We tend to associate European colonialism with the kings and queens who ruled (or claimed to rule) over vast swaths of land, with colonial rebels who rose against empire, or with black and indigenous peoples who endured and resisted colonial domination. Only rarely do we get to put ourselves in the shoes of the average imperial functionaries who made colonial rule work.
"Zama" is a film that addresses this peculiar omission by focusing on the life of Don Diego de Zama, a peripheral bureaucrat in the Spanish imperial service. Fascinated by all things European, Zama lacks the peninsular pedigree that would lift him above his petty station in a remote corner of the empire. He is blissfully unaware of the names of the indigenous people around him and treats them as little more than accessories, especially when their livelihoods collide with the interests of European settlers. In a telling yet subtle scene, he accords forty (!) Indians to a European settler family merely on account of their origins and because their daughter - a mestiza nonetheless - catches his eye. As befits a man of high ambitions, he prefers to spend his time in the company of white women, even if he is not above spying on Native women or fathering children with them. In his never-ending quest for status, he cheats, betrays, condemns, and violates everyone in his path, not so much out of greed but out of the sheer desire to escape the place that a higher bureaucrat had allotted him. In this sense, Zama embodies the eternal colonial dilemma of the low imperial functionary: He despises the very place that sustains his existence.
"Zama" excels in blending the historicist and the magical realist approaches in a compelling narrative couched in a stunning cinematography. Its portrayal of a colonial functionary is highly relevant today precisely because it is so attentive to the minutiae and the psyche of the average bureaucrat. The alienation, disgust, and boredom that Zama feels should be quite familiar to the millions of helpdesk assistants, accountants, clerks, and various low-tier employees whose crucial role to the sustainment of our world contrasts with their perceived marginality and profound sense of meaninglessness.
"Zama" is a film that addresses this peculiar omission by focusing on the life of Don Diego de Zama, a peripheral bureaucrat in the Spanish imperial service. Fascinated by all things European, Zama lacks the peninsular pedigree that would lift him above his petty station in a remote corner of the empire. He is blissfully unaware of the names of the indigenous people around him and treats them as little more than accessories, especially when their livelihoods collide with the interests of European settlers. In a telling yet subtle scene, he accords forty (!) Indians to a European settler family merely on account of their origins and because their daughter - a mestiza nonetheless - catches his eye. As befits a man of high ambitions, he prefers to spend his time in the company of white women, even if he is not above spying on Native women or fathering children with them. In his never-ending quest for status, he cheats, betrays, condemns, and violates everyone in his path, not so much out of greed but out of the sheer desire to escape the place that a higher bureaucrat had allotted him. In this sense, Zama embodies the eternal colonial dilemma of the low imperial functionary: He despises the very place that sustains his existence.
"Zama" excels in blending the historicist and the magical realist approaches in a compelling narrative couched in a stunning cinematography. Its portrayal of a colonial functionary is highly relevant today precisely because it is so attentive to the minutiae and the psyche of the average bureaucrat. The alienation, disgust, and boredom that Zama feels should be quite familiar to the millions of helpdesk assistants, accountants, clerks, and various low-tier employees whose crucial role to the sustainment of our world contrasts with their perceived marginality and profound sense of meaninglessness.