Made in Jamaica, the film

Violence comes first. Omnipresent in Jamaica, it bursts in within the opening minutes: the death of dancer Gerald "Bogle" Levy, just after filming had begun, fills the screen: testimonies from police officers, TV news sequences, but above all images of his funeral, dantesque, with Voicemail and Delly Ranks getting the crowd dancing in the church. The next moment, we see Gregory Isaacs singing on the street corner, a band behind him, as a hearse with its weeping mamas slowly passes in front of them. This scene, one of the most moving in the film yet entirely reconstructed, illustrates Jérôme Laperrousaz's approach: "Made in Jamaica" is a distorting mirror, warped by the prism of his gaze. It is a documentary-fiction with actors playing their own roles.


The idea: to stage the music, in the literal sense. Each appearance of the "actors" in front of the microphone is meticulously prepared and scripted. With no voice-over to comment on the images, Jérôme Laperrousaz relies on them to convey his message. Through the songs, many and subtitled, but also through the interviews. Bunny Wailer, who a moment earlier was mentioning the absence of Peter Tosh and Bob Marley, condemns this death drive, and finds its foundations: "In the past, if we had chains around our necks and ankles, we tried to break them. But today, these chains have taken the form of pistols that have been fitted to the waist of every African descended from slaves!". Vybz Kartel, for his part, drops a bomb: if Jamaica does not produce weapons, who brings them in? Who "controls the ports and the airports"? (We a kill we). Bunny Wailer drives the point home: "nobody in Jamaica has ever been convicted of importing weapons." We are getting to the heart of it, but we will go no further: Jérôme Laperrousaz has already moved on.


"Made in Jamaica" works like a patchwork, bringing generations and themes into collision, jumping from one subject to another. When a roaring Capleton launches into That day wil come, we cut to Third World, whom the director knows well, having devoted a film to them, "Prisonner in the street" in 1980 (as an aside, a meeting had been arranged with Marley, but things dragged on). When Kartel or Lady Saw venture into slackness (with subtitles to help), the next shot shows Stephen Cat Coore impressing on his son the importance of lyrics.

After an hour of film, the common thread grows thinner and the narrative has some dead moments. What remain are the artists who follow one another through the tableaux set up by Jérôme Lapperrousaz: Elephant Man proudly announcing that "in Jamaica, we have more recording studios per square metre than any country in the world"; Bounty Killer in the studio with his Bluetooth headset screwed to his ear; Tanya Stephens backed by Third World for a remarkable Can't Breathe; Lady Saw improvising a few rhymes in her kitchen, before rushing into her studio, two doors away; Bunny Wailer, in a sad cabaret / dancehall version of I shot the sheriff; Third World performing a superb Slavery Days in their garden at night. But also Beres Hammond, Brick & Lace, Joseph Current, Toots, Koolant…


A veritable cultural and societal mosaic, "Made in Jamaica" lays out the picture of a Jamaica drained by its slave-owning past, branded with poverty and violence, and reminds us that reggae is a popular music born in a Third World country. Its youth sing and dance to forget. "This music saves our lives", confesses Elephant Man. By confronting the generations, it illustrates the antagonisms of a revolt that eyes American hedonism and consumerism. Paradoxical and fascinating. Just like Jamaica.