Dir. Simon
Broughton, Afghanistan, 2002, 70 mins, subtitles
Review by Tim Waltho
Imagine a world void of music; no singing, no instruments,
no radio, nothing, just a big silent hole where melodies
and symphonies should be. Well, for five years, that was
exactly how it was in Afghanistan. In 1996, when the oppressive
Taliban regime took hold of the country, they outlawed
music, and burned and destroyed all the instruments they
could find. Filmed in Kabul in 2002, after the fall of
the regime, Simon Broughton's award-winning documentary
tells the story of the return of music to Afghanistan,
and what it means to the people who live there.
Much more than just a documentary of a country's musical
history, Breaking the Silence, is a study of what happens
to a country and its people when their creativity and freedom
of expression are repressed. Afghanistan is a country with
a rich musical heritage that has suffered greatly over the
last 40 years through communist rule, uprisings, civil war,
and oppressive regimes. The upshot of this is a country that
has had it's soul cruelly confiscated, leaving a whole generation
or two of Afghans to grow up without a freedom that in the
West is taken completely for granted.
The film takes us chronologically through the history of
modern day Afghanistan, from the swinging '60s and '70s to
the present day, and though it feels a little like a history
lesson in parts, this overview of historic events is necessary
in order for the viewer to understand the social implications
of what was happening at the time, and the effect this had
on the musical climate of Afghanistan.
Interspersed with the history are interviews with Kabul
residents, and musicians who were directly affected by the
Taliban's attempt to de-culturise their country. Director
Simon Broughton has assembled a large cast of interviewees
here, some more interesting than others, and has managed
to capture some amazing tales of the persecution suffered
by Afghan musicians at the hands of the Taliban, and the
risks many Afghans took in defying their persecutors laws.
But what lifts this documentary above a mere history lesson,
or pure anecdote, are the scenes of these musicians, doing
what they were forbidden from doing for so many years, playing
their music. Many musicians exiled themselves across the
border, or changed professions after the Taliban's decree,
so now when they play, hope and joy ring out from their sarindas
and Tablurs. These scenes are absolutely invigorating, the
foreign instruments are a joy to hear, and with their swaying
bodies, and grinning smiles, it's clear to see how much this
regained sense of freedom means to these men. What really
comes shining through though, is how much passion these people
have for their music, much more than we do in the west, and
how important music really is in Afghan culture.
Inserted at the end, slightly haphazardly, and brushed over
maybe a little too lightly, is a short study on the difficult
relationship between music and religion in Afghanistan. But
this is a minor quibble in an outstanding documentary, which
leaves you with an ultimately uplifting feeling of hope and
optimism, and an urge to rush out and buy an Afghan banjo.
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