around the time this film was made). Whilst the documentary does let people speak for themselves - there are no didactic voiceovers telling us how awful things are, unlike some TV documentaries on Cuba I've seen - there are hardly any voices speaking about these kinds of social gains in the film: in fact, the only positive voice was an elderly woman in her eighties who expressed that life was ten time better then that it was prior to the revolution, having brought about greater equality. She was surrounded by younger people who looked somewhat uncomfortable at this: one of them asks her why she was saying such things. There's no doubt that the younger generations have reasons to be unhappy with their current state of affairs, but the old woman has legitimate reasons to speak positively as well: simply dismissing her views as being the result of brainwashing would be a partial and partisan reaction. Whilst some aspects of life portrayed in the film may be shocking to people in the developed world: a comparison with some of Cuba's Caribbean neighbours is useful: in particular Haiti, which like Cuba has a long and proud history of fighting for its sovereignty, but due to historical accent has been less successful in securing this.
That's not to say the film is all politics, far from it: as you'd expect from a film produced for the BBC's Arena strand of arts documentaries, it showcases Cuba's vibrant culture in its many forms, from the poems and literary excerpts interspersed throughout to such influential music and dance styles such as rumba and son.
I watched this recently when it was rebroadcast by the BBC: interestingly, it was billed not simply as "Havana", but "Jana Boková's Havana". I think that's a much better title: it may be truth, but it is one person's truth, and anyone expecting to find "the truth" about any topic from a single source probably needs to develop their critical faculties somewhat.
